Class Act

by Stuart Woods

  “Probably not a coincidence, huh?”

  “Do you know anybody at the Herald?” Jack asked.

  “The only name I know at the Herald is Carl Hiaasen, a columnist, but I’ve never met him. I do read his books.”

  “I’ll see if I can find a way to get an anonymous note to the editor,” Jack said. “I’ll call you if I have any luck.” He hung up.

  “So?” Dino asked.

  Stone showed him the two rings.

  “You shoulda been a detective,” Dino said.

  “Do you think you could find a way to tip off the Miami cops without getting either of us dragged into it?”

  “Maybe.”

  “It could help that the ring is supposed to have been made by Tiffany’s; a family crest.”

  “What’s the woman’s name?”

  “If I knew her real name, I’ve forgotten it.”

  Dino made a brief call to somebody he knew, then hung up. “Okay, that’s done. Do they still serve food at this restaurant?”

  They ordered and had a second drink while they waited.

  “My problem isn’t solved,” Stone said. “I’ve got a dinner date with Hilda tomorrow night.”

  “And you’re worried about being the main course?”

  “Let’s just say that I don’t want to be alone with her, and that is what she has in mind.”

  “Because you’ll be found in the Hudson the following morning?” He tapped the signet ring on Stone’s little finger. “At least we’ll be able to identify you. No gators in the Hudson, last time I checked.”

  “You’re a barrel of laughs,” Stone said glumly.

  “Your body could be found in a barrel,” Dino said. “We get a lot of that.”

  Dinner came, and Dino ate voraciously, while Stone picked at his food.

  “You’re not gonna let all this affect your appetite, are you?” Dino asked.

  “What appetite?”

  “I think I’ve got a solution to your problem,” Dino said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Break your dinner date.”

  “You think? No kidding?”

  “Just become unavailable to her.”

  “She’s pretty persistent,” Stone said. “I mean, I became unavailable to her when we flew to England.”

  “And now she’s baaaack!” Dino said.

  “What I need is a more permanent solution.”

  “You already tried that,” Dino pointed out.

  “Not that permanent; just kind of, for a few weeks or months.”

  “Do you think her heart will grow less fond of you during that time? Just call her and kiss her off.”

  “I don’t have much experience doing that to women.”

  “You want me to suggest some language?” Dino asked.

  “Spare me that.”

  Dino looked toward the door. “How do you feel about coincidence?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “I remember you said something once about, ‘If you line up enough coincidences, the result is fate.’ ”

  “I could have said that. It’s true, sort of.”

  “Well, check out the couple being seated across the room, there.”

  Stone followed Dino’s nod to the couple. One of them was Sal Trafficante; the other was Hilda Ross.

  “Oh, shit,” Stone said.

  “That’s what I was gonna say,” Dino said.

  52

  The following morning, Stone went to his desk and buzzed Joan.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “Did you replenish our funds yet?”

  “I’m going to the bank this morning.”

  “All right, in addition to what you were going to get, I’d like two bundles of cash: fifty thousand dollars each.”

  “Another hundred G’s?”

  “That’s right.”

  “As you wish.” She hung up.

  * * *

  —

  An hour later, Joan returned from the bank and walked into Stone’s office. “Where would you like these?” she asked.

  “Please gift-wrap one bundle, and shape it like a book,” Stone said, “then wrap the other bundle in brown paper the same way and put it in the trunk of the Bentley.”

  “Okeydokey,” she replied, taking the money back to her desk.

  Stone’s cell rang. “Yes?”

  “It’s Hilda. I’ve been rethinking tonight.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. We both know what we want to do to each other, right?”

  “You betcha.”

  “Well, come up to my suite”—she gave him the number—“and we’ll rip each other’s clothes off and do it right away. Then we can order dinner from room service and start all over again.”

  “That’s a very attractive idea,” Stone said. She couldn’t murder him in a Carlyle suite and hope to get away with it: too many people around, and body disposal would be particularly difficult. “See you at seven.”

  They both hung up.

  Joan came back with the beautifully gift-wrapped cash. “Looks very fetching, doesn’t it?”

  “Very much indeed,” Stone said.

  She held up the brown paper–wrapped package. “And this goes in the trunk?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Where in the trunk would you like it?”

  “Right in the middle, where you couldn’t miss it if you opened the trunk.”

  “Gotcha.” She headed off to the garage with the brown bundle.

  * * *

  —

  That night at seven, Stone got out of the Bentley at the Seventy-Sixth Street entrance to the Carlyle, carrying the gift-wrapped package, went up to Hilda’s suite, and rang the bell. A moment later, she cracked the door with the chain still on and had a look at him. “You must be the guy,” she said.

  “I’m the guy.”

  She closed the door, unhooked the chain, opened it again, then let him in. She was fetchingly dressed, Stone thought, in a silk dressing gown, open at the front from neck to the Mound of Venus. He liked it.

