“Hello?”
“Mr. Barrington?”
“Yes.”
“This is Onofrio Ippolito. How are you?”
“I’m very well, Mr. Ippolito. I’m surprised to hear from you; hardly anyone knows I’m staying at the Bel-Air.”
“It’s a small town.”
“I suppose so.”
“I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk more at dinner at Vance’s house. David Sturmack tells me you’re going to be doing some work for him in New York.”
“We discussed it.”
“I have many interests in New York, too; I wonder if we might talk about your doing some work for me?”
“Of course.”
“Tell you what; I’m giving a dinner party on my yacht this evening. Why don’t you come to dinner, and we’ll find a few minutes to talk privately.”
“I’d be delighted.”
“The yacht is moored off Catalina Island, so if you’ll be at Marina Del Rey at eight o’clock, I’ll see that you’re ferried out there.”
“Fine.”
Ippolito gave him a slip number and a boat’s name, Maria. “I’ll look forward to seeing you,” he said.
“Thank you; I’ll see you this evening.”
Stone hung up the phone and sat back. Time to face the man and ask some direct questions. In the meantime, he thought, he’d have a swim. He got up and went to look for a robe.
30
Stone arrived at Marina Del Rey at a little after eight and parked the car. He had dressed in one of his new Purple Label suits, dark blue with a white pinstripe, and had wom one of the new Sea Island cotton shirts and a new tie. He would probably e overdressed at the dinner party, but better that than underdressed.
He walked down the ramp and along the pontoons, looking for the berth number he had been given. The light was going now, and as he passed the pontoon where Paloma was berthed, he noticed no lights were on. Maybe he’d see Barbara and her boyfriend at dinner. He finally found the correct pontoon and worked his way down the berth numbers until he came to Maria, a sports fisherman of thirty-odd feet, complete with a tall flying bridge. Standing in the stem of the boat was one of the two men who had followed him in the Lincoln.
Stone experienced an urge to turn around and walk the other way, but before he could, the man smiled and spoke.
“Mr. Barrington? We’ve been waiting for you; come aboard, please.”
Stone walked up the small gangplank.
“I’m Manny,” the man said, as another man came up from below. “This is Vinnie. We both work for Mr. Ippolito.”
Vincent Mancuso stuck out a hand, and Stone shook it. After all, they had never been formally introduced. “We’re all ready,” Vinnie said. He turned, switched on the ignition, and started the engines, while Manny dealt with the gangplank and the mooring lines.
“Where’s Mr. Ippolito,” Stone asked, “and the other guests?”
Vinnie put the throttles ahead, and the boat moved out of the berth. “Most of the guests are already aboard the big boat. Mr. Ippolito and the others are choppering out from a meeting downtown.”
“Can I get you something to drink?” Manny asked.
“A beer would be good.”