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some business, and I picked up on an evil-looking black Mercedes following me. We lost it in Brooklyn, but policy is, when you pick up a tail, you increase security.”
    Holly hid behind her menu.

    “A wise policy,” Stone agreed. “Holly, can we get you a drink?”
    Holly lowered the menu to eye level. “Knob Creek on the rocks,” she said, then raised the menu again.
    “Make it two,” Lance said.
    “Three Knob Creeks on the rocks and whatever poison Lieutenant Bacchetti is having this evening,” Stone told the waiter.
    “Dino,” Lance said, “your reputation precedes you.”
    “Oh, yeah?” Dino asked.
    “We have a list of reliable police officers in various cities who we sometimes deal with. You’re on it.”
    “That’s news to me,” Dino said.
    Lance turned to Holly. “I’ll see that your name is placed on it, too.”
    Holly put down the menu. “How nice,” she said, noncommittally.
    “He’s turning us all into spies,” Dino whispered loudly.
    “Oh, nothing as sinister as that. Sometimes, during the course of our work, we stumble across criminal activity that, technically, is outside our purview. When that happens, it’s nice to know some people in local law enforcement.”
    “Tell me,” Stone said, “in the course of your work have you run across somebody named Trini Rodriguez?”
    Lance furrowed his brow. “I don’t believe so.”
    “How about a Robert Marshall?”

    Lance shook his head. “Nope.”
    “I think I’d better come clean,” Holly said. “It was Stone’s car that was following you today.”
    Lance turned to Stone and looked at him askance.
    “Don’t point that thing at me,” Stone said. “Go on, Holly.”
    “And I was driving it.”
    The drinks arrived, and Lance raised his glass. “To coincidence,” he said. “You put enough coincidences together, and what you get is . . .” He gazed at Holly. “. . . fate.”
    Holly blushed. “Let me explain. I’m in New York looking for a man named Trini Rodriguez, who may be using the name Robert Marshall.”
    “Why?” Lance asked.
    “Multiple homicides,” Holly replied. “Today, he came out of the La Boheme coffeehouse and got into your car.”
    “ That was Trini Rodriguez?” Lance asked.
    “Yep. What was he doing with you?”
    “Well, I can’t tell you that, but I can tell you it was nothing to do with multiple homicides.”
    “What name did he give you?” Holly asked.
    “I was told he was called Bobo. He was to assist me in some enquiries, as the British would put it.”
    “Did he?”
    “I’m afraid I can’t answer that.”
    “Swell,” Holly said. “First, the FBI protects this bastard, and now the CIA.”
    Lance looked around and made a tamping motion with his hand. “Please. I wish I could help you, Holly, but until today I’d never clapped eyes on Mr. Rodriguez, and I never expect to again. However, if he should cross my line of vision again, I’ll be glad to call you. May I have your number?”
    Holly gave him her card while Stone rolled his eyes.
    “Anything else you can tell me about him or about the people who sent you to him?”
    “Alas, no,” Lance said sadly. “The nature of the work, I’m afraid.” He turned to Stone. “By the way,” he said, “have you, by any chance, heard from Herbert J. Fisher?”
    “No, I haven’t,” Stone said. “Should I have?”
    “Just a thought. Herbie didn’t make his flight to Saint Thomas this evening.”
    “I thought you had a man on him,” Stone said.
    “I thought so, too, but Herbie, the little shit, eluded him. Herbie is out there in the land, somewhere, in his red Mustang, moving about with reckless abandon.”
    “That’s just terrific,” Stone said. “If I hear from him, what shall I tell him?”
    “Tell him to go and stand on the corner of Forty-second Street and Broadway, then call me,” Lance replied. “I’ll have someone go there and shoot him.”
    Stone wasn’t at all sure he was kidding.

15
    THEY HAD FINISHED