Kisser

by Stuart Woods

  “And she was able to do the move?” Dino asked, now fascinated.

  “Perfectly,” Carrie said, “the bitch. I could have throttled her.”

  “It’s probably better if you don’t throttle anybody,” Dino said. “Then I’d have to get involved.”

  Carrie laughed. “It’s okay, Dino; she tried to apologize after rehearsal, but it came out all wrong. I mean, what was she going to say-‘I’m sorry I could do the move and you can’t’?”

  “I can see how that could be awkward,” Stone said.

  “She watches me all the time,” Carrie said. “It’s unsettling.”

  “Maybe she’s just working very hard to learn your part,” Stone offered.

  “No, it’s more like All About Eve. You know the movie? The young actress wants everything the star has, including her lover?”

  “I remember it well.”

  “You’ll meet her eventually,” Carrie said. “When you do, watch yourself.”

  “I’ll be very careful,” Stone said solemnly.

  “So, what’s Mitzi up to?” Carrie asked.

  “She didn’t say a lot.”

  “She has a rich daddy, I recall.”

  “She said he was in the shrimp business.”

  “That sounds right. You’re sure she went back to Charleston?” Stone shrugged. “I believe so. She had to leave lunch early to catch her plane.”

  “What did she say about me?”

  “She said you were a piece of work.”

  “And what did she mean by that?”

  “I don’t know, and somebody changed the subject before I could ask.”

  “It’s just as well,” Carrie said.

  Stone allowed himself to think, just for a moment, about what Carrie might do if she knew how he had spent the afternoon.

  Carrie dabbed at his forehead with a cocktail napkin. “You’re perspiring,” she said. She put two fingers on his throat. “And your pulse is up.”

  “Isometric ab exercises,” he said. “I do them at dinner sometimes.”

  “By the way, I think you can send the young Irish gentlemen home. Not a peep out of Max. I think he’s been subdued.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. In fact, I sent them home when they dropped me off here. They said they would return your car tomorrow morning.”

  Stone signaled for a menu, but he had trouble concentrating on it. He was still thinking of all those limbs.

  20

  STONE WAS AT HIS DESK the following morning when Willie Leahy rapped on his doorjamb.

  “Good morning, Willie,” Stone said.

  Willie tossed him his car keys. “It’s in the garage,” he said. “I filled it up with the premium stuff.”

  “Thanks,” Stone said.

  “Listen,” Willie said, “I don’t know if we shouldn’t be watching her for a while longer.”

  “Why do you say that? She’s feeling safe now.”

  “Just a feeling,” Willie said. “That and a phone conversation I overheard.”

  “What was that about?”

  “Well, there’s a pair of restrooms in the wings of the theater-ladies’ and gents’-and there’s some sort of vent, and you can hear the girls talking sometimes.”

  “You been eavesdropping, Willie?”

  “Look, I was having a splash, and I heard Carrie on the phone.”

  “Yes?”

  “She was talking to Delta Air Lines.”

  “Yes?”

  “She was making a reservation to Atlanta this weekend.”

  “ Atlanta?”

  “I kid you not,” Willie said, “and I don’t know why the fuck she would want to be in the same city as that ex-husband of hers.”

  “Neither do I,” Stone said. “I mean, she lived there a long time, and I suppose she could have some business there.”

  “On a weekend?”

  “You have a point,” Stone admitted.

  “Well, let us know if we can be of further service,” Willie said, and, with a little wave, he left.

  Stone was still thinking about this when Joan buzzed him. “Brian Doyle on one.”

  “Hello, Brian.”

  “Morning. I found Mitzi a car: a Bentley, would you believe?”

  “How did you come to confiscate a Bentley?”

  “Drug bust, what else? It’s an Arnage, a few years old, but it looks good.”

  “I guess it would,” Stone said.

  “Listen, Mitzi’s new friend Rita found out there’s a party at Derek Sharpe’s studio tonight. She wangled Mitzi an invitation, but she doesn’t want to go with her, figuring that her connection to Parsons might affect the way Sharpe sees Mitzi. Will you take her to the party?”

