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“What is Papa’s vodka called?” Dino asked.
“Polska. They will not have it in this restaurant until I choose a distributor.”
“We’ll hold our breath,” Dino said.
Their steaks came, and they ate—Anna, greedily, as if there were a shortage of beef in Poland. Stone ordered a second bottle of wine.
“If you will excuse me,” Anna said, “I must visit what you call, I believe, ‘the little girls’ room.’ ”
Stone and Dino stood, so the table could be moved, then they both watched her walk away, an uplifting experience.
“I’ve got a big disappointment for you, pal,” Dino said.
“What’s that?”
“She’s not Polish.”
“And why do I care?”
“You should care that she’s lying. She’s Russian.”
“So?”
“So what is the nationality of the people who are trying to kill you?”
Stone started to speak, and his jaw dropped.
“I’ll say it for you,” Dino said. “Russian.”
“How can you tell?”
“Something about her tits.”
“I heartily approve of those.”
“Who could not, but it’s her handbag that worries me.”
“Dino, why would I give a shit about her handbag?”
“Because she’s packing,” Dino replied.
“Dino...”
“And she’s going to come out of the ‘little girls’ room,’ walk up to this table, shoot you in the head, and walk out.”
“You’re just trying to get her all to yourself. I’ll tell Viv on you.”
“Viv would have made her first—and would probably already have shot her. Why haven’t you gotten out of here?”
“What about you?”
“I’ll stay here and stall her for a minute, while you run like a deer.”
“This is insane,” Stone said.
“It worked, didn’t it?” Dino looked up. “Uh-oh. Too late.” He reached under the table for something.
Anna was striding out of the ladies’ room and into the dining room. She sat down but did not put her handbag on the table.
