STON E S AT I N the Raw Bar, gazing out over the marina and smelling the frying seafood. He glanced at the front entrance and saw Evan Keating and Gigi Jones arriving, and he waved them over.
Evan came over; Gigi went and sat at another table. “Good afternoon,” Evan said. “May I see the contract, please?”
A waitress approached.
“Shall we order first?” Stone asked.
“A pound of stone crab claws and a Heineken,” Evan said.
“Conch fritters and iced tea,” Stone said, and the waitress left.
“Now may I see the contract?”
“Not yet; I want to ask you some questions.”
“Questions?”
“How do I know you’re Evan Keating?” Stone said. “I would hate to deliver a confidential document to the wrong person. How about a picture I.D.?”
9 7
S t u a r t W o o d s
Evan took out a wallet and handed Stone a Florida driver’s license. The face matched the name. “Now may I see the contract?”
“I’m not finished with my questions.”
“What else could you possibly want to know?”
“How did you get the knife wound?”
Evan rarely seemed to register anything, but at the question he registered surprise. “How the hell did you know about that?”
“That’s not pertinent,” Stone replied. “How’d you get the knife wound?”
“From a knife.”
“Who was holding it?”
“A bad person.”
“You don’t really want to see the contract, do you?”
“A drug dealer. I was buying a little cocaine, and we disagreed over the quality and price.”
“And why do you know enough about cocaine to be able to judge quality and price?”
“Experience,” Evan said. “On widely separated occasions.”
“What happened after he knifed you?”
“Gigi rendered him unconscious, and we left.”
“Gigi is a handy girl to have around, isn’t she?”
“Sometimes. At other times she’s just a pain in the ass.”
“Or the neck,” Stone said, rubbing his own at the memory. “Did you pay for the cocaine?”