Stone Barrington 06-11

Stone’s.
    “I like you keeping a respectful twenty yards back,” Stone said. “Shows a certain deference.”
    Stone chunked his second shot, hitting the ground before striking the ball. It fell short, some forty yards from the green.
    Dino hit the green. “Sorry about the lack of deference,” he said.
    Stone got out of the cart and looked toward the green, lining up his shot. Then he saw the car, sitting and idling at the side of the road, a hundred yards away.
    “What club do you want?” Dino asked, standing at the rear of the cart beside the bags.
    “Give me the two-iron,” Stone said.
    “Yeah, sure,” Dino laughed. “You mean a wedge, don’t you?”
    “Give me the two-iron,” Stone said again.
    “Even you will hit the two-iron a hundred and eighty yards,” Dino said. “I’d use a lob wedge, myself, to clear the bunker.”
    “Give me the two-iron,” Stone said, an edge in his voice.
    Dino gave him the two-iron.
    Stone took the club and lined up on his target.
    “You’re aiming twenty yards to the left of the pin,” Dino said, standing behind him.
    Stone took a practice swing.
    “Stone, if you take a full swing, you’re going to hit the ball onto a neighboring golf course.”
    “No, I’m not,” Stone said.
    “Then you can kiss that ball goodbye.”
    Stone lined up with the ball. He took a short back-swing and abbreviated his follow-through to keep the shot low. He connected solidly, and the ball flew straight and true, twenty yards to the left of the pin, across the road, narrowly missing a passing Rolls-Royce, and straight at the idling car with the blacked-out windows. The ball struck the driver’s window with a thwack , but it did not shatter. Instead, it cracked into a hundred pieces, held together by the safety glass and the tinting film applied to the window.
    Stone hoped somebody would get out, but instead, the car sped away, its tires squealing on the pavement, leaving a puff of black smoke.
    “Nice shot!” Dino yelled.

42
    D INO WATCHED THE CAR SPEED AWAY AND LAUGHED aloud. “That ought to make the guy keep his distance!”
    “Guy? What guy? You said it was Dolce.”
    “I said I thought it was Dolce. For all I know, it may be one of your groupies.”
    “I don’t have groupies,” Stone said.
    “Okay, maybe it’s one of your many enemies.”
    “Come on, let’s finish the round,” Stone said. “I assume you’re going to let me take a mulligan on that one.”
    “Yeah, I guess.”
    Stone took his sand wedge, choked down on it, opened the face and flopped the ball onto the green, within three feet of the pin.
    “You should have taken my advice in the first place,” Dino said.

    They were driving back to the Shames estate, with Dino at the wheel, when Stone’s cell phone vibrated. “Hello?”
    “This is Frederick James.”
    “Good day, Mr. James.”
    “I’ve spoken with Paul, and he’s willing to deal, through me.”
    “Not through you,” Stone said.
    “Why not? He’s chosen me as his representative.”
    “How can I trust you?” Stone asked. “You’ve already lied to me at least once.”
    “When did I ever lie to you?” James asked, sounding offended.
    “You told me you’d never heard of Paul Manning, and then you told me you knew him. One of those was a lie.”
    “But—”
    “I’ll deal directly with Manning.”
    “For whatever reason, Paul doesn’t wish to deal with you.”
    “Then I’ll deal with a reputable lawyer who represents him.”
    James was silent for a moment. “I am Paul Manning’s attorney,” he said finally.
    “You’re a novelist,” Stone said.
    “So is Scott Turow, but he’s a lawyer, too.”
    “I take it your name is not Frederick James, then?”
    “A nom de plume .”
    “What is your real name?”
    “I’m not prepared to divulge that.”
    “And you think I’m going to deal with somebody who says he’s an attorney but won’t tell me his name? Either get serious, or go away.”
    “But I—”
    “I don’t know who you are, where you are, if you’re an attorney or even if you really know Paul Manning.”
    “I assure you, I do.”
    “That’s not good enough.”
    “What exactly do you want, Mr. Barrington?”
    “I want to know that I’m dealing with the real Paul Manning and that he’s represented by an attorney whose identity I can confirm.”
    “And what proof of those things would you accept?”
    “Bring Manning to a meeting, and let him authorize you to represent him in my