Free Standup Guy by Stuart Woods

he tell you anything?”
    “He doesn’t know anything,” Dino said.
    “Somebody thinks he does.”
    Hank broke in. “Is this the guy who got shot last night?”
    “Right,” Dino said. “How’d you know?”
    “I heard Stone talking to the bartender about it.”
    “Charlie called nine-one-one, but he wasn’t too upset about it,” Stone said.
    “Sean has that effect on people. By the way, he hates your guts, calls you StonefuckingBarrington.”
    Stone laughed. “I choose my enemies well.”
    “What about you, pal?” Dino asked.
    “Me? What about me?”
    “You had any . . . repercussions?”
    “A couple of Secret Service agents showed up with a hundred-dollar bill that Joan deposited in my account.”
    “Payment for legal advice?”
    “You could say that. They felt that the bill was too old to be in my possession. It was printed sometime after 1966.”
    “One of those with the red seal on them?”
    “That’s it.”
    “Should I mention that to Sean Donnelly?”
    “You do, and I’ll shoot you in a painful place.”
    Dino laughed.
    “You guys lead interesting lives,” Hank said. “What do you do, Viv?”
    “I used to be a cop, too, but these days I’m a security executive.”
    “What’s that?”
    “I work for a large security company called Strategic Services.”
    “And you do what?”
    “We secure things and people. How about you?”
    “Illustrator.”
    “She’s not kidding,” Stone said, producing the cocktail napkin with his portrait.
    “Not bad,” Viv said.
    “You missed the shifty eyes,” Dino pointed out.
    Hank laughed. “Next time, I’ll make them shiftier.”
    They ordered dinner and a bottle of wine. Four steaks and a lot of fries later, Stone invited them all back to his place for a nightcap. They rode in Dino’s car.
    “Listen,” Dino said, as they got out at Stone’s house, “you should watch your ass for a while. Sean knows you’re mixed up with Fratelli, and if he knows, other people know.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind,” Stone said.
    “I know you’re not used to it these days, but you should start carrying.”
    “I guess so,” Stone said.

18
    Stone let them into the house, entered the alarm code, and took their coats.
    “Very nice,” Hank said, looking around the well-lit living room. “You must spend a fortune on lightbulbs.”
    “The new lightbulbs cost a fortune,” Stone said, “but they’re supposed to outlive me.” He herded them toward the study, where the lights were already on, too. “Actually, the lights come on when the alarm code is entered. If it’s entered incorrectly, they flash on and off, the cops are called, and the surveillance cameras come on. What can I get you?”
    “A cognac, if you have it.”
    “I have it. Do you have a preference?”
    “The costliest,” Hank replied.
    Stone laughed and poured them all a vintage cognac.
    “You seem a little on the paranoid side, Stone,” Hank said, settling into the leather sofa. “Security system, flashing lights, surveillance cameras.”
    “He’s not paranoid enough,” Dino said, “and if I were you I wouldn’t get too near him, until a certain matter is resolved, or you could become collaterally damaged.”
    Stone pressed a button and a panel slid silently up, revealing a safe. He opened it, retrieved a small handgun and a holster, and clipped it to his belt, then he joined Hank on the sofa.
    “There,” he said. “Feel better?”
    “Only slightly,” she said. “There’s always the chance that you’ll shoot me.”
    “If it helps,” Viv said, “all of us here are armed, with the possible exception of yourself.”
    Hank reached into her thick hair and produced an old-fashioned hatpin, about six inches long. “Only this,” she said, “for incipient rapists.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind,” Stone said.
    “Why, were you planning to rape me?”
    “Not while that pig-sticker is in your hand.”
    She returned the pin to her hair. “There,” she said, “out of