Kisser

STONE WOKE EARLY, shaved, showered, and got to Rita’s apartment at eight. Dino met him on the sidewalk.

“Neither did I,” Stone replied, ushering him into the building, “but we will.” He gave the doorman their names and waited until they were allowed upstairs. Before they went to the elevator, Stone pulled the doorman to the front door and pointed. “See that parking space?”

Stone put a hundred-dollar bill in his hand. “Please make sure no one parks there but a Mr. Sharpe. He drives a black Mercedes, and he’ll be here around eleven. Tell him that Miss Mitzi reserved it for him.”

“I’ll put a couple of cones out and watch for him,” the doorman said.

Mitzi answered the door in a silk dressing gown, and it looked as though she was wearing nothing under it. The sight stirred Stone, but there wasn’t time.

She led Dino down the hall toward the kitchen, but Stone went to a front window and made sure it would open, then he went to the kitchen and sat down at the table with Mitzi, Rita, and Dino. Moments later they were eating omelets and croissants, Mitzi dunking hers.

They lingered at the table, chatting, until after ten, then the women went to dress. Stone walked to the big stainless-steel refrigerator, took two eggs from the door shelf, and slipped them into his jacket pocket. Then he went into the living room and began reading the Times.

“Since when did you start reading about business?” Stone asked, surprised.

“When I got my hands on some money.” Dino had received a generous settlement when he was divorced.

“You brought the .22 pistol?” Dino had won a department championship with that pistol.

“It’s on my belt,” Dino said, not bothering to show him. “Are you armed?”

“Why do you think I asked you to bring the target pistol?” Stone said. He didn’t argue with Dino’s opinion of his marksmanship.

At ten thirty Dino used his cell phone to check on the status of the bust, then he hung up.

“There’s a tennis club a couple of doors from the corner of Seventy-ninth that’s being renovated. They’re taking down the nets and posts on the rooftop courts. My car is parked a block from here; my driver will run us there.”

Stone called the number Tiffany had given him for the helicopter pilot.

“How long a flight from your position to the corner of Seventy-second and Park?”

“At eleven a.m. sharp, start your engines and be ready.” He explained about the tennis club.

“I know the place; I’ve seen it from the air. The space is plenty big.”

At ten minutes to eleven the buzzer rang from the doorman, and Mitzi answered it. “Send Mr. Sharpe up,” she said, then hung up. “He’s on his way; you two had better get into the kitchen.”

Stone went to the window and opened it. The black Mercedes was parked, nine stories down. He leaned out the window, aimed carefully, and dropped an egg. “Bull’s-eye!” he said.

Stone didn’t reply but aimed the second egg. “Hah!” he shouted. “Let’s get to the kitchen.”

Mitzi opened the door and let Sharpe in. He was carrying two catalogue cases.

“Just the maid,” Mitzi said. “You’re not going to get all paranoid on me again, are you?”

“Let’s get this done,” Sharpe said. He knew the way to the study.

Mitzi sat him down, and he opened both catalogue cases and began removing one-kilo bricks of cocaine.

“Do you promise me that this cocaine is just as good as the first shipment you sold me?”

“Okay, put the bricks back into the cases,” she said, and Sharpe did so.

“I assume my check cleared or you wouldn’t be here,” Mitzi said.

“You’re absolutely right,” Sharpe replied. “I’ve already wire-transferred it out of the country.”

Sharpe stood up. “We are. Take care of yourself, Mitzi.”

“Just a little vacation. I’ll be back in a couple of weeks to supply your friends again, if they’re still in business.”

“They’ll still be in business,” she said. She showed him to the door and let him out. Then she turned, leaned against the door, and heaved a great sigh. She went to the phone and pressed the Page button. “He’s gone,” she said. “Let’s get moving.”

Stone and Dino ran down the hall and into the living room, and Stone continued to the window. “Any problems?”

Dino called for his car, while Stone called his helicopter, and then they both ran to the elevator.

When they emerged from the apartment building they found Dino’s car waiting for them at the curb. They hopped in and, after making a quick U-turn, raced up Park Avenue and around the corner of Seventy-ninth Street.

As they turned the corner, Stone saw the helicopter approaching the building and inside a cop who was holding an elevator that would take them up. They emerged from the top floor fire door onto the roof just as the aircraft landed on the tennis courts, jumped in, and buckled their seat belts.

Stone took the left seat, next to the pilot, and put on his headset. “Okay,” he said, “we’re looking for a black sedan that’s been marked with two raw eggs.”