Dirt (25 page)
that also contains three gay porn magazines; and an Internet business
that sends out photos of charmingly posed, quite beautiful children in
the arms of less charming gmwnups.
These "organs' are pumping cash, at the current rate of $70,000,000 a
year, straight into bank accounts in the Caymans and in Zurich. (We
have the account numbers, for those who are really interested.) What we
know will shock you to the core is that our own dear Internal Revenue
Service has never seen so much as a sawbuck in taxes on these
swill-gotten gains! (Admit it, aren't you shocked?)
Just in case there are any doubters among you,
we've prepared a dozen packets containing chapter and verse and
addressed them to some of our nation's leading newspapers and
television networks, not to mention the beys and girls at the IRS. Once
these are sent, we predict that less than twenty-four hours will pass
before Dickie is in either a federal lockup or Brazil! Stay tuned for
mom!
P.S. Dickie, the above copy is for your eyes only. To prevent those
packets from going out, call the number below before five today, which
is when Federal Express is due to pick them up. It's a cellular phone,
so don't try to trace its location.
Before Hickock was halfway through this bulletin, his bo.weis were
turning to water. He finished reading it in his private john, and when
he read the postscript, his relief was palpable. He finished up in the
john, locked the door to his office, and called the number.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Hickock," a pleasant voice said.
"Who else did you send this to?" Hickock demanded.
"Just you, just this once, if you follow instructions. Got a pencil?
""Yes
"Write this down very carefully," the voice said,
aa
SlUART WOODS
"because it would not react to your benefit if you made a mistake."
"Go ahead." "Before the close of business today you are to
wire-transfer the sum of two million dollars from the Window Seat
Zurich account to the Bank of Europe in Luxembourg, account number
353676381. Got that?" Hickock repeated the information. "You've got
just this one chance to get it right," the voice said. "If you don't
make a mistake, the funds will be in Luxembourg tomorrow morning. If
you do make a mistake, those packets of inform ion will be at their
destinations by three tomorrow, and you will spend the rest of your
life either in prison or running." "Look, I'm not sure I can raise that
much today." "You're not listening, Mr. Hickock. And by the way, if
you make any attempt to find us, or any attempt to bring pressure to
bear on the Luxembourg Bank to find out who we are, it will be over for
you instantly. We can still make a very nice buck by hawking the
story, but we'd rather keep it clean and simple. Since this is the
last time we'll ever speak, Mr. Hickock, is there anything else you'd
like to say?" "Yes. I know who you are, Mr. Bruce, you and your
brother, and I have your photographs." "Big mistake, Mr. Hickock;
that little outburst cost you one million dollars. So that's three
million dollars to the Luxembourg account by the close of business.
And if either of us should ever meet with an unfortunate accident, you
may be sure that the packets will automatically be sent by our
designated representatives. Good-bye, Mr. Hickock. I hope you make
the right decision." The connection was broken.
Hickock sat at his desk for half an hour, his face in his hands, sweat
dripping onto the desktop. His mind raced like that of a cornered rat
looking for escape. But there was no escape. Finally he turned to the
computer on his desk and iened a fax file to his Zurich bank. He typed
n the instructions for the wire transfer to
Luxembourg, followed by the code known only to hirff and his banker.
With a sob, he pressed the send key, then he sat back in his chair and
wept. Less than a minute later, he sat bolt upright. Enrico Bianchi's
people were out looking for those 'two men now, he remembered, and if
they found them... "Oh, my God," he said aloud. He picked up the
telephone and dialed a number. The phone rang twice and an electronic
voice said, "Leave... your message.." at... the.." tone," followed by
a short beep.
"Message for Mr. Crown," he said into the phone. "Contact Mr. Gold
at the earliest possible moment, utmost urgency."
"Thank... you," the voice said.
Hickock hoped to God Bianchi was wearing his
SllJklff WOODS
beeper. He sat back to wait for the call. A moment later, his pocket
phone rang. "Yes?" he said.
"Dick, it's Amanda. I've been doing some thinking and believe that
before this business goes any further, you and I should sit down and
talk about a new contract."
"Amanda, we've just signed a contract," he said, astonished. Then he
began to see.
"Yes, but I think the circumstances call for something much more
substantial, don't you? After all, you and I have become something
like partners, haven't we?"
"Tomorrow," he said, resignedly.
"Lunch? Twenty-One? Twelve-thirty?"
"I*11 be there." He hung up. The phone rang again.
"Hello?"
"This is Mr. Crown. Do you wish to meet?"
"There isn't time," Hickock said. "Listen to me..."
"Stop, don't talk. Same place as last time. One hour."
"Yes," Hickock said. The connection was broken.
Hickock struggled into his coat, headed for the door, then stopped and
went back to his desk. He dialed a London number.
"Hello?" a familiar voice said.
