“The difference is one main course,” she said. “Do the arithmetic.”
Stone was about to argue with her when two very large men walked through the front door, looking around like wolves seeking out a wounded animal. “What’s this?” Stone asked.
Dino glanced over his shoulder. “Wiseguys,” he said. “So what?”
“They don’t look like they’re here for dinner,” Stone replied. “At least, not for anything on the menu.”
The two very large men walked the length of the restaurant, then homed in on Siberia, where the girl under the table had finished her work and had joined her co
mpanions in an upright position for a glass of wine. One of the men reached across the table, took Herbie by the lapels and lifted him over the table.
Stone was impressed that the lift was such that Herbie’s feet had cleared the wineglasses. He watched as, braced between the two very large men, Herbie was escorted toward the front door, his feet not quite touching the floor.
“Dino,” Elaine said.
“What?”
“Dino, you’re a cop; do something,” she said, nodding toward the three men.
“Elaine, I’m about to be in the middle of a steak.”
“Listen, you want to fuck up my reputation here? I can’t have that kind of stuff going on. Get your ass out there.”
Dino heaved a sigh, got up from the table and walked out the front door, digging in his pocket for his badge.
“What’s going on?” Eggers asked.
“Could be a collection under way,” Stone replied.
“Or a hit,” Elaine observed.
The door opened and Dino entered, supporting Herbie, who was dabbing at a bloody nose with a handkerchief. Dino walked him back to Siberia and sat him down at his table with the two hookers. Then he came back to Stone’s table.
“What happened?” Eggers asked.
“Nothing,” Dino replied. “I just saved his life, that’s all.”
Stone turned to Elaine. “Why do you allow people like Herbie in here?”
“He pays cash,” Elaine replied.
2
The three were picking over the remains of the porterhouse when Eggers flagged down a waiter and pointed at the enormous bone. “Wrap that up for my wife’s dog, will you?”
“Bill,” Stone said, “your wife has a Yorkshire terrier; that bone will eat him.”
“It’ll keep him away from my shoes for a few days,” Eggers replied, accepting the foil-wrapped gift from the waiter. “You pay three grand for a pair of custom-made shoes from Lobb’s, and a four-pound canine perforates them.”
Stone looked at Eggers in wonder. “You pay three grand for shoes?”
“That’s a bargain; it’s five grand if you go to Silvano Lattanzi.”
“That’s more than I paid for any of the first dozen cars I owned,” Dino said. “If I were you, I’d insure the shoes.”
“Hey, that could work,” Eggers said. “I could claim against my household insurance. I mean, the deductible is only a grand.”
“They’d probably make you shoot the dog,” Stone said.