Fresh Disasters (11 page)

C
elia looked over her shoulder. “It’s the same two men,” she said.

Stone dug in his pocket and handed the cabbie a hundred-dollar bill. “Do you think you can lose the car with the two guys behind us?”

The cabbie glanced in his rearview mirror, then grabbed the hundred. “I’ll do my best,” he said.

They were on Fifth Avenue now. “Turn right onto Central Park South, then turn into the park at Sixth Avenue,” Stone said.

The cabbie raced up Central Park South, but there was a red light at the corner of Sixth Avenue.

“Run it,” Stone said, “and turn into the park.”

“The park’s closed,” the cabbie said, pointing. “There’s a sign.”

“We could use a cop right now. Do it, and I’ll square it with the cops.”

The cabbie ran the light and turned into Central Park. The car behind them followed.

“Is there a tire iron in the trunk?” Stone asked.

“There’s a tire iron right here,” the cabbie said, reaching down to the floor and handing Stone the steel tool.

“Brake hard and pull over here,” Stone said. “I’m getting out of the car, and if I whistle loudly, get the hell out of here and find a cop.”

The cabbie stood on the brakes and ran the cab up onto the curb. The car behind followed, nearly rear-ending the cab. Stone got out and, clutching the tire iron, advanced on the car. He yanked the driver’s door open, grabbed the driver and pulled him into the street.

The man’s companion got out the passenger door and leveled a snub-nosed revolver at Stone. “Freeze, police!” he yelled.

Stone flashed his own badge. “Yeah? If you’re on the job, what are you doing harassing an innocent woman for money?”

The driver of the car struggled to his feet. “You just assaulted a police officer, pal.”

Stone put away his badge and took out his cell phone, punching a speed-dial button.

“Bacchetti,” Dino said. “This better be good.”

“Lieutenant? This is Stone Barrington. I’ve got two deadbeat cops here who are moonlighting as muscle for a probable felon, and…” He stopped. The two men were back in their car, backing up very fast, then spinning a hundred and eighty degrees and heading the wrong way up the park drive. “Never mind, Dino,” Stone said.

“What the hell is going on?”

“I was being followed by two off-duty cops who’re working for a former friend of Celia’s trying to give her a hard time.”

“Did you get their names?”

“No, but I will next time.”

“You all right?”

“I’m fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Stone hung up, got back in the cab and gave the driver Celia’s temporary Park Avenue address.

“Are they gone for good?” Celia asked.

“I doubt it, but they’re gone for now.” They made their way back to Park Avenue, and the cab stopped. “I want you to go pack enough stuff for a week, jeans and like that; you won’t need a cocktail dress. I’m going to go get my car, and I’ll be back here in half an hour. I want you downstairs with your luggage, waiting, all right?”

“Where are we going?”

“I’ll explain when we’re on the way.”

“All right.” She got out of the cab and ran for the door.

“You did good,” Stone said to the cabbie, then gave him his address.

“That was kind of fun,” the cabbie said. “Who were the two guys?”

“A couple of bad cops working for a bad guy.”

“I hope they didn’t get my cab number.”

“Don’t worry, they weren’t interested in you.”

S
tone left Joan a note, saying he’d be back in a day or two, and not to tell anyone but Dino where he’d gone, then he got into his car, drove out of the garage and uptown. He didn’t need to pack a bag. He watched for tails all the way.

The doorman at Celia’s building walked her out of the building and put her luggage in the trunk. She got into the passenger seat. “All right, where are we going?”

“You can’t call anybody,” Stone said.

“I’ll have some appointments to break in the morning.”

“I have a little house in Washington, Connecticut, where you’ll be safe. It’ll take us an hour and forty-five minutes to get there.”

“How long am I going to have to stay there?”

“Until I can get your TRO and do some assessing of the threat.”

“I know the threat; you don’t have to assess it.”

“Have you ever had any help in dealing with Devlin?”

“No, I’ve managed it myself up until now.”

“Then we don’t know how Devlin will react to opposition, do we? The very fact that the law will be involved may be enough to ward him off.”