"It's Dick," Hickock said. "Your son-in-law in L.A. has talked too
much; he may have blown the lid off everything."
There was much swearing at the other end of the line.
"Yes, I feel pretty much the same way. I may be able to head this off,
but I thought you should know about Peebles. I'll leave it to you how
to handle him."
"I know exactly how to handle him," the man said.
Hickock hung up and ran for his meeting with Bianchi.
CHAPTER
'
rrington saw her editor at The New Yorker, and they had lunch at the
Royalton Hotel; then she did some shopping at Bloomingdale's. It was
growing dark when she got Out of a cab in front of her apartment
building. "Good afternoon, Miss Carter," the doorman said, holding the
cab door for her. "We haven't seen you for a while." "I've been
staying with a friend, Jimmy; I just came by to pick up some things."
"I've been keeping your mail for you," Jimmy said. "You want it now?"
"I'll pick it up on the way out," she said. "I'll be down in a few
minutes." "Very good, Miss." Arrington took the elevator to her
floor,
rummaging in her bag for the key. She kept a key in each of her bags,
and today she had taken the big one. The key was at the very bottom,
as usual. She inserted the key into the lock and opened the door. To
her astonishment, there was someone sitting at her desk, Then something
struck her on the side of the head, and she fell to the floor, only
half-conscious. "Jesus Christ, Tommy!" she heard somebody say. "You
never said she might come home!" "I didn't think she would," Jonathan
Dryer's voice replied. "There's a roll of duct tape in my bah Charlie;
hand it to me, will you?" She was rolled onto her back, and before she
could focus on the face above her, a wide strip of tape was slapped
across her eyes, and another across her mouth. "What are we going to
do with her, Tommy?" the first voice said. "We can't leave her here
alive." : "t guess not," Tommy replied, "but we're going to be here
until tomorrow. Wouldn't you like to fuck her while we wait to hear
from the bank?" Arrington was rolled roughly onto her stomach, and her
hands were taped behind her back. She was blind and dumb, but her head
was beginning to clear, and she digested what she had just heard.
"Sure," Charlie said, and he sounded greedy. "She's hot stuff; take it
from me," Tommy said. "I won't tape her feet." He hauled her to her
feet and dumped her on the sofa. "You'll want to be able to spread her
legs, won't you?"
"Right," Charlie said, chuckling. "Just let me finish this fax to the
Luxembourg bank."
Out on Fifth Avenue, Detective Ernie Martinez was on foot, doing a
patrolman's job. It was bdneath him, but Martinez had his own reasons
for working so hard that day. He saw a doorman standing outside an
apartment building, at least the fiftieth he had talked to that day.
"How y'doing?" he asked the man, flashing his badge. "Pretty good,
officer. Can I help you?"
Mtinez produced the two photographs. "You ever seen either one of
these guys before?"
The doorman looked carefully at the two photographs, then glanced back
at Martinez. "Maybe, one of them," he said.
"There's twenty in it for you, if you do me some good here," Martinez
said.
"Yeah, I know this guy," the doorman said, holding up one of the
photographs. "He's spent a lot of time with the lady in Nine-A, Miss
Carter." "That's Nine-A?" Martinez asked. "Yeah. Pretty lady, Miss
Carter."
"You think he might be up there right now?"
The doorman hadn't seen any money yet, so he played the detective
along. "Could be," he said. "Thanks," Martinez said, turning away.
"Hey, what about my twenty?"
Martinez stopped, produced a twenty, but snatched it back when the
doorman grabbed for it.
"YOU don't say nothing to nobody about this, right? I was never
here."
"Right," the doorman said, "you were never here." This time he was
allowed to grab the twenty.
Martinez hoofed it around the corner and found a pay phone.
"Yeah?" a voice said.
"This is Ernie Martinez; You know those two
: guys you're looking for?"
"Yeah.
"i just might have them for you."
"Yeah? Where?"
"Yu'll tell the big guy that Ernie Martinez phoned it in?"
"Yeah, sure, Ernie."
"Ten-eleven Fifth Avenue, Apartment Nine-A.
Doormaia say they might be up there right now."
"Thanks, Ernie; we'll be in touch."
"I'll have to phone this in, but I'll wait an hour,
okay?"
"Yeah, that's good, Ernie."
"Don't forget to tell him."
But the man had already hung up.
Martinez found a coffee shop on Madison and settled himself on a stool
with his paper, a cup of coffee, and a doughnut.
It was dark now, and Arrington hadn't returned. Stone was getting
worried. He found her diary with the name of her appointment at the
magazine, and he called the editor.
"This is Stone Barrington; I'm a friend of Arrington Carter. I believe
she had an appointment with you this morning."
"That's right," the woman said. "We had lunch after that."
"What time did she leave you?"
"Sometime after three. She said she was going to Bloomingdale's."
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