Smooth Operator (Teddy Fay) (14 page)

A
bdul-Hakim’s two hit men were found floating facedown in the Potomac.

Calvin Hancock did not take the news well. “Two men couldn’t handle him?”

“He must have got the drop on them.”

“He wasn’t following them, they were following him.”

“There must be more to this Billy Barnett than we know.”

“That’s obvious. What are you doing about it?”

“Right now we’re trying to find him.”

“You lost him again?”

“He checked out of his hotel. We’re watching for activity on his credit card, but so far there’s been none.”

“What about his plane?”

“It’s still in the hangar. If he picks it up, we’ll know.”

“If he picks it up, it will be very good news. I can’t wait for him to go back to California. Which is not a bad idea. If you can’t find him, send him home.”

“How?”

“Kill his wife.”

S
hooting was going well. Ben had managed to take time off from running the studio to fill in for Teddy as producer. The transition was seamless. Ben had been Peter’s producer before taking over the studio, so it wasn’t like he had to learn the job. He just walked on the set and everything fell into place.

Betsy was strangely ambivalent. She liked Ben, and she wanted shooting to go well. She just didn’t want it to go well without Teddy. More to the point, she wanted it to go better when Teddy was there. All day long she couldn’t help watching the filming, seeing the scenes ticked off the schedule, and thinking Teddy would have done it more smoothly.

To her surprise, it wasn’t bad working with Mike Freeman’s men. The first day on the set she was aware of their presence. By the next day they had faded into the scenery. She could not
have picked them out from the cadre of extras waiting to be chosen as background action. The only time they made their presence felt was during the drive home.

Home, for the time being, was still Peter’s house. Betsy’d been back to her house, but only in the company of one of Mike Freeman’s men, and only to inspect the job the cleanup crew she’d hired had done with the damage.

Peter and Hattie were good hosts. For newlyweds, they could not have been more accommodating. After day shoots Betsy could have cocktails on the veranda, or lounge by the pool. She could take an outdoor shower on her own private terrace, watch TV in the sitting room of her suite, prepare any snack she wanted in Peter’s well-stocked kitchen.

The only problem she had was falling asleep. She’d grown used to having Teddy in her bed, and without his comforting presence nothing seemed quite right. Which, of course, it wasn’t. Teddy was a million miles away in the middle of a crisis, and the only information she was getting was messages relayed through Stone Barrington and his son. There were huge gaps in the narration, and she could imagine what things she wasn’t being told.

Today she’d heard only that there’d been trouble and Teddy had “handled the situation.” This did not cheer her. Knowing Teddy, “handled the situation” took in a lot of territory.

Betsy couldn’t calm down. She tried watching the news channels, but there was no news, just a rehash of everything she’d already seen. She tried a sitcom, a talk show, an HBO movie. Nothing helped.

She finally switched the TV off and lay there in the dark, but it was a long time before she got to sleep.

—

THE TWO MEN
broke in at two in the morning. The smart one, Vinnie, stripped the wire and installed the bypass so he could cut the alarm without sending every cop in Beverly Hills rushing to the address before they could even open the door. He walked quietly across the patio and prayed that numbnuts Pug would do the same.

Vinnie whipped out a glass cutter and sliced a six-inch square in one of the panes of the door. He tapped gently all around the cut, then harder in one corner. The square broke away, the corner he tapped swiveled in, the opposite corner swiveled out. He grabbed the square, extracted it carefully, and tossed it gently onto a padded lounge chair. He reached his arm through, had a moment of panic he wouldn’t be able to reach the lock. That asshole Pug would never let him forget it. His fingers touched the doorknob and the lock snapped open.

Vinnie looked meaningfully at Pug, raised a warning finger to his lips. Moments later they were inside. No alarm went off, no lights came on. Vinnie held up his hand to stop Pug, and they listened for the sound of movement. Nothing.

“Which way?” Pug whispered, much too loudly.

Vinnie rolled his eyes, and made a mental note never to work with Pug again. He’d been making that same resolution for years.

Vinnie jammed his finger to his lips, motioning for Pug to follow. He turned and tiptoed across the room.

To the right was the hallway down to the bedrooms. To the left, the archway to the living room, dining room, and kitchen.

A door clicked open.

Vinnie wheeled around, grabbed Pug, pulled him into the shadows.

There was a dim light coming from the end of the hallway to the right. Then the sound of footsteps, bare feet padding along the hall.

Betsy Barnett came out in a nightgown, made her way through the semidarkness across the central hallway and through the doorway to the kitchen. She crossed the kitchen in the dark. She was pretty sure the kitchen light couldn’t be seen from Peter and Hattie’s room, still she didn’t want to take the chance of waking them. She maneuvered around the center island, groped her way toward the refrigerator.

Betsy heard something. She stopped. Listened. Heard nothing. She’d been under a lot of stress the past few days. She was probably just jumpy.

