“Do you think Ian would be safer here than in London?”

“I think he’d be safer almost anywhere than in London.”

“Is the sultan of Dahai not a patient man?”

“Like most multibillionaires, he is a very impatient man, and we have word that he is very angry that Ian is still alive. The twins are said to have been his favorites among his many children.”

Stone looked up, and his eye fell on the bar. Two men were just sitting down: the ex-policeman named Ryan and Al Parisi, son of Gino. “Oh, no,” he said.

“Oh, no what?” Felicity asked.

“Just a tail I thought I had lost,” Stone replied. “Excuse me for a moment.” He got up, strode into the bar, and leaned over the table where the two had sat down. “Get out,” he said.

They seemed surprised to see him. “What are you talking about?” Ryan asked.

“Get out or you’ll be spending a few days in jail.”

“Come on, Gene,” Al Parisi said, tugging at his companion’s sleeve.

“The hell you say,” Ryan replied. “I’ll drink wherever I want to.”

“Not anymore,” Stone said, producing his cell phone. “You are never again going to spend a minute where I am.” He pressed a speed dial button.

“Bacchetti.”

“I’m at Caravaggio.”

“Swell. Have some pasta for me, I’m working late.”

“I’ve been pursued here by Ryan and the little Parisi. I’d be grateful for your help with that.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Dino said. “Don’t shoot them or anything, I’ll have them out of there in minutes.”

“Thank you, Commissioner.” Stone hung up.

“Come on, Gene,” Al said, standing up.

Ryan got reluctantly to his feet. “We’re going to settle this sometime,” he said to Stone.

“No, I’m going to settle this if I encounter you again—anytime, anywhere.” Stone turned and strode back to his table.

“What was that all about?” Felicity asked.

“Pest control,” Stone replied.

Al Parisi was asleep when the phone rang. He ignored it, but it wouldn’t stop. He glanced at the bedside clock: a little past eleven, he wasn’t sure about AM or PM. He finally surrendered. “Hello?” he croaked.

“This is Hilda, at the office,” she said. “Mr. Brubeck wants to see you right away. It’s very, very important.”

“Okay, I can be there in forty-five minutes.” But she had already hung up. He had always hated that bitch.

Al shaved and showered and put on his best suit. This sounded like work to him, and he hadn’t been sure if there would be any more work after the old man bought it. He ran downstairs and found a cab. He hadn’t been in it for more than a minute when his cell rang. “Yeah?”

“It’s Gene. I thought of what to do about Barrington.”

“Listen, Gene, I’m on my way to see Brubeck. I think it’s going to mean more work, so just hang fire until I call you back.” He hung up. Gene wanted to kill Barrington, he knew it, and he wanted no part of it. The guy was connected at the NYPD, so why would they want to buy trouble? The old man wasn’t around anymore to order them to do it.

Al got out of the cab and ran into the office building. He emerged into the reception room, and Hilda jerked a thumb toward Jerry Brubeck’s office. “He’s expecting you.”

Al went down the hall, patted his hair down, adjusted his tie, buttoned his jacket, and knocked. “Come in, Al.”

Al opened the door and found Jerry at his desk, as usual.

“Hi, I was on my way to the wake.”

“I’ve already been,” Brubeck replied. “Have a seat.” He pointed at the comfortable chair opposite him.

Al sat down and gazed at his uncle. “So,” he said, “how are we going to work this?”

Jerry regarded him with a semblance of sympathy. “First of all, I want to offer my condolences on the death of your father.”

“Thanks.” Uncle Jerry wasn’t usually this polite to him.

“I have some good news for you.”

This he had really not expected. “Okay.”

“Your father and I had a contract that we both signed twelve years ago.” He handed Al half a dozen pages stapled together. “Look at the last page, I’ve highlighted the relevant paragraph. Read it.”

Al read it, but he wasn’t sure he understood it. “Okay, I read it.”

“What the paragraph means is, we established a formula for working out the value of the company. If either of us wanted out, or if one of us died, the other could buy his interest in the company for the result of that formula.” He handed Al a page with a lot of numbers on it. “This is how the formula worked out. Look at the last number on the bottom right. That is the calculated value of the company today.”

Al looked at the number, and he was impressed; he hadn’t had any idea what the company was worth.

“Your father owned forty percent of the company. Now look at the last number in the bottom left corner of the page. That is the value of his shares.”

Al looked at the number. “Wow,” he muttered under his breath.

Jerry handed him a check. “This is my check for that number. I’ll sign the check as soon as you sign this paper, acknowledging the proper value of the company according to the formula and accepting that sum for your father’s shares.” Jerry handed him a single page and waited for him to read it.

Al read it and looked at his uncle, dumbstruck.

Jerry handed him a pen. “Your signature, right over your name.”

Al signed the document without hesitation. Jerry took the check, signed it, and handed it to his nephew.

“That’s it, we’re done,” Jerry said. “My advice to you, for what it’s worth, is that you invest that check and live off the proceeds.” He handed Al a business card. “This is the name and number of a good stockbroker who will make sensible investments for you. If you follow his advice, you’ll be set for life. If you go out and spend all that money, you’ll be broke in a year and probably dead in a gutter somewhere.” He handed Al a thick envelope. “This contains five thousand dollars for your friend Gene Ryan. Tell him he’s fired, and that’s his severance pay. You’re fired, too. You are both now free agents. Goodbye.” Jerry stood up and offered his hand.

Al stood up and shook the hand. “Thanks, Uncle Jerry.”

“Keep those copies of all the documents and show them to a lawyer, if you want to.”

“I trust you, Uncle Jerry.”

Jerry gave him a little wave, sat down, and went back to work.

Al let himself out of the office and, in a daze, took the elevator down to the street. The bank where he kept a small checking account was across the way. He entered and saw that there was a line of people at the single teller’s station that was open. He looked around and saw the manager sitting at his desk, the guy who had turned him down for a car loan last month. He walked over to his desk and sat down.

The man looked up at him. “And what can I do for you this morning, Mr. Parisi? I’m afraid the loan committee will not change its mind.”

“Fuck the loan committee,” he said as politely as possible. Al handed him the check. “I’d like to deposit this in my account,” he said, “and I want a hundred and fifty thousand dollars of it in cash.”

The manager looked at him, disbelieving, then he looked at the check and at the signature. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said. He picked up the phone, dialed a number, and swiveled his chair so that his back was to Al. He talked for a moment, then hung up. “All is in order,” he said. He took a deposit slip from a desk drawer, filled it out, and handed it to Al with a pen. “Sign, please.”