“Sure. I guess so.”
“They’ve got some private rooms here; maybe we’ll do that.”
“Fine by me.”
They got up and walked to the front door; there was a silver Rolls-Royce, the new one built by BMW, waiting at the curb, a uniformed chauffeur braced with the door open.
“Drop you someplace, Bob?”
“Nah, it’s a nice day; I think I’ll walk for a while.”
“I’ll be in touch,” Crow said, shaking his hand.
“Might be nice to see the old crowd at that,” Cantor said, waving good-bye and turning up Fifty-second Street, toward
Fifth Avenue, while Crow’s Rolls glided toward Sixth.
Cantor had no doubt that Charlie wasn’t going to arrange a class reunion. “I wonder what that guy is up to,” he said aloud to himself. He looked back toward Sixth Avenue and saw the Rolls turn the corner, so he crossed the street and went into a parking garage. He checked the recorder in his van and found that it had worked perfectly.
27
Stone waited until after lunch to call Carla.
“Hello?” She didn’t sound sleepy.
“I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve been awake for all of ten minutes.”
“Well, you worked late.”
“So I did. Why did you sneak out without waking me?”
“Because you worked late. Anyway, I kissed you before I left, but you didn’t notice.”
“Liar. I would have noticed.”
“Before we go on with this, when are you going to break your news to Harlan?”
“I’m having a drink with him early this evening, before I go on. Don’t worry, he’ll take it like a man.”
“What does that mean?”
“He’ll look shocked and hurt, then he’ll go out and get laid.”
“Oh. In that case, do you ever get an evening off from your gig?”
“Three of them. I only work four days a week.”
“Want to drive up to Connecticut on Sunday and stay for a night or two?”
“As long as we don’t leave before three o’clock.”
“Three it is. I’ll call you when I’m five minutes from the hotel. I’ll be in an evil-looking black Mercedes, at the Seventy-sixth Street entrance.”
“What clothes shall I bring?”
“Tweeds.”