Worst Fears Realized (Stone Barrington 5)

“You Stone Barrington?” the man asked.

“Yes.”

The man came down the steps and walked to the office door. “I tried to call you a couple times, but you weren’t answering the phone. My name is John Donato; does that mean anything to you?”

“I don’t think so,” Stone said, then, just as the man spoke again, he remembered.

“Funny, it ought to, since you been screwing my wife.”

“Ah, yes,” Stone said. “I know who you are, and you shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”

“I know Dolce,” Donato said, “and I ain’t jumping to any conclusions. You’re screwing her, all right, and I thought I would warn you just once before I stick a gun in your ear and blow your brains out.”

Stone snapped, throwing aside his lawyerly restraint. “Now, you listen to me, you dumb goombah,” he said. “I know exactly who you are; you’re the cheap, two-bit hood who used to be married to a girl who was way above you, and while you were married to her you spent most of your time screwing around with other women, so don’t come around here bitching to me about your marital rights.”

Donato took a step back, then he unbuttoned his jacket and opened it so that Stone could see the pistol under his arm. “You see that?” he asked.

“Yeah, I see it,” Stone said, unbuttoning his own jacket. “You see this?”

Donato blinked and stepped back again.

Stone took out his badge and flashed it. “And do you see this? It means that I can have half a dozen cops on your case with a single phone call. How would you like that? Or would you like to have the feds crawling all over your concrete business? I can arrange that, too. Are you beginning to get the picture?”

Donato looked a little shaken. He turned and walked back to the sidewalk. “You just remember that, as long as I’m around, Dolce is a married woman,” he said. Then he crossed the street, got into a waiting car, and drove away.

Stone went back inside, slamming the door behind him. His residence phone was ringing, and he pushed that button on his desk phone. “Hello?” he said, irritably.

“Well, don’t bite my head off,” Dolce said.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to do that.”

“I got your note, and I’m very sad; I wanted you here when I got home.”

“Dolce, I really needed to get home. Good news: the man who has been trying to kill Dino and me and everyone we know, is dead. He was shot while in police custody.”

“That is good news,” she said. “Then it’s all over?”

“No, we haven’t got Mitteldorfer, and there appears to be one other man involved. Watch the six o’clock news.”

“Can I come over there and watch it?” she asked, her voice low.

“Sweetheart, I need a night off. I’ve got a grand-jury appearance first thing in the morning, and I need to think about my testimony.”

“Stone,” she purred, “just because you had a problem last night doesn’t mean you’ll have one tonight. Why don’t I come over and cook you something?”

At the mention of cooking, Stone weakened. “Okay, let me give you the address.”

“I have the address,” she said. “I’ll bring groceries, you do the wine.”

“What time?”

“Give me an hour or so.”

“Take your time; I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know you’re not,” she said.

Stone returned a few phone calls, then went to the cellar and chose some wines. That done, he went upstairs and changed into comfortable clothing, switching on the bedroom TV. The story was all over the tube, with the photograph of Mitteldorfer and a modified sketch of the second Hausman. He hoped to God they would get some more calls from that. The phone rang.