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.
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 chains, the driver said.
You're doing fine, Tiff replied.
The driver worked his way downtown and over to Park Avenue, passing cars in various levels of disarray along their route. They had just turned south again when Stone pointed ahead. Look!
Tiff peered through the windshield. All I see is snow.
It's the red Hummer, Stone said. Stop right here, driver.
I'm afraid that if I stop, I won't be able to get going again, James replied. They were passing the Hummer, now, which had apparently stopped to help another car out of a drift.
Pull over right here, goddammit! Stone orderd.
Pull over, James, Tiff said.
James pulled over.
Now what? Tiff asked.
James, are you an FBI agent? Stone asked.
No, sir, I'm just a hired hand.
Are you armed?
Yes, sir.
James is an employee of the Justice Department, and he's armed, but he's not a law-enforcement official, Tiff said. He can't arrest anybody.
James, will you loan me your gun, please? Stone asked.
I'm sorry, Mr. Barrington, but I can't do that, James replied.
Swearing under his breath, Stone got out his cell phone and called Lance again.
Yes?
Lance, I'm in a black Lincoln, stopped at the corner of Ninety-fourth and Park, and the red Hummer is right behind me, pulling another car out of a drift.
Hold, please, Lance said.
Stone could hear him ordering up people on a landline.
I've scrambled some cars, but in the present circumstances, it's going to take them some time to get there. Are you armed?
No.
In the future, I would prefer that you carry at all times. This fellow is dangerous.
I'm aware of that, and we have an armed driver, but he can't arrest anybody, and he won't loan me his gun.
Stone looked out the window and saw the Hummer drive past. The Hummer is on the move, he said, driving down Park.
Stay with him, and keep me posted; I'll stay on the line.
Let's go, James, Stone said. Stay with the Hummer.
Right, James replied. He put the Lincon in gear and pressed the accelerator. The car did not move. Oh, shit, James said.
Try rocking it back and forth, Stone said.
James tried doing that, but it didn't help.
Lance, Stone said, We're stuck in the snow, and we're losing the Hummer. Are your people anywhere near?
Hang on. Lance went back to the landline, then returned. They're making their way up Park from about Thirty-fourth Street, he said.
Well, all you can do is to keep them on Park, looking for a red Hummer. If they spot him, then they can make a
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.
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 chains, the driver said.
You're doing fine, Tiff replied.
The driver worked his way downtown and over to Park Avenue, passing cars in various levels of disarray along their route. They had just turned south again when Stone pointed ahead. Look!
Tiff peered through the windshield. All I see is snow.
It's the red Hummer, Stone said. Stop right here, driver.
I'm afraid that if I stop, I won't be able to get going again, James replied. They were passing the Hummer, now, which had apparently stopped to help another car out of a drift.
Pull over right here, goddammit! Stone orderd.
Pull over, James, Tiff said.
James pulled over.
Now what? Tiff asked.
James, are you an FBI agent? Stone asked.
No, sir, I'm just a hired hand.
Are you armed?
Yes, sir.
James is an employee of the Justice Department, and he's armed, but he's not a law-enforcement official, Tiff said. He can't arrest anybody.
James, will you loan me your gun, please? Stone asked.
I'm sorry, Mr. Barrington, but I can't do that, James replied.
Swearing under his breath, Stone got out his cell phone and called Lance again.
Yes?
Lance, I'm in a black Lincoln, stopped at the corner of Ninety-fourth and Park, and the red Hummer is right behind me, pulling another car out of a drift.
Hold, please, Lance said.
Stone could hear him ordering up people on a landline.
I've scrambled some cars, but in the present circumstances, it's going to take them some time to get there. Are you armed?
No.
In the future, I would prefer that you carry at all times. This fellow is dangerous.
I'm aware of that, and we have an armed driver, but he can't arrest anybody, and he won't loan me his gun.
Stone looked out the window and saw the Hummer drive past. The Hummer is on the move, he said, driving down Park.
Stay with him, and keep me posted; I'll stay on the line.
Let's go, James, Stone said. Stay with the Hummer.
Right, James replied. He put the Lincon in gear and pressed the accelerator. The car did not move. Oh, shit, James said.
Try rocking it back and forth, Stone said.
James tried doing that, but it didn't help.
Lance, Stone said, We're stuck in the snow, and we're losing the Hummer. Are your people anywhere near?
Hang on. Lance went back to the landline, then returned. They're making their way up Park from about Thirty-fourth Street, he said.
Well, all you can do is to keep them on Park, looking for a red Hummer. If they spot him, then they can make a
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