Cooper 03 Cold Hit by Linda Fairstein

Author:Linda Fairstein [Fairstein, Linda]
Format: epub
Published: 2010-05-20T12:23:56.002000+00:00

18

“You’re not going home alone tonight, Coop. End of story.” It was midnight, and I was sitting at the corner table in the front of Primola with Mike and Mercer. The third Dewar’s had failed to calm me.

After I had driven through Central Park, I headed directly across Sixty-fifth Street to my second home, the Italian restaurant where I frequently entertained my companions for dinner. I knew that even at eleven o’clock, Primola would be full of people, so I parked at a fire hydrant in front and ran inside to find Giuliano, the owner. He was my friend, and just as important, he was a soccer player who had competed on a World Cup team several years earlier. If he was between me and the door, I’d be perfectly safe until reinforcements arrived.

I told him that someone crazy was following me, so he sat down at my table, asked Adolfo to get me a drink and Peter to bring over the phone. I dialed Mercer’s beeper number and inhaled the scotch as I waited for a callback. He and Mike had just left Varelli’s studio and were sitting in a bar in SoHo, eating dinner and enjoying their first cocktail. It took them half an hour to get uptown to meet me. Once they arrived, Giuliano left us alone to talk, and Fenton, the bartender, kept sending rounds over to the table.

“Obviously, I didn’t want to go home alone. That’s why I called to tell you what happened. But if you two deposit me there and lock me inside, I’ll be fine.” I live on the twentieth floor of a high-rise building with two doormen, and pay dearly for a great sense of security once inside.

“Why didn’t you just go right to the station house, instead of coming here?”

“Because then there’d be a police report, and then somebody would call the tabloids, and then Battaglia would have me under lock and key for the next month.”

“You don’t even know who you’re looking for, blondie. I’ve had blind victims who’ve given me a better scrip than you have.”

“It’s awfully hard to give you a description when the guy’s wearing a mask and gloves.”

“I think it’s time for a slumber party. One of us is gonna hang with you overnight.”

Mercer took it a step further. “And besides that, you are on the very first plane to the Vineyard in the morning. That is, if you’re not going to be by yourself up there this weekend.”

“Clark Kent’s booked in for a visit, Mercer. Ace reporter for the Daily Planet. She’s dumping us for some news jock, m’man. What time of day do they start flying those tin cans?”

Either the liquor or the scare I had just experienced made the idea of a weekend in the country even more attractive than it had seemed earlier in the day. I had completely neglected matters like the sleep clinic investigation for the more pressing problems of the Caxton murder, but I’d push that one back another week as well.

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