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tail.”
    “Noted. Any thoughts on how to discourage him?”
    “I mentioned getting in the first punch, didn’t I?”
    “You did.”
    “After that, you’re on your own. If you have a pair of brass knuckles tucked away, you might tuck them into a pocket.”
    “They ruin the line of a suit.”
    “Not as much as rolling around on the pavement.”
    “Point taken. See you soon.”
    “Bye.”
    They both hung up.
    “Fred,” Stone called out.
    “Yes, sir?”
    “Do you have some brass knuckles?”
    “Not on me, sir, but just a moment.” He rummaged in the armrest compartment, then handed Stone something: two rolls of quarters. “They’ll have much the same effect as the knuckles, sir, but they’re worse on the hands. You might think of wearing gloves. There are some in your seatback pocket.”
    “Right.” Stone reached into the pocket, pulled out some fur-lined gloves, and slipped into them. “Is the Mercedes still with us, Fred?”
    “He is, sir. Like he was bolted to our bumper.”
    “Pull over somewhere along here, and keep the engine running.”
    Fred pulled over. “You need some backup, sir?”
    “You might keep an eye on his driver.”
    “Righto.” Fred put the car in park, got out, and stood by his door.
    The Mercedes passed, then pulled over in front of the Bentley. Harry Hillman got out, and he was, Stone reflected, as advertised. Stone leaned on the Bentley’s rear door, crossed his arms, and waited.
    “I’d like a word with you, my friend,” Harry Hillman said and continued toward Stone without breaking his stride.
    Stone pushed off the car and, grasping a roll of quarters in each hand, keeping his left side toward Hillman, waited another step,then hit the big man hard, with a straight left to the nose. Then, while Hillman took a moment to figure out why he was in pain and bleeding, Stone delivered a hard right to a spot just under the man’s heart, which dropped him to one knee. Without hesitating, Stone swung a roundhouse right to his head, catching him under the ear.
    Hillman lay on his back, gasping and staring at the sky. Out of the corner of his eye, Stone saw Hillman’s driver start to step forward, when Fred, moving faster, stepped between Hillman and the driver. “Now, son,” Fred said gently. “All you want to do is to get him up, into the car, and out of here with no further fuss.”
    The man stopped and nodded. Stone got back into the Bentley, and so did Fred. In a moment, it was all behind them.
    “I don’t think you’ll have any more trouble with him, sir,” Fred said.
    “Not if I see him coming,” Stone replied.
    “Keep the quarters, just in case.”
    “Good idea.”
    “I’ve got a blackjack somewhere,” Fred said. “You’re welcome to that, too.”
    “A blackjack will get you put in jail in New York,” Stone said. “Quarters are just pocket change.”
    “Well, there is that,” Fred replied, then drove on.

11
    Stone called Kitty on Monday morning. “Did you successfully sack Bloomingdale’s?”
    “You might say that. I got a few things that will go nicely with the car.”
    “I never thought of the car as a fashion accessory.”
    “The car is the object. The clothes are the accessories.”
    “Thank you for clearing that up for me.”
    “Anytime.”
    “I fear you may not have told me enough about your ex-husband.”
    “What more could you possibly want to know? How he is in bed?”
    “No, what concerns me is how he is on the street, or rather, in the gutter.”
    “Do you mean, is he a street fighter?”
    “That’s the idea. And, perhaps, if he enjoys it a little too much.”
    “Have you engaged with him in a street fight?”
    “I’m afraid so.”
    “Are you calling from the emergency room?”
    “No, but our boy, Harry, may be seeking solace there.”
    “You mean, you fought him and won?”
    “Let’s say I avoided losing, and he did not.”
    “My goodness, Stone, I have underestimated you.”
    “I’m sorry I came up short in your