Swimming to Catalina (Stone Barrington 4)

“No, but they might send a cleanup crew.”

“Jesus, I hadn’t thought of that; I’d better get out of there fast.”

“You need a place? I live about three blocks from here; my kid’s in college, you can have his room.”

“Thanks, but I’d rather stick with hotels; I’ll let you know where I am.” Stone pulled out his cell phone and switched it on; it lit up, as usual. “Son of a bitch, it still works. I’ll have to write Motorola a nice letter.”

“I can check with you on that number?”

“Yep.”

“Anything else?”

“Rick, can you get hold of a handgun for me?”

“Something untraceable, I suppose.”

“I’d rather not fill out any federal forms.”

“Stone, are you planning to shoot somebody?”

“Not at the moment, but you never know.”

34

Stone got himself out of Le Parc as fast as he could, first calling the Beverly Hills Hotel for a reservation. He might as well be comfortable, he thought, and hide in plain sight. He checked into a small suite and rang for the valet.

“Yes, sir?” the man said when Stone opened the door.

Stone held up his sodden suit, which he had hung on a hanger, and his shoes, into which he had inserted trees. “Do you think you can do anything with these?”

The man gingerly lifted a sleeve and sniffed it. “Salt water?” he asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Stone said. “A boating accident.”

“I’ll have to soak it in fresh water first, to get out the salt, and then press it several times as it dries.”

“Can I hope for the best?” Stone asked.

“You can always hope, sir, but I won’t make any rash promises.”

“Do the best you can,” Stone said, slipping the man fifty.

“I most certainly will, sir.”

The man disappeared, and Stone closed the door. He got some more sleep, and late in the afternoon took a call from Rick Grant.

“I got the meet set up with my FBI guy, but it’s going to cost you an expensive dinner.”

“Fine; where?”

“Place called Michael’s, in Santa Monica, seven o’clock.” He gave Stone the address and directions.

Refreshed and rested, Stone was at Michael’s on time; Rick and another man were waiting for him at a table in a lovely garden.

“Stone, this is Hank Cable,” Grant said.

Stone shook hands with the FBI agent.