D.C. Dead (Stone Barrington 22)

“Well, hello, stranger. How long has it been?”

“Uh, night before last?”

“Oh, right. I’m beginning to feel that I’m on a Stone-restricted diet.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want you to feel deprived. How about tonight?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Room service and what you once so charmingly referred to as a ‘bounce.’”

“Oh, yes, I think I remember.”

“I should bloody well hope so,” Stone said, contriving to sound hurt.

“Ah, yes, it’s coming back to me, now. That sounds like a good plan. You know those vodka gimlets you make at home?”

“I believe I recall the consumption of vodka gimlets.”

“Do you think you could make some for tonight?”

“I think I can manage to remember the recipe.”

“Oh, good. What is the recipe?”

“You’ll have to screw that out of me tonight, so to speak.”

“I’ll look forward to it. Is eight o’clock all right? I have to clear my desktop of some 1crap.”

“Eight will be just long enough for the gimlets to get frosty, before your arrival.”

“Until then, then.”

“Until then.” Stone hung up. “Oh, shit,” he said aloud to himself, then pressed the redial button.

“It’s me again,” she said.

“It’s me again, too. I forgot to ask you about something.”

“Does it involve national security?”

Stone thought about that. “I don’t know, but, as Fats Waller used to say, ‘One never knows, do one?’”

“Unlike yourself, I’m not old enough to remember who Fats Waller is, or was.”

“Was. The composer of ‘Honeysuckle Rose’ and a very great pianist.”

“Oh, yes. What was it you wanted to know?”

“Do you have any contacts at the DCPD?”

“That depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“Whether what you want to know from them is important enough for me to use up a favor over there.”

“Well, it’s important to me, since they may very well still consider me a suspect in the murder of Milly Hart. Is that important enough to use up a favor?”