Kisser (2010)

in your judgment, that would be a good idea, then I would be happy to see her.”
    Eduardo laughed his little laugh again. “That was an artful lie, Stone,” he said, “but in my judgment, as you put it, I think it would be good for Dolce to speak with you for a short while.” Eduardo turned and looked over his shoulder toward the rear terrace of the house.
    Stone followed his gaze and saw Dolce, clad in a pretty, summery dress, standing on the terrace. His heart stopped. Then she began walking slowly toward them.
    “If you feel that, then I will redouble my efforts.”

30
    SHE LOOKED YOUNGER, somehow, than when Stone had last seen her, when she was being hustled into a private ambulance, wearing a straitjacket, frothing at the mouth. She now seemed untroubled, at peace, and not in the least dangerous.
    Stone got to his feet. “Hello, Dolce,” he said, offering his hand. “It’s good to see you.”
    Dolce took his hand then offered a cheek. “And you, Stone,” she said.
    Stone moved to kiss the cheek, but she turned her head to place his lips at the corner of her mouth and flicked her tongue snakelike at his. He gave her the chair next to her father, then sat down with her between them. “You’re looking very beautiful,” he said.
    “Thank you, Stone. You were always so gracious.”
    Why then, he asked himself, did you want so badly to kill me? “Thank you,” he said aloud.
    “Dolce has taken up painting,” Eduardo said, “and she is exhibiting a hitherto unseen talent.”
    “Oh, I painted as a little girl, Daddy,” Dolce replied. “You just don’t remember. In those days you were preoccupied with business.”
    “I suppose I was,” Eduardo said. “I was at that time withdrawing from certain activities and moving into others that seemed more . . . inviting.”
    “You mean more legitimate, don’t you?” she asked, giving him a smile.
    “If you wish, my dear.” Eduardo turned toward Stone. “At that time certain federal agencies were taking too much of an interest in my associates. I had managed never to be in a situation where my conversations might be recorded or my face photographed, but I believed that it would be impossible to continue that way for long. As it turned out my beliefs were confirmed more quickly than I had imagined, but by that time, I had receded into privacy, and my communications with my former associates had become less frequent and more indirect.”
    “You have always struck me as the most prudent of men,” Stone said.
    Eduardo shrugged. “I came to the view, earlier than my partners in . . . such activities, that those activities, as the saying goes, did not pay, at least not for long nor in proportion to the risks required. I judged that it was better to be involved in enterprises where good behavior was enforced by law rather than by vengeance.”
    Stone smiled. “I have had a number of clients who came late to that realization, to their regret.”
    “Every one of my associates from those days ended up dead by extraordinary means, deported to birthplaces they did not long for, or permanent guests of the federal government.”
    “Daddy, on the other hand,” Dolce said, “ended up lord of all he surveyed and much more.”
    “My daughter is too impressed with her father,” Eduardo said, shooting her a glance.
    “Did you know he was offered the Presidential Medal of Freedom but declined?”
    “I have never wished to be famous,” Eduardo said, “even for a brief moment at the White House.”
    “Oh, Daddy, you’re too modest,” Dolce said. “You’ve been to the White House many times to visit half a dozen presidents.”
    “But never with television cameras present,” Eduardo pointed out.
    “Daddy won’t even allow his photograph in the annual reports of the companies and charitable institutions on whose boards he sits,” she said.
    “I admit it, my dear, I am shy,” Eduardo replied. “Now let’s turn the conversation back to you.” He dusted imaginary crumbs from his suit, a rare gesture of irritation.
    Dolce looked over her shoulder, and Stone followed her gaze. A large man in a dark suit stood on the back terrace. He looked at his watch. “Oh,” she said, “I’m afraid Alfonzo is becoming impatient. We’re going shopping.”
    Stone was startled to think of Dolce roaming Madison Avenue, a free woman, but perhaps Alfonzo could manage her.
    “Dolce needs new clothes,” Eduardo explained, “now that she is going out more