Pug sucked in his breath and held it, an automatic reaction since Vinnie had recently started razzing him about snorting like a wild boar. He stood there, frozen like a statue, not ten feet from Betsy Barnett, his right hand curled around the knife. He couldn’t see Betsy in the dark, but he knew she was there.

Betsy couldn’t see Pug, either. She’d heard the sharp intake of
breath, didn’t know what it was. Now she heard nothing, saw nothing.

She must have imagined it.

Betsy reached for the refrigerator, found the door handle, pulled it open.

Pug’s first thought was, how can a small appliance bulb be so bright? Before he realized that
all
the lights were on, strong arms grabbed him from behind, wrestled him sideways, and slammed his head down on the butcher block top of the center island.

When Pug was jerked upright again his hands were handcuffed behind him, the woman he’d been following was gone, and Vinnie, also handcuffed, was being hauled into the kitchen by two men.

A man stood in the center of the kitchen. He was smiling, but his face was hard.

“Well, gentlemen,” Mike Freeman said, “it’s going to be a while before the police get here. I’ve got a few questions.”

T
eddy insisted on speaking to Mike Freeman himself. He didn’t like risking it, but he had to get the news firsthand.

“You’re sure they were after her?”

“Absolutely. She was the target.”

“Was it a hit or a snatch?”

“That’s the only bone of contention. They say it was a snatch job only, but they would. Given a choice, you don’t cop to attempted murder. Even the big dumb one knew that, and he didn’t know much. He was caught sneaking up on her with a knife in his hand, so that story isn’t going to wash.”

“How’d he explain that?”

“Not very well. Thinking fast is not his strong suit. He couldn’t come up with any useful euphemism. Even the phrase
knock her out
escaped him. The guy’s a paid assassin, but how he made it this far without anyone cleaning his clock escapes me.

“The other guy’s something else. Lives by his wits, street-smart, can’t be happy he was saddled with the goon. I assume it wasn’t his choice.”

“Whose choice was it?”

“That’s where it gets interesting. The street-smart guy won’t talk without a deal on the table. The big goon is too dumb to cut a deal. He’s the type who gets bored and nods out halfway through the Miranda warning. He told us a lot, I just wish he knew more.”

“What did he know?”

“They work for a small-time boss named Carlo Gigante. He gave them the orders to snatch Betsy Barnett. What they were supposed to do once they had her gets hazy, probably because it wasn’t a snatch to begin with. There’s every indication they were going to kill her to send a message.”

“So the goon rolled on Gigante?”

“That’s right.”

“Then he’s in trouble.”

“Same with the other guy, though he didn’t talk. As long as Gigante thinks they did, they can’t be long for this world.”

“And all they know is they were hired by Gigante?”

“Right.”

“Did the police pick him up?”

“Yeah, for all the good it did.”

“What’s he say?”

“He won’t talk, but his lawyer’s talking plenty. Gigante doesn’t know them, they don’t know him, they’re mistaken,
they’re lying, the real guy who hired them paid them to tell this story, he has no idea what they’re talking about, this is a shakedown, this is a case of false arrest.”

“That’s all?”

“The lawyer just got the case. Give him time. Anyway, we can’t get anything out of Gigante.”

“It doesn’t matter. He’ll have been hired by a voice on the phone.”

“Yeah. Look, I know you want to come out here, but there’s nothing you can do. Betsy’s fine. My guys are good, and I’m on the scene myself. I don’t know what you’re faced with, but it looks like Stone needs you more than I do. Do you need backup?”

“It would just complicate things. I’ve got enough problems dodging the CIA.”

“My men wouldn’t get underfoot.”

“Your men couldn’t turn around without tripping over an agent. There’s been an assassination, in case you hadn’t heard.”

“All right. Well, don’t worry about us. I’m out here, I’m on top of it, we’re fine. Just holler if you need anything.”

Teddy hung up. He should have felt reassured, but he didn’t. Mike was a good man.

But he was better.

T
eddy Fay and Stone Barrington picked up Peter’s jet at the airport. The pilot helped them roll it out of the hangar.

“Those men haven’t been back, Mr. Worthing,” the pilot said.

“I doubt if they will,” Teddy said. “I think you scared them off.”

“Mr. Worthing?” Stone grinned as they climbed into the cockpit.

“I didn’t want to put it in Peter’s name, and I wasn’t going to put it in mine.”

“No kidding.”

Teddy took off and flew to Teterboro, where they swapped the Cessna for Stone’s Citation. Stone flew and Teddy caught the first good sleep he’d had in a long time.

Mike Freeman was waiting when they set down in Santa Monica.

“Nice ride,” Mike said. “I see you traded up.”

“It’s mine,” Stone said.

“No kidding. I told you I could handle this.”

“I’m sure you can,” Teddy said. “But I take it personally when someone tries to kill my wife.”

“I understand. I didn’t think you had the time.”

“It helps to have a private jet,” Teddy said. “Don’t take this as a knock on your competence, Mike. I just need to do things you wouldn’t do.”

“You’re going to kill Gigante?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Hell, no.”

