by Stuart Woods
9
STONE AND DINO HAD BEEN at Elaine’s just long enough to order a drink, when Carrie came rushing in, flushed and excited. Stone signaled for a drink for her. “You look happy,” he said.
“I feel happy,” she said. “I’ve got two very good solos in the show and one absolute, solid-gold showstopper.”
“I look forward to hearing them,” Stone said.
“Not until opening night; I want you to get the full effect.”
“I’m already getting the full effect,” he replied. Their drinks arrived, and they clinked glasses.
Dino spoke up. “It’s nice to see you both so happy.”
“If you’d had my day,” Carrie said, “you’d be happy, too.”
“I am happy,” Dino said. “Can’t you tell?”
“He always looks dour,” Stone said. “You could know him for years before seeing him smile.”
“Do you have a wife, Dino?” Carrie asked.
“Had. Don’t want another.”
“A girl?”
“Until recently.”
“What happened?”
“I got tired of obeying. Stone and I spent a little time in Key West, and I discovered I didn’t miss her.”
“He smiled more then,” Stone said.
“If I goose him, will he smile?” Carrie asked.
“If you goose me in the right place,” Dino said.
Carrie laughed, a healthy, unrestrained sound. Dino smiled a little.
“There, I knew I could do it,” she said.
“So, do you know your script and score?” Stone asked.
“I will by Monday morning,” she said.
“How’d it go with Bob and the Leahys?”
“Bob showed me how to work the security system, then left with Max’s box to take it to FedEx. The Leahys are sweet and made me feel very safe. They dropped me off here, and I’ve dismissed them until Monday morning.”
“I think we’ve got Max pretty boxed in now,” Stone said, “so you shouldn’t have to worry. I wouldn’t go back to Atlanta any time soon, though, or if you do, don’t tell anybody who might tell him.”
“How long will we have to deal with this?” she asked.
“It could go two ways: Either he’ll mellow with time, like most people, or he’ll obsess about it until he can’t stand it anymore, and then make a move.”
“Knowing Max, it’s going to be the latter,” she said. “He’s the obsessive type, believe me.”
“Then we’ll just have to be ready for him,” Stone said.
“Am I going to have to have bodyguards for long?”
“Hard to say. Cantor and I may feel better about it in a week or ten days, but when the show opens, that’s when we’ll have to watch ourselves.”
“You mean, watch me.”
“Well, yes. In the meantime, I’ll cultivate his dislike for me. I’m already off to a good start, after only one phone conversation.”
“Why?”
“We’ll see if we can deflect him from you to me. By the way, on Monday morning we’re going to get you a protection order from the court and have it served on him in Atlanta.”
“If you say so,” Carrie replied, “but I have to warn you, he has a broad antiauthoritarian streak. I used to have to pay his speeding tickets to keep him from getting arrested, and he missed a couple of court appearances during the divorce process.”
“Still, if he violates it, it’s an excuse to put him behind bars, and that’s where I’d like him to be.”
“So would I,” Carrie said.
“What was in the box you sent him?” Stone asked.
Carrie sighed. “Two guns he gave me, and some small things of his that somehow got packed with my stuff-neckties, cuff links, socks, things like that.”
“Maybe you should have kept the guns,” Stone said.
“I still have one.”
“Don’t take it out of the house; New York City has a very rigid licensing law, and they turn down everybody who applies, unless you’re carrying around a briefcase full of diamonds or large sums of cash. The city believes that protecting property is more important than protecting life.”
“But you have a gun,” she said. “I saw you put it in the bedside table.”
“I have several guns, but retired cops get licenses. Dino’s packing right now, but he’s still on the force, so he has to.”
“The one I have is small enough to put in my purse,” she said.
“Have you had any firearms training?”
“I fired a.22 rifle at camp when I was twelve.”
“Then you’re more likely to hurt yourself or an innocent bystander than Max.”
“You underestimate me.”
“Maybe so, but here’s the sort of thing that happens. Maybe you’re injured in a taxi accident, and the EMTs come. At the hospital they go through your purse, looking for ID and an address, and they find your gun and call the cops. Then we’re in court, and believe me, you wouldn’t want to go through that.”
“So I’m vulnerable.”
“You have the Leahys, Dino and me, and Cantor. You have your security system and a phone to call 911. If you have to do that, tell the operator that someone has broken into your house and you’re hiding. That will get immediate attention.”
Dino gave her his card. “Put my cell phone number into your speed-dial list,” he said. “You can always get my immediate attention, even though you’re not in my precinct.”
She took out her cell phone and entered the number. “Thank you, Dino.”
The waiter came with menus, and they talked about other things.
10
ON MONDAY MORNING the Leahys picked up Carrie and took her to her first rehearsal, and Stone went to work in his office, as usual. Shortly after ten o’clock, Joan buzzed Stone. “Bob Cantor on one.”
Stone pressed the button. “Good morning, Bob. Did you have a nice weekend?”
“I did until a minute ago,” Cantor said.
“What’s up?”
