by Stuart Woods
“What?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“Wait a minute,” Eggers said, “you’re fucking Eduardo Bianci’s crazy daughter?”
“No, but she wants me to. She sent me two dozen roses, and she’s hanging around outside my house.”
“I thought she was locked in a rubber room in Eduardo’s house,” Dino said.
“Not anymore. She goes out shopping with a minder.”
“Now this is dangerous,” Dino said.
44
STONE OPENED HIS EYES and gazed at the ceiling. It was moving around. He held on to the mattress to steady himself and got his feet on the floor. He barely made it to the bathroom before he knelt at the throne and emptied his stomach.
He lay down on the bathroom floor, pressing his hot cheek against the cool marble. From the bedroom came the sound of Joan buzzing him. He struggled to his feet, splashed cold water on his face, staggered back, sat on the bed, and picked up the phone. “What?”
“You sound awful.”
“What is it?”
“Shall I call an ambulance?”
“Just skip a step and call an undertaker.”
“You’re hungover, aren’t you?”
“The word doesn’t cover it.”
“This ought to help: Tiffany Baldwin is on the phone.”
“Tell her I’m ill and can’t talk.”
“That won’t work; I’ve been on the phone with you for too long.”
Stone pressed the button. “Hello?”
“Did I wake you?” Tiffany asked.
“No. You can’t wake the dead.”
She laughed. “You have to be in my office in an hour for a meeting.”
“I’m sorry,” Stone said. “I thought you said I have to be in your office in an hour.”
“You have to be in my office in an hour,” she said, “for a meeting.”
“Tiffany, I don’t have any current business with your office. What is this about?”
“We’re all meeting in an hour,” she said. “It’s a strategy session.”
“Can you hold on for just a minute,” he said. He pressed the hold button, ran into the bathroom, and threw up again. He ran some cold water on a facecloth and went back to the phone, swabbing his face. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about, and if I did, I wouldn’t come.”
“Your Lieutenant Doyle requested the meeting,” she said.
“He’s not my Lieutenant Doyle; he’s just a cop I know.”
“It’s my understanding that the commissioner has placed you under his command.”
“That’s a lie.”
“That’s not what the commissioner says; I called him.”
“Okay, it’s not a lie; it’s just a perversion of justice.”
“Once again, Stone, be in my office in an hour for this meeting. The commissioner will be here, and if you’re not, he’ll notice.” She hung up.
Stone wanted to collapse into bed again, but he got to his feet and threw himself into a cold shower, regretting it immediately. He shaved, cutting himself twice, struggled into some clothes, and went downstairs. He went into Joan’s office, poured himself a cup of coffee, and began sipping it.
“You were right,” Joan said. “I should have called an undertaker.”
“Too late,” Stone said. “I have to go downtown to the Federal Building.”
“To see Tiffany Baldwin?”
“Among others. She said the commissioner is going to be there, too, but that may have been just to scare me.”
“Did it work?”
“Sure did. I don’t want him messing with my retirement pay.”
“I’m sure that’s beneath him.”
“It’s not beneath Brian Doyle, who hates me because I make more money than he does.”
“I’m sure that’s not the only reason.”
“If I talk about this anymore, I’m going to throw up,” he said.
“Again. Will you drive me downtown? It seems to be raining outside.”
“Oh, all right,” she said, putting on her raincoat.
Stone found his trench coat and an umbrella and followed her to the garage.
MORE THAN slightly damp, Stone stood in the line at the metal detector and waited while a woman emptied her handbag onto a steel table and then put everything back, one item at a time. He was cold from the heavy rain, and his trench coat was soaked, being very old and no longer waterproof.
He emptied his pockets into the tray, put his umbrella on the conveyer belt into the X-ray machine, and passed through the metal detector. Beep. He took off his belt; the large silver buckle must have set it off. Beep.
“Take off your shoes,” the uniformed woman said. “Sometimes it picks up the nails in the heels.”
Stone took off his shoes, put them on the conveyer belt, and stepped through the metal detector again. No beep.
The guard at the X-ray machine pushed his shoes toward him with the back of his hand. “You always wear two different shoes?” he asked.
Stone stared at his shoes. The man was right: one black and one brown. “Only when it’s raining,” he said.
