Unintended Consequences

no idea.”
    “That doesn’t make any sense, and it’s too early in the day for you to be drunk. I mean, isn’t it?”
    “Yes, it is.”
    “Then what are you talking about?”
    “I was hoping you could tell me what happened after your wedding.”
    “Stone, I haven’t talked with you since the wedding. How would I know why you’re in Paris?”
    “I lost four days.”
    “What did you do with them?”
    “All I know is that I spent one night on a flight to Paris. The rest is a blank.”
    “Are you feeling all right, Stone?”
    “I am now, but I was drugged when I got to Paris.”
    “Who would want to drug you in Paris?”
    “I mean, on the airplane. Somebody drugged me then. I apparently managed to get through the airport and into a cab under my own steam, then I passed out, and the driver went through my pockets, then took me to the American Embassy, where Holly’s people took care of me.”
    “You need me to come to Paris?”
    “Hell, no! I want you to enjoy your honeymoon!”
    “Okay, I’ll be sure and do that. What are you going to do now?”
    “I’m going to try to find out what happened during those four lost days.”
    “And you think sleeping with a few Parisiennes is going to make that happen?”
    “Come on, Dino.”
    “Well, that’s your usual solution to any problem. What’s the matter, aren’t there enough women in Paris?”
    “More than enough.”
    “Well, eventually one of them will enlighten you.”
    “Funny you should mention that, it’s what I hoped would happen.”
    “How many have you tried so far?”
    “Only two.”
    “You’d better get your ass in gear, then.”
    “I’ll do that. I’m glad you’re not dead, Dino. I already had a plane to St. Barts booked.”
    “That’s sweet of you, kiddo, but what I’m doing here, I don’t need any help. Call me if you need me.”
    “Will do.” They hung up. Stone couldn’t seem to get enough air in his lungs. He walked around the room taking deep breaths, swinging his arms and mopping his sweaty face on his sleeve. He looked at his watch: a quarter to one.
    He went downstairs and asked the concierge to cancel his travel plans, then he got a cab to Saint-Germain-des-Prés. Before he entered Brasserie Lipp, he leaned against a streetlamp, pressing his forehead against the cool metal, then he took a few more deep breaths and went inside.

13
    A manda was already sitting at a good table. Stone sat down, his back to the room, and patted his forehead with his napkin.
    “I saw you outside leaning against the pole,” she said. “You looked as though you were screwing up your courage to come in here. Is it me?”
    “No, no, nothing like that.”
    “What was that, then?”
    “I just got some good news.”
    “That’s how you react to good news? I’m glad it wasn’t bad news.”
    “I got the bad news earlier and had to sweat it out until I got the good news.”
    “What was the good news?”
    “That the bad news wasn’t true.”
    “What was the bad news?”
    “That a friend of mine—no, my best friend in the world—and his new wife were killed in an airplane crash in St. Barts on their honeymoon.”
    “But the good news fixed that?”
    “Yes, the couple killed had the same surname.”
    “And how did you hear about this?”
    “A friend called me from the States.”
    “So everything is all right now?”
    “Yes, everything.”
    “I gave the maître d’ your name, and he didn’t put me upstairs with the tourists. I’m impressed. How long since you were here?”
    “Yesterday.”
    “Oh. I should have suggested someplace else.”
    “This is just fine—in fact, it’s my favorite place in Paris.”
    “And you have a high tolerance for choucroute?”
    “I do.” Stone flagged down a waiter and ordered the dish for both of them. “And a beer?” he asked Amanda.
    “That’s good.”
    The waiter went away and came back with two of the big round glasses with their creamy heads.
    Stone took a deep draught.
    “Feel better now?”
    “Much.” Stone glanced up at the mirror and saw the reflection of the man Rick LaRose had described as “opposition” taking the same seat he had the day before.
    “See somebody you know?”
    “Not know, just familiar.”
    “The guy with the shaved head and the hooked nose?”
    “Yes.”
    “He’s a Russian spy.”
    “You think he’s after Lipp’s choucroute recipe?”
    She laughed. “Isn’t everybody?”
    “He was here yesterday, too, that’s why he looks