Dirty Work (Stone Barrington 9)

“Don’t take that tone with me, young man,” Eggers said, raising himself erect in mock dudgeon. “It’s work, and somebody has to do it.”

Stone sighed. “I suppose I could find somebody.”

Eggers looked at him sharply. “You’re not thinking of doing this yourself, are you? I mean, there are heights involved here, and you’re not as young as you used to be.”

“I am not thinking of doing it myself, but I’m certainly in good enough shape to,” Stone said. “What kind of heights are we talking about?”

“The roof of a six-story town house, shooting through a conveniently located skylight.”

“There is no such thing as a conveniently located skylight, if you’re the one doing the climbing,” Stone said.

“You’d need someone . . . spry,” Eggers said, “and the term hardly applies to the cops and ex-cops you mingle with.”

At that moment, as if to make Eggers’s point, Stone’s former partner from his NYPD days, Dino Bacchetti, walked through the front door and headed for Stone’s table.

“If you see what I mean,” Eggers said.

Stone held up a hand, stopping Dino in his tracks, then a finger, turning him toward the bar.

“I get your point,” Stone said. “I’ll see who I can come up with.”

“You don’t have a lot of time,” Eggers said. “It’s at nine o’clock tomorrow night.”

“What’s at nine o’clock tomorrow night?”

“The assignation. Larry Fortescue has an appointment with a masseuse who, I understand, routinely massages more than his neck muscles. Elena would like some very clear photographs of that service being performed.”

“Let me see what I can do,” Stone said.

Eggers tossed off the remainder of his Scotch and placed a folded sheet of paper on the table. “I knew you would grasp the nettle,?

? he said, standing up. “The address of the building is on the paper. I’ll need the prints and negatives by noon the day after tomorrow.”

“What’s the rush?”

“Elena Marks is accustomed to instant gratification.”

“But not from Larry?”

“You are quick, Stone. Nighty-night.” He slapped Dino on the back as he passed the bar on his way to the door.

Dino came over, licking Scotch off his hand, where Eggers had spilled it. He flopped into a chair. “So what was that about?” he asked, pointing his chin at Eggers’s disappearing back.

“Dirty work,” Stone said.

2

Dino patted the rest of the spilled Scotch off his hand with a cocktail napkin. “Is there any other kind?”

“Sure there is, and they give me plenty of it,” Stone said defensively.

“How dirty?”

“Just slightly grubby; I don’t have to kill anybody.”

“And who are you going to get to do it?”

“Well, Teddy’s dead, so I guess I’d better call Bob Cantor,” Stone said, digging out his cell phone and switching it on.