“I had my people in Atlanta on Max Long all weekend. They found a cooperative guard on the apartment complex gate who let them in for a hundred. He was in and out until yesterday afternoon, and then he seemed to hunker down for the evening. Then, this morning, FedEx delivered the box I sent him, and nobody answered the door. Since it required a signature, the guy put it back on the truck.
“My guy got suspicious when this happened. He called Long’s phone number, but there was no answer. Finally, he looked in some windows, and there’s nobody home. His car is still parked outside.”
“So, he got past your guy?”
“His place is on the ground floor; he could have left by a back window and called a cab, I guess. This is not good.”
“No, it’s not. Did the airline’s reservation computer alarm go off?”
“Nope.”
“If he booked under a false name, he’d have to show ID at the ticket counter, wouldn’t he?”
“Yes, but he could have made a reservation under another name and had an e-ticket e-mailed to him.”
“Have you warned the Leahys?”
“Yep, and that’s about all we can do for the moment. Carrie is rehearsing at the theater, isn’t she?”
“Yeah. Since Del Wood owns the theater, they didn’t have to go to a studio.”
“How many ways in?”
“Front doors are locked, so the stage door is the only way. There’s a guard there, and we’ve alerted him, but he’s an old guy, and it might not be too hard to get past him.”
“Keep in touch.” Stone hung up.
TEN MINUTES LATER, Joan buzzed him. “Carrie Cox on one.”
“Hello?”
“What’s going on?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, the Leahys are all over me.”
“That’s their job.”
“Has something happened?”
“Am I interrupting your rehearsal?”
“No. I’m in t
he ladies’ room on a break.”
“Max has disappeared from his apartment, and we don’t know where he is.”
“Wasn’t somebody watching him?”
“Apparently, he went out a back window.”
“Is he on his way to New York?”
“There was no Delta reservation in his name, but he could already be here, so listen to the Leahys.”
“How’s the weather?”
“What?”
“Between here and Atlanta,” she said.
“Jesus, I don’t know. When I got up this morning the national forecast was for good weather for the entire East Coast.”
“Then he’s in his airplane.”
“He has an airplane?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you mention that before?”
“It didn’t come up.”
“What kind of airplane?”
“It’s a King something or other.”
“A King Air?”
“Yes.”
“With two engines?”
“Right.”
“What’s the tail number?”
“N-something,” she said.
“Every airplane in the United States is N-something.”
“I don’t remember the rest.”
“Does he often fly to New York?”
“Sometimes.”
“Where does he land?”
“I don’t know, exactly.”
“Did you ever fly to New York with him?”
“Yes.”
“Where did he land?”
“I don’t remember.”
“How did you get from the airport to New York?”
“In a limo.”
“Did you go through a tunnel?”
“No, we went over a bridge, the big one.”
“The George Washington Bridge?”
“That’s the one.”
“Did you land at Teterboro?”
“Yes, that’s it!”
“When you got out of the airplane you were at an FBO. Do you remember its name?”
“You mean, like a terminal?”
“Like that, but for private aircraft.”
“What are some FBOs?”
“Jet Aviation, Meridian Aviation, Atlantic Aviation, Furst Avia…”
“Atlantic, that’s it!”
“Is that where he always lands?”
“I guess so.”
“Is there anything else you haven’t told me about how Max travels?”
“I don’t think so.”
“How’s your rehearsal going?”
“We’re just reading through the script right now. Gotta run!” She hung up.
Stone got on his computer and went to the FAA aircraft registry, then typed in “Max Long” in the search engine. Nothing. Must be owned by a corporation. Stone called Cantor.
“Cantor.”
“It’s Stone. Carrie forgot to mention that Max Long owns an airplane, a King Air.”
“I thought he was broke.”
“Me, too. He usually lands at Teterboro, at Atlantic Aviation.”
“Got a tail number?”
“That would be too easy.”
“I’m on it.” Cantor hung up.
Stone was left, tapping his foot. Twenty minutes later, Cantor called back.
“I’m here.”
“He landed at ten fifteen last night. Teterboro Limousine took him to the Lowell Hotel, on East Sixty-Third Street.”
“You may need more than the Leahys,” Stone said.
“What, for a guy with a knife?”
“There’s nothing to stop him from carrying a gun on a private airplane.”
“Oh. Okay, I’ll get up to the Lowell now, see what I can see. I don’t think we’ll need more people. I’ll let the Leahys know that he may be packing, but I think the two of them can handle him.”
“If you say so,” Stone said.
HALF AN hour later, Bob Cantor walked into the Lowell, a small, elegant Upper East Side hotel, carrying a box from a florist’s shop. He approached the front desk. “Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning,” the desk clerk replied. “May I help you?”
“Do you have a Max Long registered here?” Cantor asked.
The man consulted his computer. “Yes, we do.” He reached out for the box. “He’s out just now; I’ll take the flowers.”
“Just tell Mr. Long that Stone Barrington says, ‘Hi,’ ” Cantor said. He turned and walked out of the hotel, dumped the empty box in the trash can on the corner, and called Stone.