“Don’t count on it.”

“One thing that surprises me is how quickly he got those two cops on my tail. I had a cab waiting when I talked to him, so they must have been at the opening, and I can’t figure out what two cops were doing at that opening. Does he ever have bodyguards?”

“He has on a couple of occasions that I know about, when he was having disagreements with people: his landlord, once, and a gallery owner another time.”

“Good to know. Why don’t you put the seat back and get some sleep?”

“That’s not a bad idea,” she said, pressing the Recline button.

Stone drove on into the night.

S
tone woke with sunlight streaming into the bedroom and the phone ringing. Telemarketer, he thought; nobody knew he was here. He let the machine get it.

Celia never cracked an eye; she snored on, lightly. Stone got up, went downstairs and found a can of coffee in the freezer. Ten minutes later, Celia came down the stairs, almost dressed, in a robe that he kept for guests.

“Good morning,” she said, yawning. “Where are we again?” They had fallen into bed on arrival, both exhausted.

“In Washington, Connecticut, a village in the upper left-hand corner of the state.”

“I’ve never been to Connecticut. You got anything for breakfast?”

Stone looked at the kitchen clock: eleven-ten
a.m.
“Nope, we’ll have to pick up some things. I’ll buy you lunch, though.”

“Have I got time for a shower?”

“Sure. We’ll go to the Mayflower.”

“The moving company?”

“The country inn, maybe the best in the United States.”

“I’d better look nice, then.” She took her coffee and headed upstairs.

Stone noticed the message light blinking on the kitchen phone, and he pressed the button.

“Mr. Barrington, this is Seth Hardaway. I noticed you were missing a few shingles after that storm last week, so I replaced them and a section of gutter. I’ll fax the bill to New York.”

Next message: “Stone, it’s Joan. I don’t know if you’re there, but your cell is off. Call me; Herbie Fisher has surfaced.”

Stone erased the messages and called home.

“The Barrington Practice.”

“Good guess,” Stone said.

“Well, it is your only other home, not counting Maine.”

“Only because I’m not rich enough yet. When the Finger divorce is over, maybe I’ll think about something in Santa Fe.”

“Dream on.”

“Did Bernice sign the document?”

“She did, and so did her soon-to-be ex-husband.”

“Thank God,” Stone sighed. “That’s a load off my mind.”

“When do we get a load into your bank account?”

“What’s the matter, isn’t the hundred-grand retainer enough to satisfy you?”

“After taxes, you’ve got eight grand and change left.”

“Where’s the rest?”

“You want me to read you the list of bills I paid, starting with the insurance premiums on both houses, the car and the airplane?”

“No thanks. You said Herbie has surfaced?”

“He’s sitting in your office.”

“Well, get him out of there, before he sets it on fire!”

“Talk to him first.”

“Put him on.”

There was a short silence, then: “Stone? Is it really you?” He sounded like a little boy just home from summer camp.

“Where have you been, Herbie?”

“In an attic downtown somewhere.”

“Tell me.”

“Those two guys grabbed me on the street, near my house.”

“What were you doing near your house? I told you to stay away from there.”

“All I wanted was some clean underwear.”

“Was it worth it?”

“I never got it. In fact, I’ve been wearing the same underwear for four days.”

“I didn’t need to know that, Herbie. What did they do to you?”

“They slapped me around a lot and threatened to do stuff with pliers.”

“Did you get any names?”

“Cheech and Gus. And an old guy named Carmen.”

“Do you, by any chance, mean Carmine?”

“Yeah, that’s it, with a ‘mine.’”

“What was he doing there?”

“He just came into the room for a minute this morning, looked at me and said, ‘Kill him as slow as possible.’”

“He actually said that?”

“Right before I jumped through the window.”

“You jumped out an attic window?”

“I jumped
through
an attic window, glass and all. You would have, too, if somebody had said to kill you slow.”

Herbie had a point. “Have you talked to your uncle?”

“Not yet.”

“Put Joan back on the phone.”

“Now what?” she asked.

