Fresh Disasters (5 page)

S
tone sat and stared at his desktop. His back was still stiff and sore; he had really wanted that massage. He buzzed Joan.

“Yes?”

“Do you know a really good masseuse who makes house calls?”

“What is this sudden obsession with massage?”

“It came with the sudden contact of my back with a sidewalk.”

“No, I don’t know anybody.”

“I’ll bet your sister who knows the cosmetic surgeon knows somebody.”

“You should have been a detective. I’ll call her. When do you want it?”

“At the earliest possible moment, if not sooner.”

Five minutes later, Joan buzzed him. “Two
p.m.
,” she said. “Her name is Celia.”

“Is she beautiful?”

“You requested availability, not beauty.”

“Is she good?”

“You didn’t request good, either, but seeing that she’s available on such short notice, I wouldn’t be too optimistic about her skills.”

“Joan, just being around you fills me with hope.” He hung up and went to the kitchen to make himself a ham-and-Swiss on whole grain with mayo and honey mustard. Since he planned to spend the early part of the afternoon semiconscious anyway, he treated himself to a cold Heineken, as well.

At two o’clock sharp the phone buzzed in Stone’s bedroom. “She’s here,” Joan said. “Shall I send her up?”

“Please do. Is she beautiful?” But Joan had already hung up. A moment later he heard the elevator door open, and he rose to greet the masseuse. The sight of her caused a sharp intake of breath.

She was more than just beautiful; she was a giant of a woman, at least six-two, his own height. As he shook her hand and introduced himself, he measured: He hoped she was wearing heels, because he came up to about her eyebrows.

“I’m Celia Cox,” she said.

“How do you do, Celia. Thank you for coming on such short notice. I had an appointment with someone else, but she didn’t show up.”

“That’s very unprofessional,” she said. “Is right here good for my table?” She pointed to the foot of the bed.

“Perfect,” he said. “May I ask how tall you are?”

“Six-three,” she said. “The shortest of three sisters.”

The mind boggled. “You carry your height beautifully,” he said.

“Thank you. That’s the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me about my size.”

He could not begin to guess her weight, but whatever it was, it was perfect. And all of her went very well with the long chestnut hair that spilled around her shoulders. When she pulled her hair back into a ponytail and secured it, he thought her nose and her jawline were perfect, too. And her eyes were a deep green.

She spread her sheets over the table, affixed the face cradle and patted the leather top. “You hop up here, face down, while I wash my hands. Bathroom in here?” She pointed.

“Yes, help yourself.” Stone tossed his robe onto the bed and crawled under the top sheet, settling his face into the cradle.

She returned after a moment. “Any special problems I should know about?”

“Yes, I suffered a fall onto my back on the sidewalk yesterday, and I’m pretty sore and stiff.”

“Do you suspect any skeletal problems?”

“No, I don’t think so; just muscular.”

He heard her squirt something, then rub her hands briskly together. “I apologize if my hands are cold,” she said, placing them on his back gently.

“They feel very good,” he said.

“I’m going to go over your back and shoulders lightly, and I want you to tell me if what I do makes you hurt in any particular place.” She did so. “How was that?” she asked.

“Wonderful.”

“May I go deeper, do you think?”

“Yes, please.”

She went deeper and covered everything from his neck to his heels. “Okay,” she said, holding up a sheet, “you can turn over on your back now. Do you need any help?”

“No, I’m fine,” he said, turning over.

She began massaging an arm. “Who was the masseuse who stood you up?” she asked.

Stone nodded at the bedside table. “Her card is over there,” he said. “Her phone number didn’t work.”

Celia went and got the card. “I know her,” she said. “Her name is Marilyn Martin; we both used to work at the same day spa.” She began working on his arm again. “Last I heard, she wasn’t working anymore, she’d moved into an apartment that some lawyer is paying for, guy with a funny name.”

“Wouldn’t be Bernard Finger, would it?”

“That’s it! Do you know him?”

“Only slightly. He’s the opposition in a personal-injury suit I’m working on.”

“Flashy kind of guy. I saw them in a restaurant once; she was wearing a lot of jewelry. So was he, come to think of it.” She began working on his other arm. “I think he’s married.”

“That’s kind of sore,” Stone said. “I must have fallen more on that side.”

