Kisser (Stone Barrington 17)

“Sure did. I don’t want him messing with my retirement pay.”

“I’m sure that’s beneath him.”

“It’s not beneath Brian Doyle, who hates me because I make more money than he does.”

“I’m sure that’s not the only reason.”

“If I talk about this anymore, I’m going to throw up,” he said.

“Again. Will you drive me downtown? It seems to be raining outside.”

“Oh, all right,” she said, putting on her raincoat.

Stone found his trench coat and an umbrella and followed her to the garage.

MORE THAN slightly damp, Stone stood in the line at the metal detector and waited while a woman emptied her handbag onto a steel table and then put everything back, one item at a time. He was cold from the heavy rain, and his trench coat was soaked, being very old and no longer waterproof.

He emptied his pockets into the tray, put his umbrella on the conveyer belt into the X-ray machine, and passed through the metal detector. Beep. He took off his belt; the large silver buckle must have set it off. Beep.

“Take off your shoes,” the uniformed woman said. “Sometimes it picks up the nails in the heels.”

Stone took off his shoes, put them on the conveyer belt, and stepped through the metal detector again. No beep.

The guard at the X-ray machine pushed his shoes toward him with the back of his hand. “You always wear two different shoes?” he asked.

Stone stared at his shoes. The man was right: one black and one brown. “Only when it’s raining,” he said.

He got his shoes back on over socks that were wet from treading in the pool of water that other people had left behind and went upstairs in the elevator. He found the office and presented himself to a receptionist who reported his presence.

“You may go in,” she said.

Stone opened one of the double doors that led into a large corner office, furnished in the federal government’s best taste plus a few personal touches from Tiffany. She sat with her long legs propped on her huge desk, reading glasses poised on her nose, a thick document in her lap.

“You’re ten minutes early,” she said.

Stone looked at his wrist, but there was nothing there. “I seem to have forgotten to wear a watch.”

She peered at him over her glasses.

“What?”

“The phrase ‘death warmed over’ comes to mind.”

Tiffany got up and led him to a sofa at the other end of the room. “Let’s sit here for our meeting.” She sat down, crossed her legs, and leaned into him.

The phone on the coffee table buzzed. Saved, Stone thought. He got up and moved to a chair beside the sofa.

“Send them in,” Tiffany said into the phone.

The door opened and Brian Doyle entered, accompanied by Mitzi and the loyal Tom.

Tiffany got up and greeted them. “I suppose you all know Stone,” she said.

“Yeah, sure,” Doyle replied, and Mitzi gave Stone a big smile. They sat down and looked at each other.

“I think we should wait for the commissioner to arrive before we start,” she said.

There was a knock at the door, and a secretary opened it and stepped back. “The commissioner,” she said.