Near Miss

“I’m going to get some sleep,” Stone said, and then he was unconscious again.

Chapter 9

Stone was home in time for lunch the next day. Bob greeted him enthusiastically, and Stone found him a cookie to reward his adoring opinion of his master.

“Want some good news?” Joan asked.

“Always,” Stone replied.

“I’m closing on my house soon.” Joan had inherited a very large town house off Fifth Avenue, and it had been too much for her.

“What did you end up getting for it?”

“Twenty-three and a half million, mostly furnished. I took some pictures and a few pieces of furniture.”

“Good move. Where will you live now?”

“Back in my apartment next door. It’s all the house I need for me and, when you’re gone, Bob.”

Bob wagged all over at the mention of his name, and Stone scratched his back.

Dino walked into the house. “I came to see if you were dead yet.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“I’m not disappointed; I’m elated to see you breathing on your own.”

“Well, if you’ll forgive me, I’m going to lie down for a few minutes.” He stretched out on the sofa. “Have you arrested Trench what’s-his-name yet?”

“On what charge? Knowing a guy who hit you with a blackjack?”

“Isn’t that a crime?”

“It is to you, of course. But a sober judge would take a different view, and the DA would yell at me for hauling him in.”

“Where’s Matilda?”

“She stopped by her place to pick up some clean clothes,” Joan said. “I expect she’ll be along soon.”

“We need to find out absolutely everything she knows about Trench,” Stone said.

“You want to buy him a present?” Dino asked.

“I want to buy him a prison term.”

“Well, you’re going to have to wait until he does something provable to you.”

“I would have thought that blackjacking me was probable cause.”

“It would be, if we could prove he was involved. Fred erased the only guy who could have testified against him.”

“Was Fred, ah, a little hasty in his judgment?”

“No, Huff’s hand — the one without the blackjack — held a .25 automatic, just the thing for putting your lights out permanently, if the blackjack failed to operate as intended.”

“Well, at least Fred is free and clear. Has he still got his carry license?”

“I saw to that.”

“Good, in case he has to shoot somebody else. Did Huff have a sheet?”

“A couple of bar fights. I guess he was staying in practice.”

“How about Trench?”

“About two hundred parking tickets. I handed that off to a guy in the DA’s office who makes life hell for people who tear up their tickets.”

“I’d like to see him in something more permanent than parking ticket hell.”

“Maybe he’ll give us another shot at him,” Dino said. “Of course, that would mean he’d have to take another shot at you first.”

“I know, I know, you want me to carry all the time.”

“Everywhere but on the tennis court.”

“They’ve probably got a holster made for that. It would be intimidating to your opponents, too. Nobody would want to play with you.”

Stone’s secure cell phone rang.

“One guess who that is,” Dino said.

Stone pressed the button. “Hello, Lance.” Lance Cabot was director of the Central Intelligence Agency, for whom Stone and Dino performed consulting duties.

“I’m delighted to hear that you can still speak,” Lance said, not sounding delighted.

“Don’t worry, it wasn’t a matter of national security.”

“Are you quite sure about that?”

“I don’t have any reason to believe that was the case.”

“You’re pretty hopeful for a man who’s just spent a night in the hospital.”

“It was sort of a high school playground fight that got out of hand.”

“Really? I heard your assailant was a professional hit man.”

“If he was, the NYPD doesn’t know about it.”

“There is a great deal that they don’t know.”

“Not so loud. Dino will hear you and take offense.”

“Put him on, and I’ll offend him directly.”

“I’m going to take a nap now,” Stone said.

“Sweet dreams.” Lance hung up.

Chapter 10

Matilda turned up as Stone was waking from his nap. Dino was still there, making an occasional call to his office.

“Aha! Matilda!” Dino said, loudly enough to bring Stone to full consciousness.

“Dino! Stone!” she cried, imitating Dino’s enthusiasm.

“Sit down, Matilda,” Dino said. “We want to interrogate you.”

“On what subject?” Matilda asked, looking alarmed.

“On the subject of Trench Molder,” Stone said, sitting up. “We need to know everything about him, especially how often he hires assassins to kill people he doesn’t like, such as my own self.”

“Okay, let’s see,” Matilda said. “I met him at a party at somebody’s house on the Upper East Side.”

“Whose party?”

“I don’t remember the name. A girlfriend had been invited, and she took me along. I do remember the host had a grand piano, because somebody was playing it, and somebody else was singing.”

“Was either of them Trench?”

“No. Trench was sitting on a stool at the piano, next to me.”

“Doing what?”

“Trying to sing along, until the piano player told him he couldn’t carry a tune and to shut up.”

“Did he have the pianist beaten up or killed?”

“I don’t know. Maybe, since I never saw him again.”

“What were your first impressions of Trench?”

“A little drunk, funny, cute.”