“I’ll spend a little extra time on it. Are you in a rush?”

“God, no. You can take all afternoon, if you want to.”

She laughed. “I don’t have that much time, I’m afraid; I was able to come to you only because one of my regular clients was ill.”

“Can we set up a regular time?” he asked.

“My schedule is full, but I could call you when I have a cancellation.”

“Yes, please.”

She worked silently on the arm and shoulder, then she moved to the top of the table and began massaging his neck, then his face and scalp. She finished slowly. “There,” she said. “Is that better?”

“Oh, yes,” Stone sighed. “I could go to sleep.”

“That’s a good idea,” she said, “but lie on your back, with a pillow under your knees.”

Stone sat up. “I have an electric bed that can elevate my knees,” he said.

“Good idea.” She took his hand, led him to the bed and tucked him in.

“Celia,” he said, then he hesitated.

“Yes, I would,” she said.

“Would what?”

“Would like to have dinner with you sometime.”

“How did you know I was going to ask you?”

“It was pretty obvious when you turned over onto your back,” she said.

“Tonight?”

“Tomorrow night would be better.”

“Great. Shall I pick you up at say, eight?”

“It would be better if we met.”

“Do you know Elaine’s?”

“I’ve heard of it, but I don’t know where it is.”

“On Second Avenue, between Eighty-eighth and Eighty-ninth. At eight-thirty?”

“Perfect,” she said, laying a card on the bedside table. “My cell number is there, should you need to reach me. How should I dress?”

“You can wear anything from jeans to a ball gown at Elaine’s; I’d suggest fairly casual.”

“I can do that,” she said.

“Just one thing: You don’t work for Bernard Finger, do you?”

“No, I certainly don’t.”

“Joan will have a check for you downstairs.”

She put her cool hand on his forehead for a moment. “There,” she said, “sleep.”

He followed her instructions to the letter.

A
s Stone left his house that evening to look for a cab to Elaine’s, a black Lincoln that was double-parked a couple of doors up the street started to move slowly. He looked over his shoulder, as if looking for a cab, which he was, and checked out the car. Darkened windows. He suddenly regretted that he was not armed.

He walked down to Third Avenue and hailed a cab, and fifteen minutes later he was sipping his first Knob Creek. Dino arrived five minutes later, simultaneously with his first Scotch, via waiter.

“You’re looking very fresh and relaxed,” Dino said.

“I am exactly that,” Stone replied. “I found a replacement for Marilyn this afternoon, and the woman is an angel.”

“I want to meet her,” Dino said.

“Come around this time tomorrow evening and have a drink with us, but don’t stick around for dinner, even if I invite you to, which I won’t.”

“What’s she like?”

“That’ll be a surprise; you’re not going to believe what you see.”

“I take it that’s a favorable assessment of her charms.”

“You may infer that. Oh, and she knows Marilyn—they used to work at the same day spa—and she tells me that Marilyn has retired from the business and moved into an apartment paid for by a married lawyer, who is…”

“Bernie Finger.”

“You’re so smart.”

“That’s a cheesy thing to do, send his girlfriend around to spy on you.”

“I’m going to make him pay for that before all this is over.”

“And how will you do that?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll think of something.” Stone looked up to see two large men in shiny clothes walk into the restaurant and be seated across the room. “Dino, was there a black Lincoln parked out front when you came in?”

“There’s a black Lincoln parked outside every restaurant in New York,” Dino said.

“Including this one?”

“Yeah, it’s there.”

“I think it belongs to the two gorillas over there,” Stone said, deliberately pointing with his arm outstretched at the pair.

They feigned looking at the menu and sipped their drinks.

Stone waved Gianni over. “What are the two apes over there drinking?”

Gianni gave them a glance. “Chivas Regal.”

“What’s the worst Scotch you stock?”

“We’ve got something called Great Scot. We use it to discourage those who’ve had too much to drink. It tastes like paint thinner, with iodine.”

“Send them one on me, and make sure you tell them it’s from me.”

Gianni headed for the bar.

“You think Carmine is having you followed?”

“Carmine or Bernie. I think they’re trying to intimidate me.”

“Is it working?”

