6 Stone Barrington Novels (148 page)

S
TONE TOOK HOLLY to the Four Seasons, because it was the most elegant New York restaurant he could think of, and because it was within walking distance.

Holly had spent the afternoon shopping and had come home with bags from Armani and Ralph Lauren, the result of which was a black Armani dress that made Stone forget he had had too much sex the night before. They settled into a good table in the Pool Room.

“What would you like to drink?” Stone asked.

“A vodka gimlet, three-to-one, straight up, shaken so cold the bartender's fingers stick to the shaker.”

“Two,” Stone said to the waiter.

“Would you like a particular kind of vodka?” the waiter asked.

“Anything will do,” she replied. When the waiter had gone she said, “Vodka is nothing but grain alcohol that has been cut in half with water. I don't know what
the big deal is about brands. It's not as if it's eighteen-year-old Scotch.”

“I agree,” Stone said. “Do you always give such explicit directions when you order a drink?”

“Just with vodka gimlets,” she replied. “Bartenders never measure, and they always put too much vodka in them.”

“You're a control freak, aren't you?”

“Just with vodka gimlets.”

“The dress is. . . You make that dress look gorgeous.”

“Well put, and just in time. I thought you were going to tell me the dress makes me look gorgeous.”

“Certainly not,” said Stone, who had been about to do just that. “You don't look like a cop at all this evening.”

“Even higher praise! You know, there just isn't any way to look feminine in a police uniform, unless you're wearing shorts.”

“You wear shorts?”

“We're in Florida, remember? Actually, I don't, but I encourage some of my female officers to.”

“Which female officers?”

“The ones who look good in shorts. It encourages tourism.”

Their drinks arrived, and they sipped them appreciatively.

“Now
that's
a vodka gimlet,” Holly said. “You can tell if it's right by the color. It should have a pretty, green tinge.”

“And it does.”

“Stone, I need your advice about something.”

“Shoot.”

“This is legal advice and must remain confidential.”

“Shoot.”

“I have five million seven hundred and sixty thousand dollars I don't know what to do with.”

“Buy a jet airplane.”

“I don't think so.”

“You want me to introduce you to my broker?”

“No.”

“What do you
want
to do with the money?”

“I haven't the faintest idea.”

“You could give it to your favorite charity.”

“That would involve a paper trail.”

“Uh-oh,” he said.

“What's the matter?”

“This is illegal, isn't it?”

“That's what I wanted to ask you about.”

“Okay, where'd you get the money?”

“Well, last year I was investigating this thing where the proceeds of various crimes were being put into a vault back home. I was watching some of these guys unloading a van filled with suitcases and boxes. And, wanting to know what was in them, I snatched one of them, a large briefcase, which turned out to be filled with five million seven hundred and sixty thousand dollars.”

“And where is the money now?”

“In a tree.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I climbed a tree and wedged the briefcase into the branches.”

“This is in Florida?”

“Yes.”

“They have hurricanes in Florida. What if there's a hurricane?”

“Then there will be hundred-dollar bills all over Indian River County, and my problem will be solved.”

“All right, let's go to basics: This is illegal; you've committed a crime.”

“I figured.”

“Why did you do this?”

“Well, I took the briefcase to find out if they were transporting cash, so I could hardly hand it back to them. I hid it, and I didn't even think about it until a couple of weeks after we had arrested the whole bunch.”

“Why didn't you give it back then?”

“Give it back to whom? The criminals? They were all in jail.”

“Did you tell anybody about this?”

“Yes. I told Grant Harrison, my FBI friend. Well, former friend. This was before he became such a bureaucratic ass.”

“And he didn't arrest you?”

“I told you, we were, ah, friendly at the time.”

“How friendly?”

“Very friendly.”

“And he didn't do anything about this?”

“About the money? No.”

“Well, that makes him an accessory.”

“Funny, that's what I told him the last time he mentioned it to me.”

“What did he say?”

“He didn't say anything. In fact, he stopped talking altogether for quite a while.”

“Why don't you just give it to the FBI?”

“I suggested that to Grant, but he turned pale. He wanted to know how I could explain the long delay in turning it in. I told him
we
would have to explain.”

“And what was his reaction?”

“He told me to shut up and never mention it to him again.”

“Were there any witnesses to this conversation?”

“No, we were in bed at the time.”

“Then I guess you weren't wearing a wire.”

“Good guess.”

“I don't think I've ever run into a problem quite like this,” Stone said.

“Me, either.”

“I suppose you've thought about spending it.”

“Well, yes, but I have everything I need, and I can afford a lot more, so what would I do with it?”

“You could put a big ribbon on it, leave it on the doorstep of your favorite orphanage, ring the bell, and run like hell.”

“I've thought of that, but I'm sure somebody would see me, and I'd get caught. Anyway, I don't have a favorite orphanage.”

“You could just leave it in the tree until some lucky lumberjack chops it down and finds the money.”

“I'd worry about it. I'm tired of worrying about it.”

“How about this: You give the money to your lawyer . . .”

” Yeah, sure.”

“Wait a minute, I'm not finished. Then your lawyer calls the local chief of police and says he has a client who has come upon some money that he suspects is illegal, and the client wants to turn it in, if he can do so anonymously.”

“
I'm
the local chief of police. Aren't we talking about a conspiracy?”

“A conspiracy to do the right thing?”

“I think you're beginning to see the size of my problem.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Stone, you have an airplane, right?”

“Yes.”

“There's an airstrip on the property. Why don't you and I fly down there tonight, get the money, and bring it back up here. I'll split it with you, fifty-fifty.”

