Dead in the Water

the police. He had seen many people in custody, and he had never envied any of them.

Chapter
2
    S tone showered, shaved, and got into some of his new tropical clothing—a short-sleeved silk shirt, Italian cotton trousers, and woven leather loafers, no socks. He found it an unexpected pleasure to dress so lightly in January; there was much to be said for winter in the tropics.
    As the sun set he wandered across a wide green lawn toward a wide thatched roof covering a bar and restaurant open to the breezes. It was early, and there were few customers. A black bartender stood behind an expanse of varnished mahogany, idly polishing a glass. A television set over the bar was tuned to CNN, the sound muted.
    “Evening to you, boss,” he said amiably, with what sounded to Stone like a Bahamian accent.
    “Evening,” Stone said.
    “And what might be your pleasure this fine evening?”
    “Oh, something tropical, I guess, to celebrate my first evening in warm weather.”
    “A piña colada, mebbe?”
    “Sounds good.” Stone looked up at the television and saw a woman in a heavy coat standing on what looked like a New York City street corner. A blizzard was raging about her. “Could you turn the sound up on the TV for a minute?” he asked the bartender.
    “Sure thing, boss.”
    “…was predicted for later this evening, but it started around noon, and we already have a foot of snow on the streets, with at least twenty inches expected by the wee hours of tomorrow morning. Kennedy, La Guardia, and Newark Airports closed at midafternoon, so nothing is flying into or out of the city until further notice. The Port Authority predicted that no flights would be moving until noon tomorrow.”
    “Shit,” Stone said aloud. “Okay, you can turn the volume down again.”
    “What you care, boss?” the bartender asked, turning down the TV. “You already here.”
    “Yeah, but my girl isn’t. She was due to leave at four this afternoon.”
    “Bad luck, boss,” the man said.
    “Where are you from?” Stone asked.
    “Born right here on St. Marks, boss.”
    “Funny, you sound Bahamian. You shining me on with that accent?”
    The man grinned. “You’re too good for me, pal.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Thomas Hardy, like the writer.” Now the accent was more island British, with an extra, familiar layer.
    Stone shook his hand. “Do I hear a little New York in there somewhere?”
    “Lived in Brooklyn a long time; worked all over the city.”
    “I’m Stone Barrington; I’m on a charter yacht over at the marina.”
    “That’s kind of a familiar name,” Thomas said.
    “Don’t know why; it’s my first time in St. Marks.”
    “Were you ever a cop?”
    Stone blinked in surprise. “I was, mostly in the Nineteenth Precinct. Have we ever met?”
    Thomas shook his head. “No, but I heard about you. I was walking a beat in the Village when you left the force; everybody was talking about you, said you got a bad deal.”
    “I can’t complain,” Stone said. “I left with the full pension after fourteen years.”
    “Yeah, but you took some lead with you, huh?”
    “They got it out. What are you doing in St. Marks?”
    “I was born here, like I said. My mama moved to New York when I was a kid. I joined the force, did my twenty, and brought my savings and my pension down here and put it to work.”
    “This your place?”
    “Lock, stock, and liquor license.”
    “How long you been at it?”
    “Six and a half years.”
    “Business good?”
    “Not bad; a little better every year. That blizzard in the Northeast is going to cost me, though. A lot of people will be in your girl’s shoes.”
    “I guess so.” Stone sighed. “I was looking forwardto a more romantic week than this. Where can I make a phone call?”
    Thomas reached under the bar, pulled out a phone, and set it on the bar. “I charge the tourists a buck a minute, but for an old cop, I’ll just put what they charge me on your tab. Got a fax machine, too, if you should need one.”
    “Thanks.” Stone called his home number.
    “Hello?”
    “I guess you’re not going to make it tonight, huh?”
    “You heard? I tried to call you at the charter office, but I didn’t get an answer.”
    “They get CNN down here.”
    “I’m sorry, baby. It started to come down around midday, and let me tell you, it’s really something. I’m a southern girl; I’ve never seen snow like this.”
    “CNN says the airlines will be flying again tomorrow afternoon.