“Where is he?”

Mike pulled out his cell phone. “Let me check.”

Teddy’s face darkened. “You haven’t lost him?”

“Don’t be silly. I’m checking his exact location as of now.” Mike punched in a number. “Yeah? . . . Still there? . . . Same situation? . . . Fine.” He hung up. “He’s at the Palm Palace, a nightclub outside L.A. He’s in the company of a ‘young lady,’ and I’m getting that in quotes, so she might be hired. He’s also in the company of a couple of goons.”

“Not the ones who broke in?”

“Not a chance. They gave Gigante up, they’re persona non grata. They’re lucky they’re not floating in the bay.”

“How far is it?”

“Half hour to forty-five minutes, depending on traffic. Do you want backup?”

“No. I’m going in alone.”

“You’re the boss.”

Teddy pointed at Stone. “He’s the boss. I’m the fussy client.”

The car Mike provided was a black Chevy sedan. Teddy popped the trunk and slung his bag of equipment in. He opened it up, pushed aside the sniper’s rifle, and selected the handgun with the silencer he’d designed himself. Teddy unscrewed the silencer from the gun, slipped them into his jacket pockets.

“What’s the address of the nightclub?”

“It’s already in the GPS.”

“How do I switch it on?”

“Just start the engine.”

Teddy got in and started the car. The screen on the dashboard lit up with the destination.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come along?” Mike said.

“To keep me out of trouble? Wouldn’t work, and then
you
’
d
be
in
trouble. No, hang out with Stone. Catch up on old times. Where does Peter think you are?”

Mike Freeman smiled. “He never knows I’m there, he won’t know I’m gone.”

“Perfect. See you soon.”

Teddy pulled out and sped away.

T
raffic was light, and Teddy made the drive in under half an hour.

The nightclub was lit up in neon, a gaudy affair. The parking lot was nearly full. Teddy drove around and found a spot as close to the door as possible. He took the gun and silencer out of his pocket, put them in the glove compartment, and locked the car.

A beefy bouncer was keeping out objectionables, but in a suit and tie, Teddy breezed right by.

The nightclub was the size of a football field. On the stage a girl singer was crooning to a ten-piece band. The tempo was insistent and the volume was high. She wasn’t half bad, but no one was listening.

It wasn’t hard to spot the VIP tables. They had plush
semicircular couches facing the stage for the high and mighty with chairs for the lesser in their party.

Carlo Gigante sat on one of the couches. He was plump but solid, with a hard face. A scar down the side of his chin completed the image. He was smoking a cigar, and no one was telling him to put it out.

A young woman at least thirty years his junior was curled up on the couch with her head on his shoulder. Two bodyguards flanked them on the chairs. They were not as beefy as the bouncer, but probably twice as tough.

Teddy walked up to the table. The two bodyguards stood and stopped him.

“Mr. Gigante,” Teddy said. “Call off your dogs. You and I need to have a little talk.”

“You a cop?”

“No. This is just casual.”

“Frisk him.”

One of the goons patted Teddy down. “He’s clean.”

Gigante gestured with his cigar. “I don’t like strangers who talk to me. Apparently, you don’t know that. You need to learn. Take him out back and teach him.”

The goons spun Teddy around and marched him toward the door. As they went out the bouncer said, “You need some help?”

“We’re fine.”

Instead of heading for the parking lot, the goons went around the building to the left. Teddy had a feeling they’d done this before and knew exactly where they were going and exactly
what they were doing. They just weren’t very good at it. They were small-time hoods. Patting Teddy down for a weapon, they’d ignored little things like a handkerchief, change, a lighter, and a ChapStick. As they marched him into the shadows, Teddy managed to get a hand in his pocket and palm the ChapStick.

They went past the kitchen door, which was open, to the garbage dumpsters in the very back, his likely destination.

“Turn him around,” the goon said.

The other guy grabbed Teddy’s shoulders. The moment his arm was free, Teddy raised the ChapStick, which was really a small tube of Mace, and shot him in the eyes.

The goon screamed and let go of him. Teddy kicked him in the groin, spun around, and Maced the other goon flush in the face. He screamed and rubbed his eyes.

Teddy could have punched him, but there was no need to hurt his hand. A two-by-four was sticking out of the dumpster. Teddy grabbed it and brought it down hard on the goon’s head. He went down like a rock.

The other goon was still holding his crotch. Teddy swung the two-by-four and put him out, too. He picked up their guns and dropped them in the dumpster, then he dragged the goons into the shadows, dusted off his clothes, and went back.

Teddy was somewhat disoriented coming from the direction of the kitchen, but he clicked the zapper until the headlights of his rental car flashed. He hopped in, opened the glove compartment, took out the handgun, and screwed the silencer on. He stuck it under his belt, and headed back into the nightclub.

The bouncer was surprised to see him.

“Those guys did need your help,” Teddy said, jerking his thumb in that general direction.

The bouncer blinked uncomprehendingly and looked where he was pointing, while Teddy walked right by.