  “Sure, I guess so.”

  “Great. A Bentley, chauffeured by a cop, will pick you up at six thirty.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Some guys have all the luck.” Brian hung up.

  Joan came into his office and put a box on his desk. “Sorry, the printer couldn’t get them done yesterday.”

  Stone opened the box and removed one of Mitzi’s new cards. “Very nice,” he said. “That should do the trick.”

  AT SIX THIRTY sharp Stone’s bell rang. When he opened the door, it was filled by about six feet four inches of Irish American, dressed in a black suit with a black tie.

  “Evening,” he said. “I’m Tom Rabbit.”

  Stone shook the extended paw. “Good to meet you, Tom.”

  “You ready?”

  “Yep.”

  “She’s in the car already.”

  Stone set the alarm and locked the door, then walked to the car. Tom had the door open for him. He slid in beside Mitzi and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Don’t say anything about yesterday afternoon when Tommy is around,” she whispered, before the driver could get into the car.

  “Right.” He handed her the box of cards. “Your credentials.” She opened the box and inspected the contents. “Hey, very good,” she said, tucking some of them into her small purse. “Makes me feel like I really live there.”

  “Is it a nice place?”

  “Haven’t you seen it?”

  “Nope.”

  “It’s a fucking palace,” she said. “Sorry, I’m talking like a cop. Got to get over that.”

  “I’m glad you’re comfortable there.”

  “My room is better than anything at any hotel in this city,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t talk about that tonight,” Stone said. “The card will say everything that’s necessary to impress Sharpe.”

  “What’s Sharpe like?” she asked.

  “Reptilian,” Stone replied, “but women seem attracted to him.”

  “Oh, we love reptiles,” Mitzi said, laughing. “They can always be relied on to slap us around and steal our money.”

  “I’m sure Derek Sharpe won’t disappoint,” Stone said.

  They drove downtown and arrived at Sharpe’s building to find half a dozen drivers waiting outside in their cars, mostly black Lin colns, the preferred transport for New York ’s affluent, who don’t like to arrive at a party in a taxi.

  The building looked like a factory, except for the huge murals splashed on the outer walls.

  “Ugh,” Mitzi said.

  “Be sure to compliment Sharpe on them,” Stone said.

  The elevator held a dozen arriving guests without crowding any of them and opened into a huge space filled with big canvases and many people. Some sort of pop music Stone didn’t recognize was blaring from a sound system.

  “His paintings are worse than I expected,” Mitzi said.

  “Sharpe may be, too,” Stone replied. He steered her to a bar and collected two plastic flutes of champagne. “This is as bad as the paintings,” Stone said, sipping his.

  “Shall we hunt down Mr. Sharpe and introduce me?”

  “No, let’s look at the pictures and pretend to appreciate them,” Stone replied. “That should bring him to your side.”
>
  They walked along a wall, stepping around people and gazing at the big canvases, stopping before a particularly awful one.

  “He’s looking our way,” Stone said. “Nod and smile a lot.”

  “I’m nodding and smiling,” she said, pointing at a corner of the canvas. “Look, he had the guts to sign it.”

  “Well, good evening and welcome,” a deep, Texan voice said from behind them.

  Stone turned and tried to look surprised to see Derek Sharpe accompanied by Hildy Parsons. “Hello, Derek, Hildy,” he said. “May I introduce Mitzi Reynolds? She’s recently moved to New York from Charleston, South Carolina.”

  “Well, hey, sugar,” Sharpe said, taking her hand, draping an arm over her shoulder and leading her back the way they had come. “Let me show you some of my work.”

  “I’d love to see more,” Mitzi said. “I particularly liked the murals on the building.”

  “Everybody likes those,” Sharpe said. “It’s a pity I can’t peel ’em off the building and sell ’em.”

