“What’s he going to pose as?” Rita asked.
“Not as anything,” Mitzi said. “He wouldn’t fit into Derek Sharpe’s crowd. He’ll watch my back; he’ll be the cavalry that rides in if something goes wrong.”
“You make this sound dangerous,” Rita said.
“That’s unlikely,” Stone said, “but an undercover cop has to operate on the premise that he-or she, in this case-is in danger at all times. These things tend to have a happier ending if you think that way. Shall we have another bottle of champagne?”
They did.
18
THEY HAD FINISHED LUNCH and the second bottle of champagne and were on coffee.
“Rita,” Stone said, “I need your help on something else.”
“What’s that?”
“I need to find Mitzi a temporary place in a good building on the Upper East Side, somewhere she can operate from. Her address will be the first thing Derek Sharpe will learn about her, and it has to impress him.”
Rita turned to Mitzi. “Mitzi, why don’t you just bunk with me? I live in my parents’ apartment in a nice building. They spend most of their time at their house in the Hamptons, and there are comfortable guest rooms.”
“Thank you, Rita,” Mitzi replied. “That’s very kind of you.”
Stone relaxed; that had gone just the way he had hoped. He heard the phone ring in the kitchen.
Helene stuck her head out the back door. “Phone for you, Mr. Stone!”
“Will you ladies excuse me?” Stone said. He took the call so they would have an opportunity to get to know each other better in his absence. He went into the kitchen, sat down at the counter, and picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Stone, it’s Brian Doyle.”
“Hey, Brian. Thanks for putting Mitzi on this. I’ve introduced her to a woman who can help her get to know the scene, and she now has the best address on Park Avenue.”
“That’s good news,” Brian said. “I have some of my own.”
“Shoot.”
“Mr. Mervin Pyle, aka Derek Sharpe, does not have a record under either of those names.”
“I’m surprised to hear it,” Stone said.
“Don’t be too surprised; he has records under three other names. Apparently our boy took to identity change as a way of life in his youth. He lived in Dallas, L.A., and San Francisco, where he managed an art gallery for a while.”
“What sort of stuff?”
“Burglary, embezzlement, battery, attempted murder, all under different names.”
“Did he do time?”
“Only while awaiting bail. His IDs were so good that, each time he pled out, and as, supposedly, a first offender, he got no jail time.”
Rita and Mitzi came into the kitchen, and Stone asked Brian to hang on.
“Do you mind if we have a look around your house?” Rita asked.
“Not at all. Explore to your heart’s content.”
She handed him a card. “You might have your secretary have some cards like this printed for Mitzi.”