“Yep.”
“Why aren’t you slowing down?”
“I want to try something.” He pointed ahead. “There they are.”
A state police vehicle was parked in the meridian, a radar gun hanging out a window.
Stone took out his wallet, rolled down the window a bit, and held his badge in the slipstream, creating wind noise. They flew past the police car, and Stone rolled up the window and checked his mirror. “They’re not budging,” he said. “Not yet, anyway. Hang on, there go the cops.”
Holly looked back. “They’re after the Explorer,” she said.
“I guess they’re not flashing a badge,” he said, checking the mirror again. “Yep, light’s on, they’ve got him.” He accelerated again.
“A hundred and forty,” she said. “Do you always drive this fast on the interstate?”
“Well, we know the cops are all involved with the Explorer,” he said, “so unless they radio ahead for a trap, we’re home free. Something else: If the guys in the Explorer are Feds, they’ll call ahead for somebody to pick up the tail at the other end. The goombahs wouldn’t think of that.” He pressed on through the light traffic, passing cars doing eighty as if they were standing still.
In what seemed an incredibly short time, they were turning into Stone’s block.
“Two guys on my front steps,” Stone said, slowing.
“It’s Ham!” Holly said. “What’s he doing here?”
“Who’s Ham?”
“My father.”
“Oh, God,” Stone said.
“You don’t want to meet my father?”
“The other guy on the steps is Herbie Fisher.”
“Who?”
“The guy Lance had me represent in court. I told you about him.”
“What does he want?”
“I dread to think.”
26
HAM BARKER WAS taller than Stone, and skinnier. Stone stuck out his hand. “Hello, Ham, I’m Stone Barrington.”
“Good to meet you,” Ham said gravely.
“Herbie,” Stone said, “what the hell are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in the Virgin Islands.”
“I just thought I’d drop by,” Herbie said, offering his hand.
Stone ignored it. “Don’t do that,” he said.
“Do what?”
“Drop by.”
“Aw, Stone . . .”