“I’ve used your scanner,” she said. “The fingerprints are Whitestone’s.”
“You’ll have my bill before noon,” Stone said. “What would you like for breakfast?”
“Two fried eggs, wheat toast and blood sausage, please. And English breakfast tea.”
“I don’t believe we stock blood sausage,” Stone replied. “God, but that’s a disgustingly British thing to eat at breakfast.”
“All right, any sort of sausage.”
Stone got Helene on the intercom and ordered for both of them.
“I’ll expedite your check,” Felicity said, “but there’s one more thing I want you to do for me.”
“What’s that?”
“I want you to obtain James Hackett’s fingerprints.”
“He’s a naturalized citizen; they’ll be in the FBI database.”
“No. I want you to obtain them directly from the source.”
“Oh, I see. You want me to go over to his office, hold him down and print him?”
“I would be grateful if you could be more subtle than that.”
Stone thought about it. “All right, let’s invite him to dinner.”
“Here?”
“Why not? I have a dining room, a kitchen and a cook. At a restaurant I might have trouble confiscating his wineglass.”
“All right,” she said.
“And you must be here.”
“Why on earth should I be here?”
“Because it will guarantee his acceptance. If he’s Whitestone, it will be an opportunity to demonstrate his invulnerability to your identifying him.”
“Oh, all right. Who else will you ask?”
“I think Bill Eggers. It would be an opportunity for them to get to know each other better.”
“You need one more couple.”
“How about Dino?”
“Why Dino?”
“Why not? Hackett, being in the business he’s in, would love to get to know an NYPD lieutenant.”
“We need someone who’s not a drinking buddy of yours.”
“Do you have a request?”
“You know the former police commissioner, don’t you?”
“Yes, we have a cordial acquaintanceship. It might be a little uncomfortable, though.”
“Why?”
“He’s married to a woman I, ah, knew… rather well.”
“Ask him, and get over it.”
“I am over it.”
“Not if you’re uncomfortable inviting her to dinner with her husband.”
“Oh, all right. I’ll get Joan on it; we have to find an evening when everyone’s available.” He picked up the phone, buzzed Joan and asked her to arrange the dinner.
Their breakfast arrived on the dumbwaiter, and they sat up in bed with trays on their laps. Felicity stole his orange juice.
“You didn’t order orange juice,” Stone pointed out.
“I just did,” she said. “Oh, all right, we can share.”
Stone refilled the glass from the pitcher, and they shared.
“I was just thinking,” Felicity said, stabbing a sausage link and making it disappear.
“Uh, oh,” Stone said. “What now?”
“You said that Hackett had offered you employment.”
“On three occasions,” Stone said.
“Why don’t you accept?”
“Well, first of all, I’m very happy with my current employment status.”
“Take a leave of absence. Hackett would probably pay better, anyway.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Stone said. “The problem is, you want me to work for him so that I can prove he’s Whitestone and you can destroy him. That would leave me out of work, and I’d have to go crawling back to Bill Eggers, not to mention my own clients.”
“Why do you think I want to destroy Hackett?” she asked.
“You clearly would like for something bad to happen to Whitestone, and if he’s Whitestone…”
Stone’s phone buzzed. “Yes?”
“Your dinner is arranged for tomorrow evening,” Joan said. “You may expect your guests at seven.”
“Wow,” Stone said, “that was fast work.”
“Yes,” she said, “it was, wasn’t it?” She hung up.
Stone turned to Felicity. “We’re on for tomorrow evening. Drinks at seven.” Stone cleared away their trays and sent them down to the kitchen on the dumbwaiter.
“You have a very efficient secretary,” Felicity said. “What is her name again?”
“Oh, no you don’t. You’ll hire her for some secret mission.”
“I might just do that,” she replied, sipping her orange juice.
“I’m not telling you her name.”
“It’s Joan.”
“I’m not telling you her last name.”
“Oh, come on, Stone.”
“I’ll tell you if you’ll tell me why you and/or the Foreign Office want to find Stanley Whitestone.”
“That’s just eating you up inside, isn’t it?”
“It is. And I think I deserve to know.”
“Hah!”
“Tell me,” he said, kissing her on the ear.
“Let’s not bring sex into this,” she said.
“Why not? Sex goes with everything.” He kissed her on the neck and ran a hand under the covers.
She turned toward him. “Maybe,” she said, “when we’re finished.”
THREE-QUARTERS OF AN hour later, Stone lay panting and sweating. “All right,” he said. “Tell me why you and/or the Foreign Office want to find Stanley Whitestone.”
“I didn’t say I’d tell you that.”
“Oh, yes, you did.”
“I said maybe.”
“The implication was that, if I performed well, you’d tell me.”
“You may have inferred that; I certainly didn’t imply it.”
“All right, my participation in this project ends now.”
“What are you going to do about your dinner party?”
“I’m going to use it to cement the relationship between Hackett and Eggers, so I’ll get a nice bonus. I’m not going to bother to get Hackett’s fingerprints.”
Felicity leaned over and kissed his penis, then slipped it between her lips.
“That’s not fair,” Stone breathed.
“I can stop at any time,” Felicity said, pausing.
“Don’t stop.”
“You’ll get Hackett’s prints?”
“Yes.”
Felicity continued.
32
Stone had his bill typed up and handed it to Felicity on her way out. “You’ll expedite it?” he asked.
“I said I would.”
“Paid in days, not weeks?”
“Probably.”
“What?”
“I can do only so much. As it is, I’ll have to phone the foreign minister personally. I may not be available for dinner tonight.”
“You know where to find me.”
“Thank God I like the food at Elaine’s,” she said, and headed for the ambassador’s Rolls.
Stone walked back to his office to find Joan waiting for him.
“Here,” she said, placing a pile of papers on his desk, “these are the closing documents for Herbie’s new penthouse.”
“When is the closing?”
She looked at her watch. “In eight minutes.”
“Does Herbie know?”
“He’s waiting outside, clutching a cashier’s check for three million one hundred fifty thousand dollars. He wanted to bring cash, but I wouldn’t let him.”
“Why did he want to bring cash?”
“He had some idea that the IRS would find out about the apartment.”
“Why would they care?”
“I tried to explain that they wouldn’t be interested, but he wouldn’t believe me.”
“Send him in.”
Herbie appeared at the door in another new suit, and his hair had grown out enough to make him look like a normal person. “Hey, Stone,” he said.
“Come in, Herbie, and sit down.” Herbie sat down. “What’s all this about the IRS?”
“I just don’t want them to know that I own an expensive apartment.”
“Why not?”
“What if they try to take it away from me?”
“Why would they do that?”
“To make me pay my taxes.”
“Herbie, when the lottery people gave you the check, they paid both the state and federal taxes on that income in full.”