Reckless Abandon

“You’re ex-army,” Lance said.

“Yep.”

Lance regarded him coolly for a long moment. “I read your service record,” he said.

Ham evinced mild surprise. “Did you, now?”

“I did. You want to shoot somebody for me?”

“Who’d you have in mind?”

“Herbie.”

Ham chuckled. “I can see why, but he doesn’t seem to be a threat to national security just yet.”

“Would you shoot him if I told you he was?”

“I wouldn’t believe you if you told me he was.”

“Why not?”

“Because I think I know who you work for, and folks in your line of work tell the truth on only the rarest occasions.”

Lance laughed. “You judge us too harshly, Ham. But then, you’ve had some experience with us, in Vietnam.”

“I have.”

“I was too young for that godawful mess,” Lance said, “and I’m glad of it. But you shouldn’t judge us now for how we operated then. You might find some satisfaction in working with us again.”

“Lance is recruiting,” Stone said.

Ham shook his head. “No, thanks. You want somebody shot, you do it yourself.”

“I was speaking metaphorically before,” Lance said.

“No, you weren’t,” Ham replied.

Stone was proud of him.

For the slightest moment, Lance looked nettled, but then he relaxed. “Holly, I came to tell you that it’s going to be another day or two before you can put your hands on Trini Rodriguez without an unduly large reaction from the federales.”

“Shit,” Holly said. “I’m getting impatient. Ham, you want to shoot Trini for me?”

“Him? It would be my pleasure. Just point him out.”

Stone couldn’t tell if they were kidding. “Hang on,” he said. “We don’t need a shoot-out on our city streets.”

“Wouldn’t be a shoot-out,” Ham said. “Just a single pop.” He made a little gun with his fingers and fired it.

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Lance said.

“Because there’s nothing in it for you,” Stone replied.

“You have a point,” Lance admitted. He got to his feet and stretched. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lunch date up the street.” He shook Ham’s hand, waved goodbye, and was gone.

“Your assessment, Ham?” Stone asked.

“Now that,” Ham said, “is your large-bore, fully automatic Agency spook. Where the hell did you come by him?”

“I came by him in London a while back,” Stone said. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell it to you someday when I’m less sober.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Ham said. “He’s more dangerous than Herbie.”

“Why?” Holly asked.

Ham got to his feet and moved his shoulders around. “Because he thinks of himself as a patriot, and they’re always the most dangerous. Well, I think I’ll have a nap. It’s an old man’s prerogative, and I’ve been traveling since dawn. See ya.” He headed upstairs, leaving Stone and Holly to ponder his assessment of Lance Cabot.

28

HOLLY GOT INTO some sweat clothes, stuffed the Sig-Sauer into her jacket pocket, clipped on Daisy’s leash, and headed uptown.

She and Daisy walked briskly until they entered the park, then Holly started to jog, with Daisy easily keeping pace. They ran past the zoo, then the pond where people raced model boats, and the statue of Alice in Wonderland, then they cut cross-country. Somewhere north of Alice, Holly became aware of another jogger not far behind.

Everything was perfectly normal until Holly noticed that there was something red attached to Daisy’s back. She stopped to pull it off and discovered that what was in her hand was a dart. Daisy sat down, panting, then collapsed, and then something struck Holly in the head.

Stone was napping in a big wing chair in his library, a book in his lap, when the phone woke him. “Hello?”

“Is this Stone Barrington?” A man’s voice.

“Yes.”

“This is the desk sergeant at the Twenty-second Precinct in Central Park. There’s been a homicide in the park; I think you’d better get up here.”

“Who’s dead?”

“I don’t have that information. Just get up here, okay, Mr. Barrington?”

“I’m on my way. Will you get hold of Lieutenant Bacchetti at the one-nine and ask him to meet me there?”

“Okay.” The cop hung up.

Stone thought of waking Ham, but changed his mind. He ran outside and hailed a cab.

Stone walked into the precinct, and he was scared. He presented himself to the desk sergeant.

“Right,” the sergeant said. “See Detective Briscoe back there.” He nodded toward a door.

Stone walked into a small squad room and looked at the only detective there.

“Barrington?” the man asked.

“Yes. What’s happened?”

“You were a detective over at the Nineteenth, weren’t you?” the man asked.

“What the hell has happened?” Stone demanded.

“Are you acquainted with a cop from Florida named Holly Barker?”

“Yes, she’s staying at my house.”

“Come with me.” He got up and walked down a corridor with Stone at his heels. He opened the door to an interrogation room. “In here.”

Stone walked in and the door closed behind him. Holly was sitting at the table stroking Daisy, who was stretched out on the tabletop.

Holly looked up at him. “It’s okay,” she said. “She’s coming around.” She stroked Daisy’s head. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Just take your time. You’ll be all right in a minute.”

Stone sank into a chair and gave Daisy a pat. “I thought you were dead,” he said.

“No.”

“The desk sergeant who called me said there was a homicide.”

“There was a shooting-self-defense.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know; a guy. There were two of them. The second one ran when I shot the first one.”

“Why did you shoot him?”

“Because he was trying to kill me with a knife.”

“Where did all this happen? Start at the beginning.”

“Daisy and I were running, and she was shot with a dart, then somebody hit me upside the head, but not hard enough to put me out. I rolled over a couple of times and got hold of the gun Ham gave me. It was in my jacket pocket. The guy was walking toward me with the knife, as if he didn’t expect any opposition. I shot him.” She held up a corner of her jacket, where the bullet had gone through. “I didn’t have time to draw.”

Stone put a hand to her cheek. “You’re cold,” he said. “Are you feeling all right?”