“Let Herbie take a shower in the little bathroom off the kitchen, and tell Helene to throw his clothes into the washing machine and give him something to eat. Then give him two hundred dollars and call Bob Cantor and tell him to come get his nephew. I want Herbie out of there in two hours, and tell him it’s very, very dangerous for him to be in my house.”

“Gotcha,” Joan said.

“Any other calls?”

“No.”

“Call Sam Teich at Bernie Finger’s office and tell him we want an accounting today and a check in three days. Fax me anything he sends you. Call Bernice and tell her we’re ironing out the final details, and give her my cell number and the number here, if she needs to have her hand held.”

“Okay. When are you coming home?”

“Probably tomorrow. I’m stashing Celia up here to keep her former boyfriend away from her. If he should call me, tell him I’ll see him in court.”

“Okay. See ya.” Joan hung up.

Stone finished his coffee, showered and shaved and drove Celia to the Mayflower.

“Wow,” she said, as they drove up the driveway. “This is really beautiful.” She was impressed with the dining room, too.

They ordered lunch. “I’m going to have to go back to the city tomorrow morning,” he said. “We’ll get you some groceries this afternoon; if you need any more, you can charge them to my account at the market, and I’ll rent you some kind of car from the guy at the gas station. You might drive around the county a little, take a look around. I’ll give you a map.”

“What if Devlin finds me here?”

“Have you ever fired a gun?”

“Sure, I grew up with guns. My daddy was a handgun freak, so I’ve fired just about everything.”

“I’ll leave you with one, but you are not, repeat
not,
to kill anyone, even if you think it’s absolutely necessary. Fire into the floor to scare him. I live a quiet life when I’m here, and I don’t want to get to be known as the owner of the house where the guy got blown away by the giant girl.”

“I understand,” she said. “But what if Devlin does find me?”

“That’s very unlikely, but worse come to worst, I’ve got a house on an island in Maine that my cousin left me, and I can guarantee you he won’t find you there.”

“Maine sounds nice.”

“It’s a little early in the year for Maine; you can still freeze your ass off up there, but the house is comfortable.”

“How would I get there?”

“I have an airplane. I’ll fly you, if necessary, but believe me, Devlin is
not
going to find you in Washington, Connecticut.”

“What if I run into somebody I know?”

“Tell them you’re up here doing some antiquing, and you’re going back to the city almost immediately. Then go back to my house, lock yourself in and call me.”

“You think of everything,” she said, smiling sweetly. “I’m going to have to think of something to do for you.”

The thought made Stone squirm in his seat.

S
tone drove back to the city early the following morning, trying to remember every detail of what he and Celia had done to each other for much of the night, right into the dawn. Occasionally, he had to slap himself to stay awake through the drive. Once, he stopped for coffee.

Back at home, he pulled the car into the garage, let himself into the house and went to his office. Joan heard him and came down the hall.

“I hope the lovely Celia is safe and sound.”

“She is, indeed, but I would be neither safe nor sound if I had spent another night there.”

“You do look a little peaked,” she said. “Nothing much to do today. Sam Teich says he’ll have an accounting to you by close of business, which probably means tomorrow morning, and he needs five days to liquidate assets and produce a check, unless you want to just divide some of the assets, like the stocks. He says to give him a call tomorrow and let him know how you want to handle it.”

Stone shook his head, “Frankly, I can’t believe how cooperative Bernie is being.”

“I bet it’s not Bernie, but Sam, who is doing the cooperating. I bet Bernie is screaming bloody murder.”

“You’re probably right. I assume Bob Cantor came and took his nephew away.”

Joan looked at the floor. “Well, there was a teensy problem with that.”

Stone’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by a ‘teensy’?”

“Well, Bob is actually in Atlanta for a couple of days, and he doesn’t want Herbie in his house while he’s gone, for fear that Herbie will hock everything and bet on the ponies.”

“So, where is Herbie?”

“In the third-floor guest room.”

“
My
third-floor guest room?”

“He’s so sweet; I couldn’t just throw him into the street and let Dattila’s thugs get him again.”

“You’re fired.”

“Okay, but who’s going to do everything for you?”

