Stone Barrington 27 - Doing Hard Time

couldn’t; he stared at the ceiling, tried to daydream, but the only thing he could think of was the box of flowers on the backseat of his car.
    He waited until five AM to go into the study to call Dino.
    “You’re up early,” Dino said.
    “I haven’t been to sleep.”
    “I thought you were the world’s champion sleeper.”
    “I thought so, too.”
    “Okay, tell me about it.”
    “Majorov is here, and he’s brought an assassin with him from New York, a Russian.”
    Dino let a beat pass before he responded. “Anybody I know?”
    “His name is Vladimir—”
    “The Viper? Jesus!”
    “That’s not the worst of it. He’s more interested in Peter than me.”
    “Then why haven’t you killed him yet?”
    “That’s why I couldn’t sleep.”
    “You planning to do him yourself?”
    “I’m about to set him up for someone else.”
    “That Billy character?”
    “Yes. I need your advice on this, pal. I’ve never been a party to murder before.”
    “Here’s my advice,” Dino said. “Don’t get caught.”
    “That’s good advice,” Stone said.
    “Let me know how it comes out.”
    “Will do.”
    “And good luck.”
    “Thanks, Dino.”
    “You’re welcome, Stone, and for what it’s worth, if it were Ben at risk, I wouldn’t hesitate.”
    “I guess I should have known that. Bye.” Stone hung up, took a deep breath, went back to the bedroom, and got dressed. Emma was snoring lightly when he left. He had crumbled an Ambien into her brandy glass at bedtime.
    He had some orange juice and a cup of coffee, checking his watch regularly. Finally, he went upstairs, got into a dark golf jacket and a baseball cap and a pair of driving gloves.
    He ran his pistol onto his belt, took a deep breath, and left the house by the rear door.

Teddy had arrived at the Bel-Air by five AM , leaving his car up Stone Canyon and walking down the hill to the rear of the hotel, wearing a black sweater over a white shirt, black trousers, black rubber-soled slippers, and latex surgical gloves. He carried his silenced pistol in a holster under the sweater and a switchblade knife in a hip pocket.
    Majorov’s suite was the second up the hill from the rear service road, and Teddy was through the hedge and over the wall very quickly, landing lightly on his feet. A streetlight cast some light on the suite’s patio, and he moved into a shadow and waited for three or four minutes. The Viper was probably a light sleeper, and if he heard anything he would come out armed.
    There were three sets of French doors, one for each bedroom and one for the living room. Teddy checked all three and in one bedroom found Majorov’s bulk visible by the light of a television set that he had failed to turn off before falling asleep. He went back to the patio outside the other bedroom, half expecting to encounter the assassin on his way.
    Nothing happened. Teddy carefully picked up a chair from the patio and moved it into a dark corner, then he crept to the French doors and listened for movement inside. All he heard was snoring. He stared through the glass into the room and located the bed with its sleeping lump, dimly lit by a night-light. When his eyes had adjusted better he saw, on the bedside table, a silenced pistol. Vlad was a cautious man.
    He put his hand on the doorknob and tried turning it. Locked. He had expected as much, and he had come prepared. He removed a strip of sturdy but flexible plastic from his pocket and inserted it between the door and the jamb. He probed until he felt the bias-cut bolt begin to open, then he stopped, leaving the plastic strip in place.
    He went to the chair in the corner and settled into it; he had a couple of hours to wait. He switched on his iPhone, turned down the backlighting a bit, then went to the
New York Times
website and began reading the front page.
    •   •   •
    Stone let himself out of the house and got into Peter’s Cayenne. It was parked on an incline out back, where he had left it after visiting the florist, so he let it roll for a hundred yards before starting the engine. He rolled up to a back gate, and it opened automatically at the approach of his car.
    The drive to the Bel-Air took only three minutes, and the sun was up now. Twenty-five past seven. He parked the car just up the street from the rear gate of the hotel, and then he got lucky. He looked around a hedge and saw the guard on duty at the back gate leave his sentry box, presumably in search of a toilet.
    Stone