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the house again.”
    “You haven’t encouraged me to go armed. Why is that?”
    “Shooting deaths are already up this year over last, and I wouldn’t want you to add to the numbers.”
    “That’s sweet of you.”
    “My advice on that front, if you decide to carry, is to use the .380, not the .45. The cleanup is easier.”
    “I’m not sure the .380 would stop him; he’s something of an ox.”
    “A head shot with the .380 will drop him in his tracks. God, I hope nobody is listening to me telling you how to murder somebody.”
    “I believe we were discussing self-defense,” Stone said.
    “Of course we were. Dinner at Clarke’s?”
    “Six-thirty.” They both hung up.
    Stone went looking for his police baton.

12
    Stone arrived at P.J. Clarke’s on time, and the mob at the bar had thinned out just enough for him to grab a stool. The bartender saw him coming and got his Knob Creek on the bar just as he sat down. He had just taken his first sip when he glanced at his reflection in the mirror behind the bar and saw a very large person standing behind him. Stone unbuttoned his jacket for easier access to the baton.
    “I want a word with you,” an English accent said from behind him.
    “Cat got your tongue?” Stone asked, without looking at him.
    There was a kind of gargling noise.
    “Speak up,” Stone said.
    “My name is Harry Hillman, and all I want from you is a fair fight.”
    “There’s no such thing as a fair fight,” Stone said. “You must be thinking of a boxing match, in a ring, with a referee.”
    “You’ve been tampering with my wife.”
    “You don’t have a wife,” Stone said. “The State of New York says so.”
    “Never mind her. This is between you and me.”
    “I believe we’ve already had that conversation,” Stone said. “As far as I’m concerned, that settled anything between you and me, so take a hike.”
    Stone looked up and saw Dino step into the reflection, and he was holding up his badge. “Stand still,” Dino said, frisking the larger man and coming up with a nine mm. “Do you have a license to carry this in the City of New York?”
    “I certainly do,” Hillman replied.
    “Then let’s see it.”
    “I don’t have it on my person,” Hillman said.
    “Then you may consider this weapon confiscated, and unless you can present your carry license to the desk sergeant at the Nineteenth Precinct before nine am tomorrow, you’ll be confiscated, too. Now go away.”
    Hillman poked Stone hard in the back with a finger. “I’ll speak to you later.”
    “I believe that constitutes battery. Can you arrest him, please, Officer?”
    “I missed that,” Dino said. He turned to Hillman. “Do it again, so I can arrest you.”
    Hillman had vanished from the reflection.
    “Mr. Barrington,” Dino said, “your table is ready.”
    Stone followed Dino into the dining room where they sat down and were given menus.
    “So,” Dino said. “Am I going to have to keep rescuing you from the clutches of the angry ex-husband?”
    “Don’t worry,” Stone said. “I’m carrying a .380 and my trusty—make that rusty—telescopic baton, so I should be able to fend him off.”
    “Then stop turning your back on him.”
    “My back was there first. He sneaked up on me.”
    “I hate to think what’s going to happen to you, if he connects with a punch.”
    “Let’s talk about something else,” Stone replied uncomfortably.
    “Okay, let’s talk about Kitty. What’s her part in all this?”
    “Innocent bystander,” Stone said.
    “There’s nothing innocent about Kitty. I think she’s trying to punish somebody, but I can’t figure out if it’s the ex or you.”
    “She has no reason to punish me,” Stone said. “I’ve given her nothing but pleasure, by my reckoning. Don’t mention that to the ex, if you meet him again.”
    “Did her check for the Bentley clear the bank?”
    “I haven’t had any calls from bank managers or the dealer, so I would assume so.”
    “Maybe the