6 Stone Barrington Novels (161 page)

T
HEY WERE MARCHED across the street and down the block by the two men wearing raincoats and carrying shotguns. As they moved down the street a pair of steel doors opened ahead of them and a freight elevator appeared.

“Hop on,” one of the men said.

They got on, the platform descended into the darkness below the sidewalk, and the doors closed above their heads. Before their eyes could become accustomed to the gloom, hands searched them and removed their weapons. Then they were shoved along a basement filled with crates of canned food and bottles of olive oil to a storeroom at the rear, where they were shoved rudely inside. The door was closed and bolted.

“All right, what now?” Holly said.

Stone couldn't see her, or his own hand in front of his face. “You think I have a solution for this problem?”

“You're resourceful. Think of something.”

“It's your turn.”

She sighed loudly. “You want to just wait around here until Trini arrives and shoots us?”

“You think that's the plan?”

“Well, I don't think those two guys were with the FBI or the NYPD, do you?”

“Come to think of it, I don't believe either of those groups ordinarily arms its people with sawed-off shotguns.”

“Well, that's an astute observation.”

“It's the best I can do in the dark.”

A light came on. It was a tiny flashlight, and Holly was holding it.

“You always carry a flashlight?”

“It's on my key ring,” she said, aiming it around the room. All four walls were brick, and the floor concrete, with a large drain in the middle. Along the ceiling was a row of meat hooks.

“Uh-oh,” Stone said.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Don't tell me ‘nothing';
what
?”

“Turn off the light and save the batteries for when we need them.”

“Need them for what?”

“For seeing.”

“We need them now for seeing.”

“There's nothing to see.”

“There's those hooks. I don't like the look of them.”

“Me, either. That's why I said, ‘uh-oh.' ”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“We've got to get out of here,” she said.

“I'd appreciate your thoughts on just how to do that.”

There was a long silence.

“Well?”

“I'm thinking about it,” she said.

Stone put his hand against the door and pushed. “Solid oak,” he said. “Firmly bolted.”

“Maybe if we both put our shoulders against it?”

“We'd bruise our shoulders quite badly.”

“What would you suggest?”

“We can wait for somebody to unbolt it,
then
put our shoulders against it. We might surprise them.”

“
Fuggedaboutit
!” said a voice from outside the door.

Holly reached out and grabbed for Stone, then put her lips close to his ear. “I think they can hear us.”

“I think so, too,” Stone whispered back.

“Maybe we'd better shut up.”

“Good idea.”

“Don't stop thinking, though.”

“I'm still thinking.”

A long silence.

“You come up with anything yet?” she whispered.

“Not yet.”

Another loud sigh. She switched on the light and turned it on some crates against the wall. “We can sit down,” she said.

They sat down.

“There's even room to lie down,” she said.

“Are you sleepy?”

“No, I'm horny.”

“At a time like this?” he whispered.

“Well, it looks like we're not going to live very long. It might be our last chance.”

“I don't think I could rise to the occasion,” he whispered.

She put her hand on his thigh and felt for his zipper. “I'll bet you can.”

“Holly.”

“What?”

“Not now.”

“If not now, when?” She got the zipper undone and began to feel around.

“You have a point,” he said, reaching for her.

S
OMETHING WOKE STONE, and when he opened his eyes he was dazzled by the light from a single bulb in the ceiling. He shook Holly.

“Again?” she asked.

“Not right now. Look.” He pointed toward the door. A bottle of wine with the cork half removed and a paper bag were on the floor near the door.

Stone got up and retrieved them. Inside the bag were two paper cups, a large slice of Parmesan cheese, and a loaf of Italian bread. They fell upon the food.

“What time is it?” Holly asked, her mouth half full.

Stone consulted his watch. “A little after eight. Man, this is good cheese.”

“Bread, too,” she said. “Night or morning?”

“I don't know. Night, would be my guess. More wine?”

“Please.”

He poured it for her, then gulped. “I just had a thought,” he said.

“Share it.”

“Last meal?”

“Stop sharing.”

They heard a noise coming from outside the door, steel clanking against concrete. It went on for some time, then it changed to the sound of a pick and shovel in dirt.

“I don't like the sound of that,” Stone said.

“Maybe it's construction work.”

“Somehow, I don't think so.”

“I told you to stop sharing.”

Stone walked over to the door and listened. The sounds were clearer and even less encouraging. He could hear two men grunting at their labor. “Why would they feed us, then kill us?” he asked.

The answer came back from the other side of the door. “Because I'm a romantic.”

“You've been listening to us, ah . . .”

“Screwing? Yeah. How could I help it?”

“Well, thanks for the food and wine.”

“Don't mention it. Nice Chianti, huh?”

“Very nice,” Stone replied. He went and sat by Holly.

“I think that answers your question,” he whispered.

“More wine,” she said.

Stone poured for both of them.

“You're taking this a lot better than I am,” Holly said.

“No, I'm not. I'm just . . .” Stone stopped and listened. “The digging stopped,” he said.

