Wild Card (Stone Barrington #49)(40)

He shopped for an hour, chose some suits, jackets, shirts, and shoes, then got his clothes marked up for alterations to the cuffs and sleeves and ordered everything delivered to the apartment. Then he got into a cab.

“Take me to a Chevrolet car dealer,” he said to the driver.

Three-quarters of an hour later, he drove a new Tahoe off the lot and to his new building. He went upstairs and smelled cooking as he got off the elevator and let himself into the apartment.

The living room was crowded with shopping bags from J. Crew and J. Press, and Annie was in the kitchen. “Hi,” she said, “I did some grocery shopping.”





31


Bob Cantor knocked, then walked into Stone’s office and sat down. “I think you’ve had enough of Sherry and me,” he said.

“Nonsense. You can stay as long as you like.”

“What I’d like is to go back to my hideout in Brooklyn and take Sherry with me.”

“Do you think that will be safe?”

“It’ll be safe because they don’t know about it,” he replied. “I’ve swept the neighborhood here for the past couple of days, and it’s been squeaky clean. I think Brooklyn will be, too. I’ve also taken a couple of trips to my house downtown, and there’s no human surveillance on it. No electronic surveillance, either, if I’m any good at what I do.”

Sherry joined them and thanked Stone profusely.

“Our stuff is all packed and in the car,” Bob said.

“You okay for money?” Stone asked.

“Oh, yeah. I’ve always got cash on hand.” He stood up and offered his hand. “Call me, if there are any developments.”

“I don’t think there will be,” Stone said, “now that Jamie’s book is coming out. Since we’ve already done our worst, we’re not a threat to them anymore.”

“I hope you’re right,” Bob said. “Just remember, revenge runs deep in the Italian character.”

“That’s what Dino keeps telling me,” Stone replied.

They said goodbye and left.



* * *



? ? ?

Ari sat in front of his laptop and made a Skype call. Senator Joseph Box answered. “Ari?” he asked.

“Yes, Senator.”

“Welcome aboard.”

“I’ve been following your campaign on the Internet, and I have a couple of observations.”

“I’d be happy to hear them.”

“Senator, I get the impression that you have a good memory.”

“An outstandingly excellent memory,” Box replied. “I can recite whole chapters from books that I read in high school.”

“Can you memorize a fifteen-minute speech?”

“Certainly. I’ve pretty much been ignoring the teleprompter.”

“So I have noticed,” Ari said. “I don’t want you to confuse reciting a speech from memory and improvising one. They’re two different skills, and somehow, when you improvise, too many things come out wrong.”

“I’m hurt,” Box replied.

“Don’t be. Your memory will carry you through. It’s important, too, not to exceed the fifteen-minute limit. You run the risk of boring your audience, and it’s better to leave them wanting more than offering them too much.”

“I take your point.”

“I want you to have your clothes pressed more often, too,” Ari said.

“Oh?” Box looked hurt again. “I’ve been told you’re sometimes excessively blunt.”

“I try to say what needs to be said as quickly as possible. You have a tendency to look rumpled at the best of times, and keeping your clothes pressed lessens that. Assign a campaign volunteer to that task. Also, I’d like you to wear more solid-color ties or ones with very small figures, like pin dots.”

“Am I choosing my ties badly?”

“Yes.”

Box winced. “All right, I’ll do as you say. By the way, your speeches have been excellent.”

“Yes, they have been,” Ari agreed, “and they will continue being so. The press is picking up the lines I have intended them to.”

“Am I ever going to see you live?” Box asked.

“I’ll catch an occasional appearance on the trail, and I’ll introduce myself.”

“I’m told you don’t like shaking hands.”

“The custom of shaking hands arose from a desire to show others that one is unarmed. I am always unarmed.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“Goodbye, Senator.” Ari hung up.



* * *



? ? ?

Senator Box turned to his bodyguard. “That kid is weird,” he said.



* * *



? ? ?

    Annie appeared, reflected in his computer screen. “I know you don’t like being touched,” she said.

“It’s good that you know.”

“I’m going to put my hands on your shoulders, and I want you to relax.” She reached out to him and detected an immediate stiffness.

“I had a massage once,” Ari said. “I disliked it intensely.”