“I never said—” Ham began.
“Oh, shut up, Ham. You’re transparent.” She turned to Stone. “Ham has suddenly decided it’s time I got married. I think he wants grandchildren.”
“Now, I—”
“Well, not much chance of that, Ham.”
“I can live without grandchildren,” Ham said. “You do what you want. That’ll make me happy.”
“I want Trini Rodriguez, and I don’t want to wait another couple of days for the FBI to spirit him out of town. You know they’re not going to hand him to me, don’t you, Stone?”
“I wouldn’t think so,” Stone replied. “You got any ideas?”
“Well, I can canvas Little Italy for him again.”
“I may have a better idea,” Stone said.
It had been quite some time since Stone had visited the old man in the outer reaches of Brooklyn, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. He finally decided that what had made him reluctant was not the father, but the daughter who was locked in an upstairs room of his house.
He parked his car and was met at the front door by Pete, the short, thick former hoodlum who served as Eduardo Bianchi’s butler and bodyguard.
“Long time,” Pete said.
“Yeah,” Stone said, and followed the man through the house and out into the back garden, where Eduardo sat at a wrought-iron table, wearing a dark suit, as was his custom. He rose to meet Stone, and it took him a little longer than on Stone’s last visit. “How are you, Stone?” Eduardo asked.
“I’m fine, Eduardo. Are you well?”
“I’m better than a person of my years can reasonably expect to be. Please sit down. Lunch will be here soon.”
“You look wonderful.” Stone paused. “And how is Dolce?” Dolce was Eduardo’s youngest daughter, to whom Stone had once been married for a few minutes before she had degenerated into a murderous psychotic.
“I wish I could tell you she was well,” Eduardo replied, “but she’s not. Her condition has worsened to the point where she has tried to kill everyone who has anything to do with her, including me. She has a degenerative brain disease, something like Alzheimer’s, that has caused all her behavior. Now she doesn’t even recognize her family. I’ve had to have her removed to a facility where she can be made comfortable and where she can be secured from harming herself or others.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” Stone said. “She was a beautiful and intelligent girl.”
“My mother died the same way,” Eduardo said, “and an aunt of hers, as well. Of course, they didn’t understand the reason in those days. It seems to be passed down to one daughter in each generation, so Anna Maria will be all right.” Anna Maria, who was married to Dino, preferred to be called Mary Ann.
“It’s a tragic situation.”
“Yes, and thankfully, rare. Anna Maria has told me that she plans to have no more children, for fear of having a daughter, so the disease will die out with Dolce.”
“I didn’t know about this.”
“Neither does Dino,” Eduardo said. “I would be grateful if you would not tell him. I don’t want him to be worried.”
“As you wish.”
Lunch arrived, and Stone labored through three courses of old-fashioned Italian cooking, doing the best he could.
When the dishes had been cleared away, and Pete had brought them small glasses of Strega, Eduardo turned to Stone. “Now, why have you come to see me? I believe you must need my help.”
“Yes, I do,” Stone said, “for a friend. I want to locate someone who is hiding in the . . . Italian community in New York.”
“For what purpose?”
“So that he can be tried and imprisoned.”
Eduardo shrugged. “I appreciate your candor, but that is not the sort of reason that would engender cooperation in the community.”