New York Dead

wedding. This is Mary Ann’s mother. I’m just over here tidying up a little so the place will be nice when they get in.”
    “What time are they due, Mrs. Bianchi?”
    “I’m not sure exactly. They were supposed to come home last night, but Dino was on a winning streak, and they missed their plane. He said they’d get whatever flight was available today. Dino wanted Sunday to rest before going back to work.” “I see. Mrs. Bianchi, would you write a note to Dino and ask him to call me the moment he gets in? Say that it’s important.”
    “Okay, I’ll tack it to the door, so he’ll be sure to see it.”
    Stone thanked her and hung up.
    The day droned on with no word from Dino, and Stone began calling every hour on the hour. There was no answer. At seven thirty, he got out his tuxedo and began to get dressed. At eight, he called Dino again and still got no reply. At eight thirty, the doorbell rang. Stone thought about it for a moment, then he retrieved his badge and gun from the dresser drawer and strapped on the ankle holster.
    When Stone opened the front door, a limousine was at curbside and a mustachioed, uniformed chauffeur stood on the stoop. Stone asked the chauffeur to wait. He went to the living-room phone and called Dino’s number again.
    “Yeah?” Dino — sleepy, exhausted.
    “Dino, it’s Stone, hang on.” He ran back to the front door. “What address are you taking me to?” he asked the chauffeur.
    “Sorry, sir,” the man said, with what seemed to be an Italian accent, “I can’t tell you; it’s supposed to be a surprise. I’m not supposed to wait either; I’ve got a schedule to keep. If you can’t come now, I’ll have to leave.” “I’ll be right with you,” Stone said and ran for the phone again. “Dino.”
    “Huh?”
    “Listen to me now. I need your help.”
    “You listen to me, Stone. I’ve hardly had any sleep for the past three nights, you know? Now, I’m going back to bed; you call me tomorrow.”
    “Tomorrow may be too late, Dino. Sasha has invited me to a dinner party.”
    “Oh, Jesus,” Dino moaned, “will you ever let go of that? I told you I don’t want to hear about it again.”
    “I’ve got some new stuff on Van Fleet, Dino, and he may be mixed up in this thing tonight.”
    “I told you, I don’t want to hear it.”
    “Dino, I need some backup. I don’t even know where I’m going.”
    “I suggest you call nine-one-one when you get there, Stone. I’ll call you when I’m coherent. In the meantime, fuck off!” He slammed down the telephone.
    Stone ran back to the front door to see the chauffeur heading for the car. “Wait!” he called out, locking the door behind him. The chauffeur came wearily around the car and opened a door for him.
    The limo was an old one, sixties vintage, but well cared for. The upholstery was well-worn velour, and black velvet curtains were drawn over the side and rear windows. “Come on,” he said to the driver, “where are we going?” “Sorry, sir,” the driver said cheerfully and raised the glass partition between his compartment and the rear seat.
    Stone found himself looking into a mirror. He picked at the side curtain; it was sewn or glued down. He immediately felt that he had walked into a nineteen-forties B movie. Bela Lugosi would be waiting for him at his destination. He decided to sit back and enjoy the experience. For a few minutes, he tried counting the left and right turns and estimating his position, but he became disoriented. The car seemed not to stay long on any street, not taking any avenue up or downtown, as far as he could tell. He found a light and glanced at his watch from time to time. They had left his house at eight thirty-two.
    At exactly nine o’clock, the car stopped, and Stone could hear a garage door being raised. He was being taken indoors without getting out of the car first, and he didn’t like it. He tore at the side curtain, but by the time it came loose he could hear the garage door winding down again.
    The chauffeur opened the left-hand door for him, and, as he got out of the car, Stone saw another door leading off the garage. The chauffeur opened that one for him too, then quickly closed it behind him.
    Stone looked around. He was in a nicely decorated vestibule with one other door, probably leading to the street. He tried that door and the one behind him; he was locked in. There was nowhere to go but up. An open elevator awaited him, and there was only one button. He