  Mitzi laughed becomingly. “Oh, I like your composition here,” she said, framing a canvas with her hands.

  Then, from behind them, came a female voice. “Well, hello, Mitzi,” it said.

  The two couples turned around to find Carrie Cox standing there with a willowy young man.

  “Carrie!” Mitzi said, and a big air kiss was exchanged. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  “I live here,” Carrie said.

  “Isn’t that funny!” Mitzi replied. “So do I!”

  “That is funny,” Carrie said. “It was my information that you returned to Charleston yesterday.” She glared at Stone.

  “Oh, shit,” Stone muttered to himself.

  21

  MITZI LOOKED INQUIRINGLY AT STONE. “Excuse me for a moment,” he said, stepping forward, taking Carrie by an elbow and steering her away from Mitzi and the others. She tried to snatch her arm away, but he held on tightly.

  “Don’t say anything,” he said, marching her across the room toward an unoccupied corner.

  “I’ll say whatever I damn well please,” Carrie spat.

  “Not until you’ve heard me out.” He stopped and turned her so that her back was toward the group across the room. “Remember that police operation Dino and I were talking about last night?”

  “Sort of,” she said petulantly.

  “It’s happening right now, and Mitzi is a part of it.”

  Carrie brightened. “Oh, she’s going to be arrested? This I want to see.” She tried to turn around, but Stone stopped her.

  “Mitzi is a New York City police officer,” he said.

  Carrie screwed her face into an incredulous glare. “That is the most preposterous thing I’ve ever heard! You’re going to have to come up with a better story than that.”

  “No, I don’t,” Stone said firmly, “and unless you can accept the fact and keep your mouth shut I’m going to throw you out of here right now.”

  “And how does a shrimper’s daughter get to be a New York cop?” Carrie demanded.

  “Some years ago, she took the police exam, was accepted, and graduated from the academy. She served as a street cop for several years before she was promoted to detective. That’s how it’s done.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I haven’t formed the habit of lying to you or anybody else,” Stone said, “and if you repeat any of this to anyone, you will put Mitzi’s life in danger, and that is no exaggeration.”

  Carrie stood there smoldering, avoiding Stone’s gaze.

  “Do you understand me?” Stone demanded.

  She wheeled on him. “Yes!” she said. “And now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be going.” She turned and yelled across the room, “Paco!!!”

  The willowy young man came trotting across the space.

  “We’re leaving,” she said to him.

  “But we just got here,” Paco protested.

  “I don’t care. We’re going.”

  “Well, I’m not,” he replied. “There’s somebody I want to meet.” He gazed across the room at another young man.

  Stone guided Carrie toward the elevator. “Downstairs there’s a black Bentley Arnage, driven by a very large man. Tell him I said to take you wherever you want to go and he’s to be back here in no more than an hour.”

  “I’ll make my own arrangements,” she said, then marched into the elevator.

  Stone rejoined the others. “I’m sorry about that,” he said. “A misunderstanding.”

  “Not to worry,” Mitzi said.

  “Do you have a cell number for Tom?”

  She pressed a speed-dial number and handed Stone the phone.

  “It’s Tom,” he said.

  Stone stepped away. “Tom, it’s Stone. There’s a beautiful blonde named Carrie on her way down. Put her in the car, take her somewhere else, then come back as soon as you can. Don’t be more than an hour.”

  “I’ll call you when I’m back,” Tom said. “Here she comes now.” He hung up.

  Stone handed Mitzi her phone. “That’s taken care of.” At least for the moment, he thought.

  “Oh, good,” Mitzi said. “Derek was just telling me about how he does his work. It’s fascinating.”

  “I’ll bet,” Stone said, trying to keep the irony out of his voice.

  AN HOUR LATER, Mitzi answered her phone. She listened, then hung up. “My driver is back,” she said.

  “The party seems to be winding down,” Sharpe said. “Why don’t we get some dinner?”

  “I’d love to,” Mitzi said brightly.

