Carnal Curiosity - Stuart Woods Page 0,14

slide to eject one in the chamber. “I didn’t ask them.” He drew back and threw the gun as far as he could into the reservoir, then followed it with the magazine. “I don’t think they’ll be back, though.” He handed his bat over. “Please return that to your collection, and thanks for your help.”

He ran on before the man could respond. On Eighty-sixth Street, there was no sign of the van, nor was there when Stone popped out of the park at Central Park South.

He ran over to Madison, which was one-way uptown, then down to his street before turning left and heading for home.

There was no sign of the van on his block as he let himself into the house.

He wasn’t sure what he had accomplished by dealing with the two men, but at least Don Dugan would know that he wasn’t going to sit still for a beating.

He went upstairs and got into a hot shower. He supposed that he should start packing a weapon, until this was over.

12

Crane turned up on time and rang his bell.

Stone picked up the phone. “I’m downstairs, in the kitchen.” He buzzed her in.

“On my way!” she yelled back, and he heard the door close.

She came into the kitchen wearing a short black sleeveless dress and gave him a big kiss. “Smells good,” she said. “What is it?”

“Osso buco,” he replied, then went to the bar, got her a drink, and replenished his own. He clinked her glass, and they sipped. “I’ll need your help in just a minute,” he said.

“Sure.”

He poured some olive oil into his copper risotto pan with a chunk of butter and some salt and added a dozen ounces of arborio rice and some salt, then took a wooden spoon and stirred while it took on a sheen. “Okay, now,” he said, handing Crane the spoon, “you add some chicken stock, like this”—he poured it from a carton—“and keep stirring. As soon as it’s absorbed by the rice, add some more.”

“For how long?”

“Until all the stock is absorbed—about twenty, twenty-five minutes.”

Crane began to stir. Twenty-five minutes and a downed glass of whiskey later, Stone mixed in a couple of fistfuls of Parmigiano-Reggiano, then added half a carton of crème fraîche. “Stir a little more,” he said, and while she did he arranged the already-cooked chunks of veal calf’s shank on a platter, added the sautéed haricots verts, then set it on the set table. He found a trivet for the risotto pan, then set that on the table, too, where an uncorked bottle of Far Niente Cabernet waited, breathing. He poured two glasses, then pulled the table out so she could slide behind it.

Crane tasted the meat. “Yum!”

“It’s Elaine’s recipe,” Stone said. “Did you know Elaine’s?”

“I was there a couple of times years ago. Don didn’t like it, because she wouldn’t give him her best table.” She tried the risotto. “This is terrific. Is it her recipe, too?”

“No, I got that out of The New York Times Magazine years ago.”

They dug in. “How was your day?” she asked.

“Good. In your absence I went up to the park and ran off my sexual anxiety.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t be anxious long,” she said.

“Tell me, do you know some acquaintances of Dugan who look like brothers, dark hair, six-two or -three, over two hundred pounds, one of them named Skip?”

“The Drago brothers,” she said, looking alarmed. “Don uses them for collection work. It’s a big part of his business. Where have you seen them?”

“They were waiting for me in a van when I left the house this morning. I suspect they had spent the night there, hoping to catch me with you. They followed me to the park.”

“What did they have to say?”

“Hardly anything. I borrowed a softball bat from a nearby citizen and persuaded them to go away. One of them left a Glock in his wake, which I deposited in the Central Park Reservoir. Your drinking water may taste a little like gun oil for a few days.”

“This is not good news,” she said.

“I didn’t view it as such. I hope I don’t have to shoot them on some future occasion.”

“I don’t know what to do about this,” she said.

“Leave it with me. I think we can resolve it at your Wednesday morning hearing.”

“I could speak to Don.”

“You don’t need to do that—in fact, you shouldn’t.”

She leaned over and kissed him under an ear. “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you, but I’ll trust you to handle