Cold Paradise (Stone Barrington 7)

“First, let’s get you all secured, and then I’ll tell you,” the man said. “Get down on your knees, rest your head on the armrest and put your hands behind you.” He nudged Stone’s ribs with the gun barrel for emphasis.

Stone did as he was told, and in a moment, he was handcuffed.

“All right, now you can sit back up here,” the man said.

His accent was Southern, sort of educated redneck, Stone thought. “So what’s this about?” he asked again.

“First, let’s get the introductions out of the way,” the man said. “You can call me Larry, and the feller driving is Ernest. And you would be one Mr. Stone Barrington.”

“How do you do?” Stone said.

“I do pretty good,” Larry replied. “Now, as to what this is about, we’re going to take a little drive out in the country, and then we’re gonna make a phone call.” His tone was pleasant, conversational. “I don’t enjoy putting violence on folks, so I’d ’preciate it if you wouldn’t make that necessary. I can do it, if the need arises.”

“All right, I’ll behave,” Stone lied. He was going to get out of this at the first opportunity, and he was beginning to regret that he had gotten into the car without a fight. The rubber gloves were weighing heavily on his mind.

Shortly, they were in West Palm, driving west on one of its broad boulevards. “You were saying?” Stone asked.

“Oh, yeah. A friend of mine called me a couple of days ago and asked me to come down here and shoot your ass.”

“What friend is that?”

“Does it matter? He’s paying me and Ernest, here, fifty big ones to deal with you, and that’s the most I ever got for a hit.”

They stopped at a traffic light, and a police car pulled up next to them.

Larry stuck the gun in Stone’s crotch. “Don’t you even think about it,” he said. “They can’t see us, and if they hear something, then I’m going to have to do you and the cop. Besides, wouldn’t you rather die with your dick still on?”

Stone didn’t answer that. “I’d like to know who your friend is,” he said.

“I don’t think you’d recognize the name,” Larry said. “He uses a lot of them.”

“What does he look like, then?”

“Tall feller, going gray.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Manning.”

“Manning? If you say so.”

“Funny thing is, I was about to try and give Mr. Manning a whole lot of money. Tell you what: Why don’t you call him right now and tell him that? It might have an effect on the outcome of your day and mine.”

“And why would you want to give him a lot of money?” Larry asked.

“I’m a lawyer. I represent a lady he knows. She’s willing to pay a large sum to get him to go away.”

“How much money we talking about?” Larry asked, clearly interested.

“She’s willing to give him a million dollars,” Stone said, “maybe more.” But not now, Stone thought. She won’t give him a fucking penny, if I have anything to say about it.

“You really expect me to believe that.”

“You don’t have to. Just make the call, and I’ll make him believe it.”

“What’s in it for me?” Larry asked.

“How much has he paid you so far?” Stone asked.

“Twenty-five thousand,” Larry replied. “There’s another twenty-five due when he shoots you.”