“When?”
“I don’t know yet; we’re waiting for a call from Derek Sharpe to tell us he has the goods. Mitzi will see that we have some notice, though.”
“Okay, I’m available.”
“Do me a favor?”
“What is it this time?”
“I need you to call the NYPD flight department and inquire about a helicopter pad somewhere in the vicinity of Park and Seventy-second Street.”
“Okay, I can do that.”
“I think that’s all I need until the bust goes down,” Stone said. His cell phone vibrated on his belt, and he dug it out of its holster. “Hello?”
“It’s Mitzi.”
“Hello, there.”
“The buy is tomorrow morning, eleven a.m., at the apartment.”
“Gotcha. Dino and I will be there early.”
“Great.”
“Something I’d like to know about the apartment.”
“What?”
“The windows, the ones overlooking Park Avenue, do they open?”
“You mean, are they not sealed shut?”
“Exactly.”
“Hang on.”
Stone waited until she came back.
“Yes, they open,” she said.
“Thanks. See you tomorrow.” He hung up. “We’re on,” he said to Dino. “Eleven a.m. tomorrow.”
“Good.”
“You still have your old.22 target pistol?” Stone asked.
“Yeah, it’s in my safe.”
“Bring it.”
“Why?”
“Just bring it.”
Dinner arrived, and they dug in.
In spite of the bourbon and the good food, Stone was nervous again. He didn’t like being nervous; something bad usually happened when he was nervous.