“Oh, shit. More wine.”

Before he could pour, the door opened and a man stepped inside holding a shotgun.

“Okay, let's go,” he said.

Stone recognized the voice from the other side of the door. “I wonder if we could talk about this for just a minute?”

“Nope. You're all out of time.” He waved the shotgun toward the door.

Stone and Holly got up from their crates and walked out of the room. The lights were on in the cellar. They were led between rows of stacked goods to the other end, where two sweating men with shovels stood by a large hole. Two bags of lime sat next to the hole.

The smells in the cellar were of cheese, fresh fruit, and fresh earth. These were the last scents they would ever smell. “I wonder if I could get you to make just one phone call before you do this?” Stone asked.

“Nope.” He shoved them so that they were standing at one end of the hole, then he and another man with a shotgun took up positions a few feet away.

“You've got my cell phone. The call is to Eduardo Bianchi,” he said.

The men stared at him dumbly.

“All you have to do is push
send
twice, and you'll be connected. He was the last person I called, and the number is already in there.”

Nobody moved.

“I really do think it would be in your best interests to speak to Mr. Bianchi before you do this.”

The man finally spoke. “You know Eduardo Bianchi?”

“I know him very well,” Stone said. “I was nearly his son-in-law.”

“Dino Bacchetti is his son-in-law.”

“Dolce and I were engaged, before she . . . got sick.”

The man stared at him for a long time. “You understand it would be very embarrassing for me if I called Mr. Bianchi and he didn't know you or want to hear from you?”

“I assure you, you won't be embarrassed.”

“If I'm embarrassed, then I'm going to hurt you before I kill you. The lady, too. You understand?”

“I understand perfectly.”

The man held out a hand to one of his colleagues. “Gimme his phone.”

The man handed him Stone's phone.

“Just press
send
twice,” Stone said.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.” The man pressed the button twice and waited. “Nobody's answering,” he said.

“He was there earlier, just before you, ah, invited us in here.”

“Hello?” the man said, then he started speaking Italian.

Stone caught the words “Don Eduardo.”

He stopped speaking, then started again, apparently speaking to Eduardo, then he stopped. “What's your name?” he said to Stone.

“You were going to kill me, and you don't even know who I am?”

“I know who the lady is; that's enough.”

“My name is Stone Barrington.”

The man repeated this into the telephone. “
Sì. Sì. Sì. Grazie,
Don Eduardo.” He closed the phone and handed it to Stone. “Don Eduardo knows you,” he said.

Stone breathed an audible sigh of relief.

“He says to kill you anyway.”

Stone stopped breathing.

“Just kidding,” the man said, then burst out laughing. All the men laughed with him.

“I may die anyway,” Holly said to Stone.

“I know how you feel.”

When the man had gotten control of himself he held out a hand to Stone. “My name is Vito.”

Stone shook the hand.

“Don Eduardo says to take you back to your car.”

“Good.”

“But I gotta kill the lady.”

“Now hang on a minute,” Stone said.

“Yeah,” Holly echoed, “hang on!”

Vito burst out laughing again, and the others followed suit. “Come on,” he said finally, waving them toward the elevator. “I'm just kidding again.” His shoulders were shaking, and tears were rolling down his cheeks.

“So, we dug this hole for nothing?” one of the men with a shovel said to Vito.

“Don't worry about it, it'll get used,” Vito replied.

He rode up in the elevator with Stone and Holly
and handed them their guns. “You can find your car from here?” Vito asked.

“Yes, we can,” Stone replied. “One more thing. We want Trini Rodriguez.”

Vito rolled his eyes. “
Everybody
wants Trini,” he said.

“Don Eduardo would like us to find him.”

Vito looked at him doubtfully.

“No kidding.”

“Trini is with the fuckin' towelheads somewhere,” he said.

“Towelheads?”

“Yeah, the Ayrabs.”

“And where are the Ayrabs?”

“Around somewhere.”

“I thought all the Ayrabs got arrested when Trini pulled off his little deal with the FBI.”

“The FBI, what do they know?” Vito said, laughing.

“Will you be speaking to Trini?” Stone asked.

“Yeah, I guess. He'll want to know how you died.” Vito began laughing again.

“Do me a favor, Vito. Tell him something he'll like to hear.”

“Yeah, okay. I'll make him happy.”

Stone handed him a card. “Then find out where he is and call me.”

Vito took the card. “You gonna cap Trini?”

“No, the lady is going to arrest him and take him back to Florida to be tried for killing a dozen people at a funeral.”

“Trini did that?” Vito looked amazed.

“He did.”

Vito said something to himself in Italian. “It'll be a pleasure to rat him out,” he said. “
Buona sera.
”

Stone and Holly walked down the dark street toward where they had left the car.

“As long as we're down here, you want to get some dinner?” Stone asked.

“Thanks,” Holly said, “I already ate. I just want to get into bed, assume the fetal position, and suck my thumb for a couple of days.”