Family Jewels Read Free

his nose, then he turned to Fred. “You did that? How’d you reach that high?”
    “He lifted me into range,” Fred replied. “And I have reason to believe that he is armed—shoulder holster, left side.”
    “Oh, yeah?” The cop patted the area, then reached inside the man’s jacket and pulled out a small 9mm pistol. “Tell you what,” he said. “We’ll give you a lift to the ER, and on the way we can have a little chat about this.” He held up the gun.
    The man nodded, and the two policemen escorted him from the restaurant. Fred walked over to Ms. Fiske’s table. “I don’t believe he’ll bother you for the remainder of the day, miss.”
    “I’m so glad,” Ms. Fiske replied. “In that case, I don’t believe I’ll need you for the rest of the day, Fred. You may convey the news to Mr. Barrington.”
    “I will do so, miss,” Fred replied. “Good day.” He walked out of the restaurant and went for the car.
    Half an hour later, Fred had conveyed the news to Mr. Barrington.
    “Well done,” Stone said.
    “Thank you, sir.”
    “Do you think he got the message?”
    “If he didn’t, next time I’ll break his patella—that will keep him out of action for a while.”
    “As long as it’s in self-defense,” Stone said, and Fred took his leave.
    —
    S tone joined Dino and his wife, Viv, for dinner at Patroon that evening, and he told them about Fred’s actions that afternoon.
    “Sounds like a law-abiding citizen to me,” Dino said.
    “Fred or the other guy?”
    “Fred, of course. It would have weighed with the arresting officer that he was so much smaller than the one who was doing the bleeding. What was this all about?”
    “Recently divorced woman with an ex-husband who can’t face reality and is stalking her.”
    Dino, to Stone’s astonishment, began to sing: “It seems to me I’ve heard that song before. It’s from an old familiar score . . .”
    “Dino,” Viv said. “I never knew you could sing.”
    “He can’t,” Stone replied.
    “Still, the song resonates, doesn’t it?” Dino asked. “Jule Styne and Sammy Cahn.”
    “I’ll bet you didn’t know he was a musicologist, either,” Stone said to Viv.
    “I learn something new about him every . . . month or so,” she replied.
    “Half the women Stone has ever been involved with had angry men in the way.”
    “I’m not involved with her,” Stone said, “she’s a client.”
    “That never got in the way before, and I don’t think the American Bar Association would like it.”
    “So, I offer some of my clients a broad range of services.”
    Viv burst out laughing. “Don’t tell me, just let my imagination run wild.”

4
    S tone was at his desk the following morning when he heard voices—a man and a woman—followed by scuffling sounds, followed by a very large man with a length of tape across his nose and two black eyes, looking much like a sorrowful raccoon. Right behind him was Joan, wielding the .45 that she kept in her desk drawer.
    “Freeze!” she yelled.
    “Joan!” Stone said loudly. “Don’t shoot him!”
    “Oh, all right,” Joan replied, sounding disappointed. She lowered the weapon.
    “Who are you and what do you want?” Stone asked. “And talk fast, or I’ll let her shoot you.”
    “My name is Harvey Biggers,” the man said.
    “Oh, right. Sorry, I was a little slow on the uptake. You’dbetter sit down before you pass out. I’ll handle this, Joan. Put the gun away.”
    Biggers sat down. “I have to talk to you.”
    “I’m afraid that conversation can’t take place,” Stone said, “since I represent your former wife.”
    “Look, you don’t know what you’re getting mixed up in. Don’t worry, I won’t ask you for legal advice. Just give me five minutes to ease my conscience.”
    “Your conscience? If you want to confess, speak to somebody at the Nineteenth Precinct.”
    “This is not a confession, it’s a warning.”
    “A warning about what?”
    “About what you’re