A woman came into Stone’s office, and Pablo introduced his wife, a petite, beautiful woman about twenty years Pablo’s junior.
“I’ll drive you to Oxford tomorrow,” Stone said. “You two can stay here tonight.”
“I think we’ll be fine at our New York apartment,” Pablo said. “I’ve never told anybody about it, and my security people will be there.”
Joan buzzed. “A Mr. Aaron Beck to see you,” she said.
“Quick,” Stone said to the couple, “out the back. You know the way through the garden, Pablo.”
Pablo and his wife hurried out of his office, and Stone asked Joan to send in Mr. Beck.
Moishe Aarons walked in, followed by two large young men.
“Mr. Aarons,” Stone said sarcastically, “what a nice surprise.”
“Where is Pablo?” Aarons asked.
“Are you going to start that again?” Stone asked, opening his center desk drawer and extracting a pad and pen. He left the drawer open.
“Mr. Barrington,” Aarons said, “you have exhausted my patience.”
“And you, mine,” Stone replied.
“Search the house,” Aarons said, motioning the two men forward.
Stone produced a .45 semiautomatic from his desk drawer. “Hold it right there,” he said.
“You’re not going to fire at us,” Aarons said, but he didn’t move.
“I can shoot all three of you dead before you can move, and nobody will blame me. You are intruders and I am licensed for the weapon.”
“I’m licensed, too,” Joan said from the door, and she racked the slide on her own .45.
The three men turned and looked at her. She had assumed a firing stance.
Aarons turned back toward Stone. “I want Pablo,” he said.
“Well, you can’t have him,” Stone replied. “At least, not from me. Try Lance Cabot again; he seems to be a productive source for you.”
“I don’t have time,” Aarons replied.
“And I don’t have any more time for you,” Stone said. “Now, hear this: from this moment I am going to consider you and your people a threat to my life and act accordingly, and I am a very good shot.” That was a lie, but he doubted if Aarons had perused his range record at the NYPD. Dino was always needling him about his mediocre shooting performance.
“Place your hands on your head, turn and walk out of the building,” Stone said. “If you call again I’ll hang up on you, and if you come back I’ll fire on you. Is that clear?”
The three men did as Stone had ordered, and Joan locked the door behind them.
“Very good,” Stone said from his office door. “I particularly liked your firing stance.”
“That’s what they taught me at the range,” Joan said, “but I doubt if I could have hit any of them with this thing; it weighs a ton.”
“Only thirty-nine ounces,” Stone said.
“That’s two and a half pounds,” Joan pointed out, “and I’m a small girl.”
The phone rang, and Joan answered. “Mike Freeman for you,” she said.
Stone walked back to his desk and picked up the phone. “Hello?”