“All right, you’re hired back, but how could you leave that little creep alone in my house? He’s probably hocked everything I own.”

“No, he hasn’t; I locked him in when I left last night, so he couldn’t get any of your stuff out of the house. Anyway, he seems to sleep most of the time.”

“Did you drug him?”

“I would have, but he didn’t seem to need it. He’s probably exhausted after his ordeal in the attic.”

“Did he have any cuts on his body?”

“Not on the parts of his body I saw, but I didn’t do a full inspection.”

“He’s lying, the little bastard! He said he jumped clean through a glass window and fell from an attic, and yet he doesn’t have a mark on him!”

A voice came from the doorway. “I’ve got a nick right here, on my elbow, that I used to break the window.” Herbie was standing there in one of Stone’s Sea Island cotton nightshirts.

“Take off the nightshirt,” Stone commanded.

“Huh? Right in front of the lady?”

“She’s not that much of a lady, so take it off.”

Herbie lifted the nightshirt over his head. There was some bruising around his ribs.

“Turn around,” Stone said.

“Please,” Joan echoed.

There were bruises on his back, too.

“All right, so you got pounded a little; how come no cuts from the glass and the fall?”

“Well, the window was actually open, and it was only a short fall to the canvas.”

“Canvas?”

“They had a big piece of canvas draped over some stuff, and it broke my fall. I sprained my ankle, though, when I went over the fence and landed on the sidewalk.”

“How did you get here?”

“I sprinted down the block, ignoring the intense pain from my ankle, went into a subway station, jumped the turnstile and here I am! Can I put the nightshirt on again?”

“No. Go get your clothes on and give the nightshirt to Helene, in the kitchen. You’re leaving here immediately.”

“But where am I going to go?” Herbie wailed.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t
care
where you go?”

Herbie turned to leave the room.

“Wait a minute,” Stone said.

“Huh?”

“Put on the nightshirt to save Joan’s modesty. Joan, get me Bernie Finger.”

Joan picked up the phone on Stone’s desk and dialed. “He’s on the line,” she said.

Stone picked up the phone. “Bernie? Let’s do the depositions today. Three o’clock at your place?”

“I thought your client was unavailable,” Finger said.

“He’s just become available,” Stone replied. “Didn’t your client tell you that Herbie made good his escape from the attic where Carmine had him imprisoned and beaten?”

“Of course he didn’t tell me any such thing.”

“All right, three o’clock at your office. Tell Sam I’ll pick up the accounting while I’m there.”

“I’m under strict instructions from my attorney not to discuss that with you.”

“Just give him the message.” Stone hung up and pointed at Herbie. “Does he have any clothes at all?” he asked Joan.

“Helene should have them washed and ironed by now.”

“Herbie, get dressed; we have a three-o’clock appointment.”

Herbie looked at the clock on Stone’s desk. “Can I watch the soaps until then?”

“Please, but do it in the kitchen. And give Helene that nightshirt and tell her to disinfect it.”

“Sure, Stone,” Herbie said happily, as he padded off to the kitchen.

“Is he driving Helene crazy?” Stone asked Joan.

“No, she thinks he’s sweet, too.”

“You’re both crazy or hormonal or something.”

“Careful, you’re treading a thin line, on one side of which is the kind of sexism that could result in a lawsuit.” She went back to her office.

Stone’s phone rang, and Dino’s cell number came up on the caller ID screen. Stone answered. “Morning, Dino.”

“Good morning. What was that thing the other night about bad cops?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Two bozos with badges were tailing Celia until I rousted them. I didn’t get any names or badge numbers.”

“Next time I.D. them, and I’ll put the fear of God into them.”

“Thanks, I’ll remember that.”

“So, is Celia safe from her ex-boyfriend?”

“For the moment. I stashed her in the Connecticut house.”

“That should do it. Those downtown artsy-fartsy types can’t breathe in Connecticut; the air isn’t dirty enough.”

“I hope you’re right; I don’t want to have to move her to Maine.”

“Dinner tonight?”

“See you then.” Stone hung up and began making a list of questions for Carmine Dattila.