Stone Barrington 06-11

grocery store.”
    They ate and ate, until they couldn’t eat any more, then the remains were packed up for Tiff to take home. As they were waiting for the check, the man across the room rose from his booth and, with his female companion, began to move toward the door, picking his way through the expanding crowd at the bar. To Stone’s annoyance, he managed this with his back turned to their table. Then, as the man disappeared out the front door, it struck him. “Billy Bob,” he said.
    “What?”
    “I swear, that was Billy Bob who just left.”
    “I didn’t see him.”
    “I could only see him from behind.” Stone got up. “I’ll be right back.” He made his way through the crowd to the front door and stepped outside. The red Hummer was pulling away, driven by a chauffeur. The rear windows were darkened, and Stone couldn’t see inside. He watched it disappear up the street, undeterred by the accumulating snow, which now amounted to about eight inches. He got out his cell phone and called Dino.
    “Bacchetti.”
    “It’s Stone; I’m at Rao’s, and I’m sure Billy Bob just left.”
    “Sounds like you’re not really sure.”
    “I never got a look at the guy’s face, but I’m sure it was Billy Bob. He should be easy to pick up, he’s in a bright red Hummer.”
    “Why are you telling me?”
    “Oh, did you retire from the NYPD when I wasn’t looking?”
    “It’s nothing to do with me; I handed this one off to Lance, remember? You were there. Call Lance.” Dino hung up.
    Stone called Lance’s cell phone.
    “Yes?” he drawled.

    “It’s Stone; I’m pretty sure I just spotted Billy Bob.”
    “Where?”
    “Leaving Rao’s. You know the restaurant uptown?”
    “Of course; I’m a regular.”
    “ You’ve got a table at Rao’s?”
    “Every week.”
    “How the hell did you do that?”
    “Frankie and I go way back. Tell me about this person you think was Billy Bob.”
    “He was eating at a booth across the room from us, and I never got a clear look at his face, but I’m pretty sure it was him.”
    “Which way did he go?”
    “Downtown, I imagine,” Stone said dryly. “Where else would he go but downtown? And in a bright red Hummer.”
    “Did you get the plate number?”
    “It’s a bright red Hummer, for Christ’s sake! You don’t need a plate number.”
    “Probably from a service; if I had a plate number, I could track it down and maybe back to Billy Bob.”
    “Well, I didn’t get it; I’m up to my ass in snow, here, and the visibility isn’t too good.”
    “It’s snowing?”
    “Where are you, in a cave?”
    “I’m in my study.”
    “Well, take a look out a window sometime. I’ve done my duty; good night!” He hung up and went back into Rao’s brushing snowflakes off his shoulders and hair. He was slightly damp all over, now. He sat down in the booth. “I called it in, but Dino wasn’t interested.”
    “Wasn’t interested? Isn’t the guy wanted for murder in this city?”
    “He’s handed the case off to Lance.”
    “Who the hell is Lance?”

    Stone realized he’d said too much. “Ah, I can’t really talk about that.”
    “What do you mean? You’re not making any sense at all.”
    “Are you going to call in this sighting to your people?”
    “What can I tell them?”
    “That a guy I’m pretty sure is Billy Bob is headed downtown from Rao’s in a red Hummer.”
    “He was in the Hummer we saw?”
    “Yes, and he’s getting farther downtown every minute. Don’t you think your feds would want to know that?”
    Tiff got out her cell phone and dialed a number. “Tell your boss that someone strongly resembling Rodney Peeples has been seen leaving a restaurant in Spanish Harlem and is on his way downtown in a red Hummer.” She listened for a moment, then covered the receiver. “Did you get a license number?” she asked Stone.
    Stone shook his head. “Poor visibility; it’s really snowing hard, now.”
    “No license number; poor visibility, but how many red Hummers can there be in New York City? Great, pass it on.” She hung up. “Okay, I reported it; can we go home and make love, now?”
    “You betcha,” Stone said.

21
    BY THE TIME they had had coffee and an after-dinner drink, the snow was a foot deep in the streets. They piled into the Lincoln.
    “Home, James,” Tiff said. “I’ve always wanted to say that,” she said. “And his name really is James.”
    The car fishtailed slowly up the street and turned downtown. “I wish I had