Stone Barrington 06-11

not operate under the same strictures placed upon the NYPD,” Lance said, “or any other law-enforcement agency.”
    Stone wondered how far Lance would take that. “And just how far would you take that?” he asked.
    “As far as necessary,” Lance replied. “I hope it won’t be necessary to spill Billy Bob’s brains onto your garage floor. Incidentally, it’s good of you to have a two-car garage and only one car. Otherwise, we’d have to do this in your office.”
    “Whatever I can do to help,” Stone said, sarcastically.
    “Now you’re beginning to understand your position,” Lance said. “I did not recruit you simply for legal advice or for the people you know, or for the table you have at Elaine’s. I did so, because there are times I need someone like you, someone with a semipublic face, with gainful employment, who lives in full view of the world, or nearly so, and has some skills, no matter how rudimentary. It helps that you inadvertently made contact with and gained the attention of Billy Bob through other means.
    “I recruited Dino, because there are times when I need the resources of a big-city police department without having to deal with its hierarchy.”
    “Why did you recruit Holly Barker?”
    “I need Holly for other, more operational reasons. She is considering a more permanent offer from us as we speak, though I think it might take a few weeks or months for her to gather the resolve to leave her present, quite pleasant circumstances and join us.”

    They turned the corner onto Stone’s block and stopped in front of his house.
    “Let’s go in through your office,” Lance said, using a key of his own, to Stone’s annoyance.
    “I don’t recall our contract saying anything about your using my house at will for surreptitious interrogations.”
    “There’s a part of your contract that reads ‘render all reasonable assistance,’ ” Lance suggested. He led the way through Stone’s office, into his basement, then into the garage. Billy Bob sat in his shirtsleeves, tied to an armless kitchen chair with a wicker seat, which Stone had stored in the garage because he didn’t need it, but it was too nice to throw away. Billy Bob’s hands were tied behind him. He glared at Stone but said nothing.
    “Now, Harlan,” Lance said. “I know that may not be your name, but… oh what the hell, we’ll just call you Billy Bob. Stone is used to that.”
    “Go fuck yourself,” Billy Bob replied, not unpleasantly.
    “I can see this is going to be more fun than I had hoped,” Lance said. He turned toward his two men, who were leaning nonchalantly against the garage wall. “I would like for you two to cause Billy Bob, here, considerable pain, without marking him up too badly. I want him relatively bruise-free when we deliver him to Guantanamo, if possible. If not, then…”
    “Sure thing,” one of the men said, pushing himself off the wall and striding toward Billy Bob, whose expression did not change.
    “Hold it a minute, Lance,” Stone said. “Give me a few minutes alone with Billy Bob.”
    “Oh, all right,” Lance said, as if it were against his better judgment. He beckoned to his two companions. “Come with me,” he said. At the door he turned back to Stone out of Billy Bob’s hearing. “Five minutes, Stone, and I want to know three things: One, who is his contact at the New Mexico weapons installation; two, where are the other thirty-four grenades he and Billy Bob stole; and three, the name, address and telephone number of the person to whom he intended to sell them.” Lance left, and Stone returned to the garage.
    He leaned against his car. “So, you were going to kill me?”
    “I still am,” Billy Bob said.
    “Why? What did I ever do to you?”
    “You inconvenienced me.”
    “That hardly stacks up against your murdering that girl in my house and trying to blame me for it, then stealing fifty thousand dollars from me.”
    “I was only getting started,” Billy Bob said.
    “You’re in over your head, now, Billy Bob. Let me explain things to you: You’re not under arrest; you’re not going to be arraigned or allowed to see an attorney, except me; and when Lance’s two thugs are done with you, if there’s anything left, you’re going to find yourself in a cage at Gitmo with a lot of companions who speak only Arabic or Urdu, and nobody will ever know you’re there. You’ll spend the next few years being interrogated a couple of times a day, until they’ve