“I’m not a bodyguard, Herbie, but your uncle Bob can have one or two of the retired cops he knows take care of you.”
Herbie looked away. “I can’t ask Uncle Bob for anything else,” he said. “I’ve asked him for too much over the years, and I’ve promised him that I’ll stand on my own two feet from now on.”
“I see,” Stone said, searching for a way to turn him down.
“I want Dino to come, too.”
Stone brightened. “Tell you what, Herbie, if you can get Dino to come along, I’ll go, too.”
“That’s great, Stone.”
“When is the funeral?”
“In forty-five minutes; we’ve just got time to make it.”
“I don’t think you can
corral Dino that quickly, Herbie.”
“He’s outside in my car,” Herbie said.
Stone was now trapped.
“You can charge me for your time,” Herbie said.
Stone sagged. “All right, Herbie.” He stood up and followed Herbie out.
“I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” Stone said to Joan.
Dino was, indeed, waiting in Herbie’s Maybach, sipping a Scotch.
Stone got into the back and took a rear-facing seat. “A little early, isn’t it?”
Dino shrugged. “What the hell,” he said.
“Is there any bourbon?” Stone asked Herbie.
Herbie leaned forward and pressed a button. A lid rose, revealing a small bar. “I’ll join you,” he said. “Ice?”
“Please,” Stone replied.
Herbie poured the drinks and sat back.
“Where’s the funeral?” Stone asked.
“At a cemetery in Queens,” Herbie said. “My driver knows the way.”
“So it’s just a burial, not a funeral?”
“What’s the difference?” Herbie asked.
“A funeral usually takes place in a church, a synagogue or a funeral home chapel,” Stone said. “A burial takes place in a cemetery.”
“Oh,” Herbie said. “The only funeral I ever went to was my mother’s, and that was in a cemetery.”
Dino poured himself another drink. “Whatever,” he said.
THE BIG CAR drove through the gates of the cemetery, which turned out to be the one that can be seen from the Long Island Expressway, an incredibly crowded forest of stone.