  “Sure, why not?” Stone said. He noted that Hildy didn’t seem to have any objections.

  They rode down in the elevator with the last of the celebrants, and Tom was waiting out front with the Bentley.

  “We’ll take my car,” Mitzi said.

  “I’ll take the front seat,” Stone said, and got in while Tom held the door for the others.

  “Where to, Ms. Reynolds?” Tom asked when he was in the car.

  “Derek,” she said, “we’re in your hands.”

  Sharpe gave directions, and soon they were stopping outside a chic-looking restaurant. Stone hardly ever came downtown, so he didn’t know it.

  They went inside, where Sharpe was fawned over by the manager and the reservations lady before they were shown to a big table in the center of the room. Sharpe ordered a bottle of expensive wine and menus.

  “I hope you like sushi,” Sharpe said to the group.

  “Love it,” Mitzi said.

  Stone detested sushi but said nothing. The menus came, and he began looking for something cooked. He was relieved to find a shrimp teriyaki and ordered that, while the others chose raw things.

  “So, Mitzi,” Sharpe said. “How long have you been in town?”

  “A few weeks, off and on. I bought an apartment uptown, and I’ve been seeing to the decorating.”

  “Oh,” Hildy said, “let me have your address and number.” Mitzi fished a card from her purse and handed it to her. Sharpe took it from her, looked at it, froze for a moment, then handed it back to Hildy. “Nice neighborhood,” he said.

  “I like it,” Mitzi replied.

  “How did you ever find it?” Hildy asked. “You never see anything listed in that building.”

  “It was a private sale,” Mitzi said smoothly. “A friend of my family owned it.”

  “That’s the best way,” Hildy said. “Did you have any problems with the co-op board? I hear they can be tough.”

  “None at all,” Mitzi said. “In fact, they were rather sweet.” Stone admired how, in a few words, Mitzi had told them that she came from money, serious enough to impress a board made up of people with serious money.

  “Are you all settled in now?” Hildy asked.

  “Perfectly,” Mitzi replied. “My decorator brought over the last pair of lamps today.”

  “And who is your decorator?” Hildy asked.

  “Ralph Lauren,” Mitzi
replied.

  “Who at Ralph Lauren?”

  “Ralph.”

  “Ralph who?”

  “Lauren.”

  Stone nudged her under the table. Ralph Lauren did not deliver lamps. Mitzi was going too far.

  “I’ve never heard of Ralph personally doing decorating jobs,” Hildy said.

  “He and Daddy are old friends,” Mitzi replied. “Daddy was one of Ralph’s first backers many years ago, when he was still in the necktie business.”

  This, Stone thought, was a high-wire performance. He hoped to God that Philip Parsons and Ralph were not old friends.

  Hildy answered his question. “How interesting. My father and Ralph are old friends, too. Ralph has bought a number of pictures from him.”

  “Oh, is your daddy in the art business?” Mitzi replied.

  “The Parsons Gallery,” Hildy said.

  “Oh, of course. I didn’t make the connection. A lovely gallery it is, too. I bought a Hockney there.”

  “Oh? Whom did you deal with?”

  “Rita Gammage.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Your father was busy with something else that day.”

  This was out of control. Stone tried desperately to think of a way to change the subject. Fortunately, dinner arrived.

  22

  THE TERIYAKI WAS GOOD. Stone tried not to watch the others eating raw animals. As soon as he had finished his main course, Stone asked to be excused and left the table. He found a quiet corner of the restaurant and called Rita Gammage.

  “Hello?”

  “Rita, it’s Stone. We’ve got problems.”

  “Did something go wrong?”

  “If anything, it’s all gone too well,” Stone said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that Mitzi has gotten a little too much in the swing of things. She’s impressed Sharpe and, incidentally, Hildy, too much. Among other things, she has told them that she bought a Hockney from you, and the way things are going, next she’ll be inviting them over for drinks.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “Does Philip have a Hockney in the gallery?”

  “Yes, he does.”