  She came close and gave him a soft, wet kiss. “What’s in the package?” she asked “A gift for me?”

  “Yes,” Stone said, “but you’ll have to earn it.”

  “Well,” she said, “let’s get started on that.” She peeled the clothes off of him and draped them neatly over a chair, then picked up the package with one hand, then took hold of Stone’s member with the other, and led him into the bedroom, where the bed was already turned down. She set the package on a side table, then dragged Stone onto the bed with her.

  For a half hour or so they did everything they could think of to each other, then they lay, temporarily exhausted, on the bed.

  “What would you like for dinner?” Hilda asked.

  “A prime New York strip steak, medium, baked potato with a lot of stuff on it, and I’ll split a Caesar salad with you.”

  Hilda picked up the phone and ordered for the two of them. “Wine?” she asked.

  “A bottle of Opus One cabernet.”

  She ordered that. “Dessert?”

  “Dessert is you.”

  She hung up and came back to him. “Now can I open my gift?”

  “You haven’t earned it, yet,” Stone said.

  “I thought I earned it pretty well.”

  “There something you and I have to agree to before you can open it.”

  “I’m sure I won’t have any trouble doing that. What is your pleasure?”

  “We have to agree to stop trying to kill each other.”

  She was silent for half a minute. “Is that what we’ve been trying to do?”

  “You’re doing whatever Sal wants you to do, and I sent Cara.”

  “Why did you send Cara?
”

  “Because I knew you were going to try to kill me. If we can’t agree on this, then I’ll get dressed, and you can eat my steak, and we’ll go on with what we’ve been doing. Eventually, one of us will get lucky. It might even be you.”

  Hilda blinked her long eyelashes. “All right, I’ll agree. I won’t try to kill you anymore.”

  “And I agree not to try to kill you.”

  “I’m glad we got that out of the way,” she said. “I feel better. Now, may I open my gift, please?”

  “It’s not a gift. It’s a partial payment for services to be rendered.”

  “You want to hire me?”

  “I do.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “I want you to kill Sal Trafficante.”

  She looked at him closely. “You’re not kidding, are you?”

  “I kid you not.”

  “But you just asked me not to kill anymore.”

  “Not to kill me. I didn’t mention Sal.”

  “Why Sal?”

  “Because he wants to kill me, preferably using your skills, and eventually, he will get lucky. All I’ve accomplished so far is to disarm him of one weapon: you. He has other weapons at his disposal.”

  “That, he does.”

  “But I have a weapon he doesn’t know about.”

  “What is that?”

  “Your hatred of him.”

  She laughed. “You’re right, he doesn’t know about that.”

  “Now you can open your package,” Stone said. “If you’re agreeable to my terms.”

  “I’ll tell you after I see what’s inside.”

  “Fair enough.” He tossed her the package.

  She sat up, reached for the package, and ripped away the ribbon and paper. “Oh, what good taste you have!”

  “It’s for the girl who has everything.”

  “How much is here?”

  “Fifty thousand dollars.”

  “And when Sal is dead?”

  “You get another fifty thousand dollars—immediately, no waiting.”

  “How’m I supposed to kill him?”

  “Any method you like; you get to choose.”

  “For a hundred grand?”

  “I hear that’s higher than the going rate.”

  “When am I supposed to do it?”

  “Tomorrow evening is convenient.”

  “ ‘Convenient’? Do you want to watch?”

  “No, thanks. You can photograph the body with your iPhone for verification.”

  “Where’s the other half of the hundred grand?”

  “It will be readily available in a convenient place. I’ll give you directions as soon as you’ve verified his demise. You’ll have the money five minutes later.”

  “What makes you think I’ll do this?”

  Stone shrugged. “Hatred is a good motive. So is greed. Also, I think you would enjoy doing it.”

  “You don’t care how I do it?”

  “I don’t want you to get caught, so be careful. But if you want to tie him up and torture him first, that’s okay with me. Oh, it would be nice if you could say to him, while he can still understand, that I ordered his death and hired you.”

  “What happens if I don’t take the job?”

  “Then you don’t get the hundred grand.”

  “Not even the first half?”

  “This is a business transaction, not your birthday.”

  “You are a cold, heartless bastard,” she said.

  “Do you care? I think you’d like to have Sal off your back as much as I.”

  The doorbell rang, and she grabbed her robe. “Don’t get dressed,” she said. “I’m not through with you, yet.”

  “I’m counting on that,” Stone said.

  She went into the living room, closing the door behind her. When she returned she beckoned him into the living room. The table was set before the windows, looking south, at the carpet of lights that was Manhattan.

  “Sit,” she said, holding a chair for him.

  He sat. “One thing,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “When you blow out the candles, be careful. Hot wax on naked flesh is painful.”

