21

They had dinner in their suite that evening, and the following day the women took the van and went shopping, while Stone talked with Joan and a few clients on the phone and Dino administered the NYPD from afar.

The following morning the new hotel began to fill with its first guests, all of whom had booked months ahead for the occasion. Because so many Los Angeleans had experienced the Bel-Air Arrington, there was a particularly large contingent from the film business, with many faces that Stone recognized but could not necessarily name.

One fact, though, registered with Stone instantly as he entered the grand ballroom, where dinner was being served: Boris Tirov was sitting at an all-Hollywood table, his eyes locked with Stone’s.

Stone immediately found Marcel. “At table number eight there is a man to whose presence I object,” he whispered in the Frenchman’s ear. “His name is Boris Tirov.”

Marcel whipped out a sheaf of papers from an inside pocket and consulted it. “Yes, it is here. Cine International Studios, an Italian company, bought the table months ago, to entertain Hollywood people, and Tirov is their guest. Why do you object to his presence?”

“He is Gala’s ex-husband, and he has been harassing her since their divorce. Is there any way to get him thrown out of here?”

“Not without insulting the studio,” Marcel replied. “Instead, I will assign a couple of security people to keep an eye on Tirov and see that he does not disturb you or your lady.”

“Thank you, Marcel.” Stone returned to table number one and his group. Only Marcel’s seat was empty, and he would join them when he could. From his seat, Stone had a good view of Tirov’s table. He seemed to be trying to attract Gala’s attention.

“Don’t look at Boris,” Stone said to her. “I’m sorry he’s here, but there’s nothing I can do about that. Security will keep an eye on him, though.”

“I would not give him the satisfaction of looking that way,” she replied.

Then the orchestra stopped playing, and the leader came to the microphone. “A very special request to honor a very special lady,” he said, and gave the orchestra a downbeat.

“Oh, God,” Gala said, keeping her smile fixed. “That’s the theme from Boris’s first film. He always referred to it as ‘our song.’”

“Just keep looking at me,” Stone said, “and ignore it.”

“Looking at you is always comforting,” she said.

—

Dinner was served, and everyone at table one relaxed, seemingly unaware of Tirov’s presence in the room. Then, as dessert was served, Stone’s eye was caught by movement at the Cine International table. Boris Tirov had got to his feet, and he left the table and began to cross the ballroom, stopping along the way to greet acquaintances. As he neared table number one, Stone got to his feet, then Tirov veered away and headed toward a hallway where the restrooms were. Stone followed him, ignoring Gala’s tugging at his sleeve. It was the first time he and Tirov had been in the same place since the incident at his pool at the Bel-Air Arrington.

He saw Tirov enter the men’s room and two plainclothes security men take up station outside. Stone walked through the door and found Tirov alone there, zipping his fly and heading for a sink to wash his hands.

“Fancy meeting you here, Barrington,” he said, glancing at him in the mirror.

Stone checked his tie in the mirror. “I thought I’d give you an opportunity to take another swing at me while you’re still sober,” he said.

“And have your security goons all over me?”

“I’ll see that they don’t interfere.”

“How did Gala enjoy her visit from the Three Bears?” Tirov asked.

“How did you enjoy being banned from Centurion Studios, the Bel-Air Country Club, and the Arrington, all on the same day?”

“I suppose you had a hand in all that?”

“Actually, I had nothing to do with Centurion and the country club, but I did have the pleasure of seeing you banned from the Bel-Air Arrington, just as you will be banned from this hotel and any other the company should ever open. If you enjoy that sort of thing, I’ll see what other indignities I might be able to inflict on you.”

Tirov swung around to face him, and suddenly, there was a switchblade in his hand. “I think it’s time to see how you operate without a liver,” he said.

As Stone squared away to face him he heard the men’s room door open, and a voice called out, “Everything all right in here, Mr. Barrington?”

Stone thought about that for a moment before answering and decided that he had no wish to bloody a brand-new men’s room, especially with his own blood. “Not quite,” he replied. “There’s a man in here with a knife.”

Two men with guns entered the room, and Tirov tossed the knife into the hole in the sinktop that led to a trash bin.

“Gentlemen,” Stone said, “please place this man in handcuffs, then recover the knife and turn both over to the Rome police, as quietly as possible. I think a night or two in a Roman jail would do him a lot of good.”

The two guards began carrying out Stone’s instructions.

Tirov managed a sardonic smile. “You and I will discuss this on another occasion,” he said. “Perhaps in the company of Gala.”

“Gentlemen,” Stone said to the guards, “on second thought, remove the handcuffs and stand away from him, between him and the knife. Oh, and you might frisk him for other weapons.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Barrington?”

“Yes, and the two of you can wait outside and make sure no one enters until we’re done here.”

They patted down Tirov and removed the handcuffs, then left the room.

“Now,” Stone said, “what would you like to discuss?”

Tirov came straight at him with a big swing, and Stone managed to catch his wrist and use his momentum against him, throwing him against a urinal. Tirov tried again, and Stone hit him once with a straight left to the nose, then struck him once, hard, under the heart. The man went to his knees, a hand to his face, where blood was flowing.

“Is there anything else you’d like to talk about?” Stone asked.

Tirov said nothing but stayed on his knees.

Stone went to the door and opened it. “Give him a chance to clean himself up, then throw him out the back door and radio your colleagues at the entrances to see that he doesn’t reenter the premises.”

Stone walked back to his table and sat down. Dino handed him a napkin. “There’s a little blood on your knuckles,” he said.

Stone took the napkin and wiped his hand.

“Anybody I know?” Dino asked.

“Nope,” Stone replied.

“How badly did you hurt him?” Gala asked quietly.

“Not badly enough,” Stone replied. He had a feeling that he was going to have to do it again.