—
TOMMY WAS GETTING bored. He considered going down there, letting himself into the room, and shooting both of them at the table, but then the waiter returned, removed some of their dishes, and set new ones before them. Also, it would be unprofessional to make that sort of mess. He’d rather the bodies were discovered the following morning, when the maid entered to clean the suite.
* * *
—
“I’VE HAD FIFTEEN or twenty e-mails trying to sell me a private jet,” Meg said.
“That’s something you should consider,” Stone replied. “You’ve already seen, flying with me, how convenient it is to have your own airplane at your disposal.”
“I have indeed,” she said. “What would your recommendation be?”
“Your first consideration should be how far you are likely to fly and how often. Will your work take you, say, to Europe or the Far East, or will you most often just fly between San Francisco and New York?”
“I don’t anticipate flying to the Far East, but I would like to travel in Europe.”
“Well, a Citation Latitude will get you to London or Paris from New York, or to Hawaii from San Francisco.”
“And how much does it cost?”
“Between fifteen and twenty million, I should think, depending on the equipment you choose.”
* * *
—
TOMMY WAS CONSIDERING shooting them again, but the waiter kept coming and going, and shooting him, too, seemed excessive. After all, he was being paid to shoot only one person.
* * *
—
THE WAITER TOOK the tray table away and put the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door. Meg took Stone by the hand and led him into the bedroom, where she proceeded to undress him.
* * *
—
TOMMY HAD BEEN prepared to go downstairs as soon as the waiter was out of the picture, but now they were in the bedroom, and he thought he might as well watch the sex. As she undressed him, he caught sight of a shoulder-holstered pistol. He wasn’t going into that room if the guy was armed.
* * *
—
SOON THEY were both naked and Meg led him to the bed and climbed on top of him. “Now,” she said, “let’s consider our options.”
* * *
—
TOMMY SIGHED and settled down to watch the sex. He was not disappointed with what he saw.
* * *
—
“IF YOU LIKE, I can recommend a consultant who will, for a fee, help you choose what you need in terms of speed, range, and accommodations.”
42
Tommy woke up a little after seven AM; the camera was still on in the bedroom, and Harmon and Barrington were just waking up, too. In a moment, they were at it again.
* * *
—
TOMMY WATCHED the performance and was again impressed. Then they phoned down for breakfast and did it again while they waited for room service. Tommy shaved, showered, and dressed and checked the camera again. They were finishing breakfast and talking about getting up. The man went to take a shower, and Ms. Harmon lay naked on the bed.
Tommy heard the newspapers slide under the door, and he picked up the Daily News. There was a picture of a girl in a bikini, but a headline caught his eye. SUSPECT IN BELLINI MURDER IS RELEASED. Bellini? Who Bellini? Tommy turned to the designated inside page and read the brief story.
The chief suspect in the murders of Gino and Veronica Bellini was released from jail yesterday, after a judge ruled that there was insufficient evidence to hold him. It is feared that Boris Ivanov, a Russian in the employ of that country’s UN mission, may have fled the country.
Tommy stopped reading. “Fucking Gino is dead?” he asked himself. He read the remainder of the short piece. Fucking Gino was, indeed, dead. He put down the paper and thought about things. Gino must have sent him the package shortly before he cashed in his chips; Tommy was working for a dead guy. He considered the ethics of his situation.
First of all, the guy in Ms. Harmon’s suite was probably Stone Barrington, the man at whose house she had been staying. Tommy knew nothing about him, had nothing against him, and was not being paid to kill him. Also, with two murders being investigated, his chances of being caught increased.
Second, if he didn’t kill the woman, there would be no investigation at all; he could just go home, forget the whole thing, and spend the money. Fuck Gino. Maybe he would come back to haunt him, but he doubted it.
Then Tommy heard Barrington’s voice. “What’s that?” he asked.
Tommy looked at his iPhone; Barrington was pointing at Tommy, via the living room camera.
“I don’t know,” Harmon replied. “Smoke detector?”
“That’s not a smoke detector,” Barrington said, “and it’s not a CO2 detector, either.” He left the living room, and Tommy switched cameras. Barrington was looking up and pointing again. “There’s another one,” he said. “It’s a camera.”
“Oh, my God,” Harmon said. “Somebody has been watching us?”
“No doubt about it,” Barrington said. He got out his phone and called a number. “Bob, it’s Stone. How quickly can you get over to The Pierre? Good, I’ll be in room 212. Bring your tool kit. I’ll explain when you get here.” He hung up.
“Well,” Harmon said, “that was quite an exhibition we gave for whoever was watching. Is this going to end up on the Internet?”
“I doubt it,” Barrington replied, then he looked up at the camera and spoke to it. “Because then I’d have to find whoever did this and KILL the sonofabitch!”
Tommy’s phone rang, and he answered it. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Sheila.”
“Did you get to the bank yesterday?”
“I did. Everything is just fine—the bills are paid, and so am I. There’s other good news, too. A guy just walked in and wants to get his multi-engine rating, but you’ve got the twin. He’s hot to trot, and we might be able to sell him an airplane, too. When are you coming home?”
“I’m leaving the hotel shortly,” Tommy said. “Put him off until nine AM tomorrow.”
“I think he’ll buy that, and even with the ninety grand I deposited, we could use the money.”
“See you this afternoon.” He hung up and called Gene, his driver; Gene said he’d be out front in fifteen minutes. Tommy finished packing; he didn’t bother calling for a bellman since he just had his one bag and the weapons case. He gave some more thought to killing them both, but then he unscrewed the silencer from the pistol and packed them both in the weapons case. That settled his ethics problem: he didn’t have time to kill either of them.
He left the room with his luggage, went to the elevator and pressed the button. The car arrived and he pressed the lobby button. The door opened and another man started to get into the car, but backed up to let Tommy out. He was carrying a good-sized toolbox. I’ll bet your name is Bob, Tommy said to himself.
He walked toward the front door, and the man got onto the elevator. Gene was waiting at the curb; Tommy gave him his luggage and got into the car.
“A successful trip?” Gene asked as he pulled away from the curb.
“Well, I made some money,” Tommy replied.
“That’s always a good idea,” Gene said.
* * *
—
STONE ANSWERED the door and let in Bob Cantor, who was his genius tech guy. “Good morning, Bob.”
“Morning, Stone.”
Stone introduced Meg, who was sitting on the sofa.
“What have we got?” Bob asked.
Stone pointed up at the molding. “That’s not a smoke detector, is it?”
“Nope, and it’s not a CO2 detector, either. It’s a camera, and a good one.”
“We’ve got another one in here,” Stone said, leading him into the bedroom.
Bob looked up at the camera. “You sure have.” He looked at the thoroughly unmade bed. “Were you here all night?”
“Yes,” Stone said.
“Did you turn off the lights?”
“Not until we were ready to go to sleep.”
“And I guess that wasn’t right away.”