“Not yet.” Stone watched as the drinks were delivered to their table and Gianni delivered the message. The two tried to look baffled but raised their glasses in thanks to Stone and drank. Both looked stricken, and one of them waved Gianni back. A brief conversation took place: What the hell was this Scotch? Gianni explains that Stone specified it. They glower at Stone.

“Message received,” Dino said. “I have to tell you, I think it’s a faulty strategy to deliberately annoy people who are already considering beating you up.”

“I don’t think they’ve been told to do that yet, or they would have done it as soon as I left the house this evening.”

“They followed you from your house?”

“Yep.”

“I hope you locked up tight.”

“I always lock up tight.”

“Did you set the alarm?”

“Yep.”

“You forget to do that a lot.”

“Dino, I set the alarm, all right?”

“Whatever you say.” He sounded doubtful.

Stone got out his cell phone, dialed a number and, when it answered, punched in several numbers.

“What was that all about?”

“I was setting the alarm.”

“You can do that with your cell phone?”

“It’s a new feature I just got.”

“That’s a good idea for somebody who’s always forgetting to set the alarm.”

“I don’t think Dattila would have my house broken into. Would he?”

“Stone, if those two guys are Dattila’s and if they haven’t already beaten you up after tasting that Scotch, then this is a war of nerves. And if that’s what it is, then turning over your house would be exactly the sort of thing Dattila would do. It’s all about driving you nuts.”

“Order me the spinach salad, chopped, and the spaghetti carbonara,” Stone said, rising. “And loan me your backup gun. I’ll be back shortly.”

Dino passed him a small automatic under a napkin, and Stone slipped it into a pocket. He went outside to get a cab, then he saw the black Lincoln. He went over and tapped on the driver’s window, and it slid down.

“Yeah?” a thick voice asked.

“You’re driving the two guys inside?”

“Yeah.”

“My name’s Barrington; they said you could run me down to Turtle Bay and back. I’m a friend of Carmine’s. Only take a couple of minutes.”

“Okay,” the man said.

Stone heard the electric locks click, and he got into the backseat. When they reached his house, Stone had a quick look around inside to be sure nothing had gone amiss during the time the alarm had not been set, then he went up to his dressing room, opened the safe and took out the little Tussey .45 and a holster. Shortly he was back at Elaine’s. Stone opened the door. “Thanks very much,” he said to the driver.

“Don’t mention it.”

“Oh, I almost forgot: The two guys said they wouldn’t need you anymore this evening.”

“Great,” the man said. “The game’s still on, I think.”

“Good night,” Stone said with a cheery wave. “Enjoy the game.” He went back inside and sat down, slipping Dino his backup piece under the table. The spinach salad appeared before him.

“You checked the house?”

“Yeah, everything was fine.”

“Did you set the alarm when you left?”

“Shit,” Stone said, getting out his cell phone and going through the procedure again.

“You always forget to do that,” Dino said.

“Dino, if you say that again I’m going to dump this salad over your head.”

“Good thing you got that cell phone feature; it’ll be invaluable.”

Stone sighed deeply and began eating his salad.

At the end of the evening, Stone and Dino walked out to look for a cab home. A moment later, the two gorillas appeared at the curb, looking around, mystified. One of them got on his cell phone, apparently looking for his driver.

“Have a nice evening, fellas,” Stone said as he got into a cab.

S
tone was working his way through his mid-morning when Joan buzzed. “Bernard Finger on one.”

Stone picked up the phone. “Stone Barrington.”

“It’s Bernie Finger, Stone! Didn’t your girl tell you?”

“You’d better hope she’s not still on the line, Bernie, because if she heard you refer to her as my girl, she’d do terrible things to you.”

“Whatever,” Finger said. “You free for lunch?”

“To what end?”

“I thought we’d have a little chat and see if we can sort this thing out.”

“All right.”

“Twelve-thirty at the Four Seasons grill room?”

“All right.”

“And Stone, they require a tie and jacket.”

Stone was going to skewer him with an acid remark for that, but Finger had already hung up.

Bernard Finger, Stone was surprised to see, had claim to a well-placed plot in the hottest power-lunch real estate in the United States of America. While being escorted to the table, Stone did a mini sweep of the room and turned up half a dozen business moguls, plus Barbara Walters; Morton Janklow, the literary agent and attorney; and Henry Kissinger. And that was just a mini sweep.