  53

  Hilda put down her fork. “All right, I’ll kill Sal tomorrow night. We already have a date.”

  “Where are you going for dinner?”

  “His place.”

  “How convenient. Will there be anyone else present at his residence?”

  “No. Sal’s idea of a good dinner before sex is a pizza from Domino’s—the Extravaganza, hold the green peppers.”

  “An Italian who doesn’t like green peppers?”

  “He’s allergic.”

  “Allergic enough to kill him?”

  “If I could trick him into eating them.”

  “I think you’d better have a plan B,” Stone said.

  “I can tuck a straight razor into my garter belt.”

  “I’ve never seen you wear a garter belt.”

  “Sal likes them.”

  “So do I. I never knew Sal and I had anything in common, except you.”

  “The nice thing about the straight razor is that it’s fast, nearly painless, and the amount of blood rushing out paralyzes the victim with fear.”

  “Suppose his anger overcomes his fear for a few seconds. How will you handle that?”

  “He will weaken almost instantly. I’ll be stronger than he. That’s how it went with Cara, except I used an ice pick through the back and into the heart.”

  Stone must have exhibited a moment of revulsion, because she said, “In your shower. All the blood was washed away.”

  “Excuse me a moment,” Stone said. “I have to use your powder room.” She pointed, and he found it just in time to vomit neatly into the toilet. So much for the prime beef. He splashed cold water on his face, then slapped himself hard a couple of times, to be sure his face was not drained of color. He returned to the table, looking at his watch. “I have to go,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “To begin to establish my alibi. I was never here, for a start.”

  “The elevator man will have seen you.”

  “I took the elevator to two floors below, then walked up. I’ll walk down two floors, then ring for the elevator.”

  “I approve.”

  Stone got dressed. “It’s been fun,” he said.

  “Sal will be dead by nine o’clock tomorrow evening,” Hilda said. “What do I do when I’m done?”

  “Send me an e-mail with half a dozen pictures of the body, then erase it from your phone. I’ll text you instructions for collecting the cash. My car will appear nearby. Rap twice on the trunk lid, and my driver will open it. The package will be in plain view. Don’t concern yourself with him as a witness. The car is armored, as is the glass pane between the front and rear seats, and my driver was the Royal Marines pistol champion, three years running. Once you close the trunk lid, he’ll be gone, and you’ll be rich—including Cara’s 25K. By the way, she made the front page of the Miami Herald.”

  He kissed her softly and left, walking down two flights and ringing for the elevator there.

  * * *

  —

  Fred was waiting with the car. “P. J. Clarke’s,” Stone said to him.

  “Are we on for tomorrow evening?” Fred asked.

  “Yes. It will be exactly as we discussed.”

  Stone got out at Clarke’s and found Dino on his second drink.

  “Let’s go straight in,” Stone said. “I’m starved.”

  “Didn’t she give you dinner?” Dino asked.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Stone replied. “I rejected it.”

  They ordered.

  “How is it going
to go?” Dino asked.

  “Don’t ask me questions you don’t want the answer to.”

  “Don’t start with that again. I need to know.”

  “Why?”

  “To cover your ass, if it goes wrong.”

  “I think it will go as it should.”

  “Suppose she misses?”

  “She’s going to use a straight razor.”

  “Do I need to know where?”

  “The medical examiner will explain it to you, in due course,” Stone said.

  “I have to wait for his report?”

  “No, he can tell you on the phone.”

  “When is this taking place?”

  “Before nine o’clock tomorrow evening,” Stone said.

  “Where?”

  “At Trafficante’s home. I don’t know where that is, and it’s just as well you don’t, either.”

  “Is she going to call it in?”

  “I doubt it. Would you, given the circumstances?”

  “No, I’d get the hell out of there.”

  “I expect she will, too.”

  54

  Stone was halfway through his morning, when Joan buzzed. “Jack Coulter is here. Once again, he doesn’t have an appointment.”

  “Send him in.”

  Jack entered and sat down.

  “Coffee?” Joan asked.

  “Thank you, yes,” Jack said.

  “I’ll pass,” Stone replied. “It keeps me awake in the afternoons.”

  Joan brought a little tray with everything Jack needed.

  “I’ve had an idea,” Jack said, when she had gone.

  “Tell me.”

  “I think we should do away with Sal Trafficante, and we should hire Mickey O’Brien to take care of it.”

  Stone smiled. “What is it they say? Great minds think alike?”

  “They do.”

  “But why Mickey O’Brien?”

  “He’s skilled at these things, and he always needs the money.”

  “I thought he had come over all rich, courtesy of his mother.”

  “He’s a degenerate gambler. I’ll bet he’s already blown it all on a sure thing.”

  “I don’t want to employ Mickey O’Brien, for two reasons: first, I don’t trust him. He’d love to have something on me, and I’m not going to give it to him.”