Stone held up his hands as if to ward her off. “Oh, no, you're not sucking me into this. Anyway, I've had a vodka gimlet. I can't legally fly for eight hours. By the time we got down there it would be broad daylight.”

“So, we'll do it tomorrow night.”

“Holly, I need some time to think about this.”

“I'll bet you know how to get this into an offshore account, don't you?”

“Sure, that's easy. We just fly my airplane down to the Cayman Islands, find a bank, deposit it, and fly back. Customs doesn't search you on the way out.”

“I like the sound of that,” Holly said.

“Of course, we'd have to sign a form saying that we haven't taken more than five thousand dollars in cash or negotiable instruments out of the country. If we lied about it, that would be a felony.”

“It seems like such a
little
felony, doesn't it?”

“That's it. I'm not having any more to drink.”

“So you can fly?”

“So I'll stop thinking like this. You're making me crazy.”

She leered at him. “It's about time.”

Later, in bed, they forgot about the money.

S
TONE WAS AT his desk the following morning when Joan buzzed him.

“Yes?”

“Lance Cabot is here to see you.”

“Send him in.”

Lance came into Stone's office carrying an envelope. “Good morning,” he said, his usual affable self.

“Good morning, Lance. What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to talk to you about your contract.”

“All right.”

“Holly's is fine. I've sent it on to Langley, where it will be countersigned, dated, and a copy returned to her. Your contract, however, has a problem: I can't include words like ‘his usual hourly or daily rate.' We must be specific.”

“All right, five hundred dollars an hour.”

“I think it would be to your advantage if we kept it at a daily rate, like Holly's contract.”

“All right, four thousand dollars a day.”

“I was thinking two thousand.”

“Thirty-five hundred.”

“Three.”

“Done.”

Lance removed the contract from the envelope. “Do you think your secretary could retype this page?”

“Of course.” He buzzed for Joan.

Lance made the changes and handed the page to Joan, who disappeared.

“So, we have a deal?” Lance said.

“Yes, we do.”

“Good. I'd like you to go to London today.”

Stone managed not to look amazed. “Today?”

“Yes.”

“What for?”

“That will be explained to you when you arrive at the Connaught, which is where we're putting you up.”

“How long will I be gone?”

“One, possibly two nights.”

“I'm afraid that won't be possible.”

“Why not?”

“I have a houseguest.”

Lance sighed. “Holly can't go with you.”

“It's only a Concorde ticket.”

“Not even if you pay for it yourself, and I was thinking business class.”

“My contract calls for deluxe travel.”

“Oh, all right.” Lance raised his hands in surrender.

“When and how will my expenses be paid?”

“Our travel agent will make your travel
arrangements. You can bill us for anything other than your plane tickets, hotel, and airport transfers. My people will send you an expense form. It's a pain in the ass, but your secretary can do it.”

“Do what?” Joan asked, entering the room. She handed a sheet of paper to Lance.

“My expenses,” Stone said.

“What expenses?”

“From my London trip.”

“What London trip?”

“The one that starts today.”

“Is this for the Woodsmoke Corporation?”

Lance spoke up. “Exactly.”

“What, exactly, is the Woodsmoke Corporation?”

“Thanks, Joan,” Lance said. “That'll be all for the moment.” Lance spread the contract on Stone's desk, and they both signed it.

“There,” Lance said. “All done. I'll have your tickets and hotel confirmation sent over in an hour or so. You'd better start packing.” He turned to go.

“Wait a minute. What am I supposed to do when I get there?”

“Get a good night's sleep, if that's possible, then expect a phone call in the morning. Somebody will mention Woodsmoke. Have a good trip.” Lance walked out.

Stone went upstairs and found Holly. “I'm afraid I'm going to have to disappear for a couple of days,” he said.

“Why?”

“I have to go to London.”

“What for?”

“I don't know.”

“Sounds like Lance.”

“It is. You'll have a signed copy of your contract soon, he says.”

“Why don't I go with you?”

“I asked. He says no, and it's his party.”

“Party?”

“So to speak. Make yourself at home in the house.”

“Can I sleep in your bed?”

“By all means. I'd like to think of you sleeping in my bed.”

“And in London, whose bed will you be sleeping in?” she asked archly.

“The Connaught Hotel's bed. I don't believe they supply sleeping partners.”

“Good. You won't tell me what you're going to be doing there?”

“I told you, I don't know what I'm going to be doing there, and I may not be able to tell you, even after I find out.”

“I love all this cloak-and-dagger stuff,” she said.

“No, you don't. You'd rather know what's happening.”

“Well, that's true, I guess.”

“I have to pack,” he said, going to his closet and taking down a carry-on suitcase.

“Can I watch?”

“Watch?”

“I want to see what you take.”

“Whatever turns you on.” He packed three changes of underwear, socks, and shirts, a couple of nightshirts, and folded a suit on top of it.

“No toiletries?”

Stone took down a small duffel from a shelf. “Already packed.”

“That was pretty simple.”

“I can go just about anywhere with a blazer and a blue suit.”

“What if you get a black-tie invitation?”

“If I think that might happen, I'll take a dinner jacket, but that's for a longer trip. Worse comes to worst, I can wear a black bow tie with the blue suit, or I can rent.”

“What are you taking for shoes?”

“A pair of black alligator loafers. They'll work with anything.”

“Everything is so simple for men.”

“Yeah? Try shaving every day.”

“Stubble is in.”

“Along with bad haircuts and three-button suits, which are as ridiculous as stubble and bad haircuts.”

“Why?”

“They're boxy and unflattering.”

“Have a good trip. Daisy and I are off to the park. Call me when you get there, just to let me know you're still alive.”

“If I don't call, I'm dead.”

“You'd better be.” She kissed him goodbye and left with Daisy.