Dirty Work (Stone Barrington 9)

Dino put his gun away and stepped inside. “Lucky for you,” he said. “I was going to shoot you.”

“No, you weren’t,” Stone said, getting into the elevator.

“Oh, yes I was,” Dino replied. “I wasn’t about to shinny down that drainpipe.”

“Neither was I,” Stone pointed out.

“That’s why I was going to shoot you.”

Downstairs they got into another cab and got out in front of a photo shop on Third Avenue. Dino went inside and walked over to the one-hour processing machine, flashing his badge.

Stone handed him the film cartridge.

“I want this developed right now—two sets of five-by-seven prints, and don’t you look at them,” Dino said.

“Make it three sets,” Stone said.

“Yes, sir,” the kid behind the counter said. He took the film and went to work.

“How long is this going to take?” Stone asked.

The kid pointed at the one-hour sign. “An hour,” he said.

“It better not,” Dino said.

Ten minutes later, the kid was holding up a strip of film to the light. “There are only four frames exposed,” he said.

“Stop looking at them and make the prints,” Dino said.

Ten more minutes and they had the prints.

“Can I drop you?” Stone said, giving the cabbie Elena Marks’s address.

“You betcha,” Dino replied. “Gimme my prints.”

Stone gave Dino a set, put a set in his raincoat pocket, along with the negatives, and looked at the third set.

“What a fucking mess,” Dino said. “You couldn’t nail anybody in a divorce with these. In this one, he’s lying on his belly. In these three, he’s got his arm over his face, and in all of them her head blocks his crotch. For all we can see, she might have been giving him a legit massage. Where’d this kid learn his photography, in juvenile hall?”

Stone looked at the fourth photograph. The woman was looking up at the skylight. It was the only shot that showed part of her face. She had long, dark hair and, from what he could see, was attractive. “Not bad,” he said.

“Yeah,” Dino agreed. “What you can see, anyway.”

The cab stopped on Dino’s corner, and he got out.

“What are you going to do with the photographs?” Stone asked through the window.

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Don’t give them to the Feds.”

“I never give anything to the Feds without a court order and a gun at my head,” Dino replied, walking away.

11

The cab took Stone to 1111 Fifth Avenue, near the Metropolitan Museum. Bill Eggers was waiting for him.

“Thank God you’re on time,” he said. “Now listen, when we get upstairs, I’ll do the talking. You just keep your mouth shut and nod a lot.”