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“I doubt it,” Stone replied. “Don’t worry, Dino can handle it.”
“He can always call in a SWAT team,” Rita said.
Dino made his way through the crowd while the reviews continued to be read. She was tall, so he kept his eyes riveted on the tops of heads. Then he spotted the red hair moving away from him. He pursued, but unless he used his elbows, the crowd kept him from gaining. The redhead pushed through a pair of swinging doors. Dino finally got there and found himself in the kitchen.
“Can I help you, sir?” a waiter asked in an unhelpful way.
“I’ll be out of your way in a minute,” Dino said. He walked slowly through the busy kitchen, dodging waiters and men with knives, but he didn’t see her. Finally he came to the rear door and stepped out into an alley, which contained only garbage cans, lit by the lights from West Forty-fourth Street. He walked all the way down to the street and looked both ways. He thought he saw red hair in the back of a taxi, but then it was gone.
Dino went into Sardi’s by the front door and made his way back to the table. The two women were headed toward the ladies’ room.
“Any luck?” Stone asked.
Dino shook his head. “She went through the kitchen and out into the alley, then she was gone.”
“You’re going to have to do something about this, you know.”
“I know,” Dino replied. “I just don’t know what.”
The women returned from the ladies’ room.
“It’s getting late,” Stone said to Marla. “Come home with me?”
“Oh, I’m exhausted,” Marla replied. “Just completely drained.”
“Dinner tomorrow?”
“Let me call you after I’ve seen the show again a couple of times.”
Stone sighed. “All right.”
She put her hand on his cheek and kissed him. “Just be patient for a little while.”
25
Shelley got into a cab. “Carlyle Hotel,” she said to the driver. She didn’t look over her shoulder. Dino would be back there somewhere, and she wasn’t ready to see him face-to-face again. The circumstances would have to be more favorable.
Shelley got out of the cab and walked into the Carlyle, then turned left into the bar. She could use a drink. She settled on a stool, ordered a cognac, and listened to the jazz trio, who filled the room with sound.
She had been there maybe five minutes when a man came into the bar and took a seat two down from her. He took off his hat and laid it on the bar, and she froze. She knew him; he was FBI. Bob something-or-other. He was assigned to the New York field office, and he had driven her around New York once, when she was on an official visit from Washington.
As casually as she could, she turned slightly away from him and checked out the room in the mirror over the bar. If this was a bust, there would be other agents backing him up and watching the doors. Then a woman came through the door from the direction of the ladies’ room and sat between Bob and Shelley. Another agent. Was this socializing or a setup?
Shelley drained her glass, put a twenty on the bar, and walked past the jazz group. A man was leaning against the wall beside the door, snapping his fingers to the rhythm of the group, and he gave her a good once-over. She left the hotel and threw herself in front of a passing taxi.
“Lady, you want to watch it,” the driver said. “I nearly clipped you.”
“I know, my fault. Go up to Seventy-ninth, then left on Fifth, then down to Seventy-sixth and take another left.”
The driver stepped on it. “That’s a complete circle,” he said.
“I know, but on Seventy-sixth, cross Madison and let me out at the other hotel entrance on Seventy-sixth.”
“It’s your fare,” he said.
“And let me know if anyone seems to be following us.” She didn’t want to look back herself, exposing her face.
“Jealous lover?” the driver asked.