Finger didn’t bother to rise to greet him, a sign that he considered his guest inferior in status, but offered a hand attached to a wrist wearing a gold Rolex with many diamonds in its bezel. So, Bernie was left-handed. “How you doin’, Stone?” he asked, as if he didn’t really care.

Stone shook the hand by grabbing the fingers, preventing a grip. “Just fine, thanks.” He sat down.

“I’ve already ordered,” Finger said. “Important meeting. What’ll you have?”

“A small salad and the Dover sole,” Stone said to the waiter. “And a glass of sauvignon blanc.”

“You know,” Finger said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table, giving Stone a close view of thousands of dollars of hair plugs embedded in his scalp, “I hear around town you’re a fairly smart guy. How’d you let yourself get involved in this ridiculous thing?”

“Oh, well, let’s see,” Stone said, screwing up his face for thought and staring at the ceiling. “Egregious violence perpetrated in a public place upon an innocent by a man with deep pockets. That clears my bar for case acceptance.” He looked at Finger and smiled. “I’ll bet it clears your bar, too, Bernie.”

“But Stone, didn’t you consider who you’re suing?”

“Bernie, it’s not like Carmine Dattila is the archbishop of New York; he’s a cheap hood—all right, an expensive hood—who makes his way in the world by preying on those weaker than he. He’s a piece of dog shit in the gutter, Bernie, and I have to wonder what kind of lawyer would represent him in a public courtroom.”

Finger went all pink, but his response was cut off by a tray of a dozen fat oysters set before him. He ate four of them, emptying them from the shell into his mouth, before he managed a reply. “All right, let’s just stay away from personal abuse here.”

“Stop insulting my intelligence, and I’ll stop insulting your client list.”

Finger ate four more oysters. “Look, let’s cut to the chase; I want to make a proposal!”

Stone dug into his salad. “So, propose.”

“What we’ve got here is your stubborn client and my stubborn client. Carmine is never, repeat
never
, going to cough up a thin dime of his own money to buy your client off.”

“That’s okay,” Stone said. “When I win in court, and I will, I’ll just attach everything connected with him—lock, stock and coffeehouse. I’m sure I can wring a nice piece of change out of his visible assets.”

“You think Carmine has assets? Jesus, Stone, not even his fucking pinkie ring is in his own name; even his
clothes
, for legal purposes, are borrowed. You’re talking about drilling a dry well, and that’s going to cost you a lot of time, and time, as any lawyer knows, is money.”

Stone’s Dover sole arrived and was expertly boned by the captain and placed before him. He took a bite and savored the flavor and the texture. “Speak, Bernie.”

“How’s about this. I’ve got a nice little personal-injury suit in my firm right now—my newest associate is handling it—and it’s going to settle for half a million, maybe six hundred thousand, before very long. How about I toss you the case; you settle it, take your cut and give Mr. Fisher whatever you think he’ll take, then pocket the rest. It’s quick, clean, and requires no outlay for my client or even, for that matter, his knowledge. Your client makes out, you make out, my client doesn’t get mad and I make it up on the next case!”

Stone took another bite of the sole, chewed, swallowed, then took a sip of his wine. “Bernie, I do not possess the mathematical skills to count the number of ways that that is unethical, immoral, illegal and just a
terrible
idea. If you’re so afraid of your client that you won’t or can’t persuade him to do the right thing, then just write me a check for, say, half a million on your firm’s account, and make it back from Dattila in fees. Then everybody’s happy, unless Dattila figures out what you did, but you’re too smart to let that happen.”

Finger downed his last four oysters, stood up and threw down his napkin. “All right, you son of a bitch, I tried. Now I’m going to show you how law is practiced.”

“Is that what you were doing last night, with the two gorillas? Practicing law? Oh, by the way, did they ever find their car?”

Finger went pink again. “You’ll see,” he said, and turned to leave.

“And Bernie…”

“Yeah?”

“If you try and stick me with the check, I’ll embarrass you before the whole room.”

Finger turned and did his very best impression of a man, in high dudgeon, storming out of a restaurant. Half the eyes in the place followed him, then swiveled back to Stone, who was calmly enjoying his Dover sole.