“Tell me about Brubeck and Parisi the elder,” Stone said.
“They’re from the old-time mob tradition,” Dino replied. “Parisi’s father was Carlo Parisi—remember him?”
“The Butcher of Brooklyn? We were younger then.”
“Wasn’t everybody? Bowsprit Beverages was the old man’s business,” Dino said, “under another name. He delivered bootleg booze out of there in the twenties, slot machines and jukeboxes in the fifties, drugs in the sixties.”
“What’s the current Parisi dealing in?”
“Anything he can think of, apparently. Our organized crime division likes him for a couple of murders, too. Brubeck is the accountant and runs the legit stuff. He has a family connection, too, but he’s the more refined, commuter stiff from New Jersey. Parisi, on the other hand, remains ungentrified.”
“I guess I’m out of touch,” Stone said. “I didn’t know those guys still existed.”
“Parisi is doing what he can to uphold the family tradition. Brubeck just wants to make money and give it to his synagogue.”
“Haven’t you got enough on Parisi to send him up?”
“Parisi may be crude, but he’s not stupid. The call he made from his car was to a throwaway cell phone. He doesn’t care if we know what he does, as long as we don’t have enough evidence to convict him of it.”
“What about Ryan and Parisi the younger?”
“They’re carried on Bowsprit’s books as soft drink salesmen: you don’t need a license for that. They’re the kind of salesmen who walk into a joint and tell the manager he’s taking twenty cases of diet soda this week, whether he needs it or not. If he doesn’t buy, they break a bar mirror, and he signs the order, knowing it’ll be an arm next time and his neck the time after that.”
“What’s the relation between the two Parisis?”
“Father and son—the boy is Alfredo, called Al.”
“And the son continues the tradition?”
“I don’t think Al is being groomed for greatness. Gino must have married stupid—genes will tell every time.”
They ordered dinner.
“So, should I go armed?”
“It couldn’t hurt.”
“For how long?”
“Until somebody zips Gino Parisi into a body bag.”
“Swell.”
As Dino’s car dropped Stone at home his cell phone rang.
“Hello?”
“It’s Caroline. Where are you?”
“Just arrived home from dinner with a buddy. You want to know what I’m wearing?”
“I don’t care what you’re wearing, I just want to tear it off.”
“Will right now do?”
“Right now is good. I’m on my way.” She hung up.
—
She was there in ten minutes, and it took them another three to make it upstairs and into bed. “I knew you’d be ready,” she said, biting him on a nipple. “I’m beginning to think you’re a sex addict, too.”
“I think I’m well on the road,” he replied, between deep breaths.
“I’ll do everything I can to help.”
“You’re helping right now,” he said, turning her over onto her belly.
—
When they had exhausted each other Stone remembered to thank her for the roses.
“You’re welcome,” she said. “I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t grateful.”
“You’re the most grateful woman I’ve ever known,” Stone said. “By the way, we have to take some precautions.”
“Nope, I had an IUD installed years ago.”
“That’s not what I mean. I have a client who is in a business that some mob guys don’t want him to be in. They pushed him, and on his behalf, I pushed back, a little harder than I intended.”
“Do I want to know the details of all this?”
“You do not—you may not. The upshot is, it’s their turn to push again, and I’ll be going armed for a while.”
“Armed with what?”
“A very nice little .45.”
“What do you mean by ‘little’?”
“Nineteen ounces.”
“You mean you had a thirty-nine-ounce piece whittled down?”
“No, it was custom-made.”
“Let me see it.”
“What do you know about guns?”
“Everything I need to know. I had a daddy who loved them.”
Stone got out of bed, went to his safe, got out the little Terry Tussey .45, popped the magazine, locked the slide open, and took it back to her.
She examined it carefully, unlocked the slide, and aimed it at something. “It’s beautiful,” she said, “but with a barrel that short I wouldn’t expect to hit anything much beyond my reach.”
“With a little practice, you’d improve. I’m okay with it up to about fifteen feet if I have time to aim, eight or ten feet if I don’t.”
“Are these the kind of guys who are going to wait around for you to aim?”
“I don’t think they’ll want to kill me—that’s a lot of trouble, and a murder creates a lot of unnecessary risk. More likely they’ll just want to show me the business end of a baseball bat.”
She ran her finger down his nose. “Keep them away from this,” she said. “I like it.” She reached lower. “And especially away from this.”
“You don’t think a broken nose would add character to my bland face?”
“It’s got enough character. Why are you telling me about this?”
“Because I don’t want you to get in the middle.”
“Sometimes I like it in the middle.”
“Not that kind of middle. I don’t want you to get between me and some thug.”
“You mean it would hurt you more than it would hurt me?”
“Exactly.”
“How do you propose we deal with this?”
“Well, I don’t think they could get into the house, and certainly not into this room.”
“So we just send out for pizza and Chinese?”
“For a while. And when you come over I’ll send Fred for you.”
“He looks a little small for that kind of job,” she said.
“Don’t underestimate him. He’s a former Royal Marine commando and a dead shot, and he has a carry license. The car is armored, too.”
“What are you doing with an armored car?”
“It was accidental,” Stone said. “A while back I made a little money, and I thought I’d buy a Mercedes. I went into the dealership and they had a lightly armored E55 on the floor. A guy in some sort of rough business had ordered it, but it arrived a few days late, so I bought it from his widow. Later on I totaled it, and a friend in the security business had an armored Bentley in their garage and gave me a deal on it.”
“What will it stop?”
“Small-arms fire, through the glass or the doors, and a not-too-big bomb underneath.”
“That sounds very comforting. I have a range license, so I can get away with carrying in my purse.”
“What do you carry?”
“A little Colt .380.”
“The Government model?”
“Yep.”
“Very nice. I have one of those, too. Remember, you can’t carry it loaded, and the magazine can’t be in the same bag as the gun.”
“Got it.”
“I forgot to ask: Did you eat?”
“How soon you forget!”
Caroline stayed for breakfast and one more roll in the hay, then she showered and took off for work.