“Hello?”
“It’s Cantor. Long is registered at the Lowell but on the loose.”
“Swell.”
11
BOB CANTOR DROVE HIS VAN down to the theater district, parked fifty yards from the Del Wood Theater, and turned down the sun visor with the NYPD badge on it, so as not to be bothered. He sat there through the morning, lunching on a sandwich he had packed before leaving his apartment downtown. In his pocket he had the protection order Stone had obtained over the weekend from a friendly judge.
He opened a book of New York Times crossword puzzles and began his routine: read a definition, then look outside while thinking of the answer. This was not his first stakeout. He had finished two of the puzzles, occasionally peeing into a bag designed for use on small airplanes, and was working on a third puzzle when he saw the tall man approaching the theater from the direction of Eighth Avenue. He popped open his cell phone and pressed a speed-dial button without taking his eyes off the man.
“It’s Willie,” one of the Leahys said.
“It’s Cantor. Guy coming toward the theater, answers the description. He’s wearing a raincoat, hands in his pockets, so watch out.”
“I’m on it,” Willie said, then hung up.
Cantor hopped out of the van and pressed the lock button on his remote key. He had a quarter of a million dollars’ worth of electronic equipment in the van, and he was taking no chances. He had to wait for a procession of cars to pass before crossing the street, and he made it to the alley down which lay the stage door just as the man did.
“Mr. Long?” he said. “Is that you?”
The man turned and looked at him. “Do I know you?”
“I’ve got something for you,” Cantor said, handing him the envelope.
The man stared at it but did not take his hands out of his raincoat pockets.
With his left hand, leaving his right in his own coat pocket, Cantor tucked the envelope into the top of the man’s raincoat. “You’ve been served,” he said.
“Served with what?”
“A protection order from the Supreme Court of New York State,” Cantor said. “It orders you to remain at least a hundred yards away from Ms. Carrie Cox at all times, and you’re violating it at this very moment.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Long said, ripping open the envelope and looking at the document.
“I’m afraid it’s very serious,” Cantor said. “As you can see at the bottom, the penalty for violating the order is thirty days in jail and a thousand-dollar fine. Oh, and did I mention that New York State has a very effective antistalking law? You could get a lot more time by violating that.” Cantor reached up and took the taller man’s arm, high under the armpit, and gently steered him down the street toward Broadway. “There will be people watching you every moment you’re in New York or Atlanta,” he said, “so don’t give Stone Barrington an opportunity to put you in jail.”
Cantor had not lied about Long’s being watched, because as he held his arm, he had attached a tiny bug to the armpit of Long’s raincoat that emitted a radio signal. Cantor stopped walking. “Bye-bye,” he said. “Enjoy your stay in our city.” He turned and walked back toward the theater, then stopped at the entrance to the alley and looked back. Long was moving quickly toward Broadway.
Cantor ducked into the alley and went to the stage door. When he opened it Willie Leahy was standing there. “I served him the order,” Ca
ntor said, “and warned him off. I got a bug on him, too, so we’ll know if he’s within five hundred yards.” He handed Willie a small, black object that looked like a pager. “If this beeps, he’s around. A distance in yards will appear on the display.”
“Gotcha,” Willie said, looking at the thing. “He’s two fifty and moving away.”
“Okay,” Cantor said. “You don’t need me anymore, so I’m outta here.”
“Thanks, Bob,” Willie was saying as Cantor closed the stage door.
Cantor went back to his van and called Stone.
“HELLO?”
“I caught up with our friend Max outside the theater. I served him, gave him a little talk about the antistalking law, and attached a bug to his raincoat at the armpit, where he’s unlikely to notice it. Willie Leahy has a pager thing that gives him a distance on Max if he’s within five hundred yards.”
“Good day’s work, Bob.”
“I mentioned your name, since you apparently want him pissed off at you.”
“Better me than Carrie,” Stone said. “Let’s hope he makes a move, so Dino can fall on him from a great height.”
“Yeah,” Cantor said. “I’d feel a lot better with him in jail. Oh, I also left him a message from you at the front desk of his hotel. He’s gonna feel surrounded by you.”
Stone laughed. “I like it.”
“Listen, you watch your ass,” Cantor said. “It wouldn’t do to underestimate his guy. I did a background check, and in his youth he was a marine. Those guys don’t lack confidence.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Stone said. “Thanks, Bob.” He hung up and called Carrie’s cell phone, got voice mail, and left her a message.
She called back an hour later. “What?” she said.
“Max is in town. Bob Cantor served him with the protection order. He’s now wearing an electronic bug that will let the Leahys know if he’s near.”
“Wow, how did you do that?”
“It’s the sort of thing, among many other things, that Bob Cantor does.”
“Why don’t you come over to my place tonight, and we’ll order in some Chinese?”
“Sounds good. You’re sure you’re not going to be too tired?”
“No. I’m wired, but you can give me a back rub.”
“I’ll rub anything you like,” Stone said. “See you at seven.”