He got his shoes back on over socks that were wet from treading in the pool of water that other people had left behind and went upstairs in the elevator. He found the office and presented himself to a receptionist who reported his presence.
“You may go in,” she said.
Stone opened one of the double doors that led into a large corner office, furnished in the federal government’s best taste plus a few personal touches from Tiffany. She sat with her long legs propped on her huge desk, reading glasses poised on her nose, a thick document in her lap.
“You’re ten minutes early,” she said.
Stone looked at his wrist, but there was nothing there. “I seem to have forgotten to wear a watch.”
She peered at him over her glasses.
“What?”
“The phrase ‘death warmed over’ comes to mind.”
Tiffany got up and led him to a sofa at the other end of the room. “Let’s sit here for our meeting.” She sat down, crossed her legs, and leaned into him.
The phone on the coffee table buzzed. Saved, Stone thought. He got up and moved to a chair beside the sofa.
“Send them in,” Tiffany said into the phone.
The door opened and Brian Doyle entered, accompanied by Mitzi and the loyal Tom.
Tiffany got up and greeted them. “I suppose you all know Stone,” she said.
“Yeah, sure,” Doyle replied, and Mitzi gave Stone a big smile. They sat down and looked at each other.
“I think we should wait for the commissioner to arrive before we start,” she said.
There was a knock at the door, and a secretary opened it and stepped back. “The commissioner,” she said.
The commissioner, a fireplug of a man, marched into the office and took a seat at the end of the sofa nearest Stone. He looked at Stone’s feet.
“ Barrington,” he said, “do you always wear two different shoes?”
45
STONE LOOKED AT THE COMMISSIONER. “Only when it rains.”
The commissioner didn’t laugh, which was like him.
“Let’s get this show on the road,” he said to Stone.
Stone blinked. “It’s not my show.”
“Commissioner,” Tiffany said smoothly, “we’re here to coordinate the investigations into Derek Sharpe and Sig Larsen.”
“Who’s Larsen?” the commissioner asked, frowning.
“Short for Sigmund, presumably. He’s the man who’s running some sort of Ponzi scheme.”
“Be nice to catch one of these guys before he steals everybody’s money,” the commissioner said.
A secretary came into the room with a tray of Danish pastries and set them on the coffee table in front of Stone, who became ravenous at the sight of them. Desperately in need of something to get his blood sugar up, he grabbed a cheese Danish and took a big bite o
f it.
“ Barrington,” the commissioner said, “as I understand it, you initiated these investigations, so give us a rundown.”
Stone, whose mouth had been dry to begin with, chewed faster and tried to swallow some of the cream cheese. He looked desperately for coffee, but none had been brought. He made a shrugging motion to gain time.
“ Barrington, are you hearing me?”
Stone nodded and chewed faster. “It’s like this,” he managed to say, then chewed and swallowed some more. The secretary returned with a coffee jug and cups, and Stone poured himself some. He scalded his tongue taking a big swallow, but most of the Danish went down with it. “It began as a private thing,” he said. “A client of the law firm to which I am of counsel asked me to investigate Derek Sharpe, fearing for his daughter’s trust fund, which she was about to come into.”
Brian Doyle interrupted him. “That’s when we got involved,” Brian said.
Stone fought back. “Yes, that’s when I called Lieutenant Doyle and suggested he might be interested in Sharpe. I don’t believe he had heard of him until then.”
Doyle turned red. “Sharpe was already on my radar, but we hadn’t yet had cause to move.” He explained in some detail the involvement of Mitzi and Tom, leaving out Stone whenever possible.
Stone used the opportunity to take a smaller bite of the Danish, which helped cool his tongue. “Then Sig Larsen entered the picture,” he said. “I can understand why Lieutenant Doyle wasn’t interested in him, and I wasn’t surprised to hear that the U.S. Attorney became involved.”
“And that’s why we’re here,” the commissioner said. “To coordinate the two investigations.”
“Actually,” Tiffany said, “I don’t want to assign investigative personnel to this matter at this point. Lieutenant Doyle seems to have the situation well in hand.”
“Thank you, Ms. Baldwin,” Doyle said.
“Then there’s nothing to coordinate?” the commissioner asked.
“All we need is your go-ahead to proceed, sir,” Doyle said.
“I would have given that on the phone,” the commissioner said, rising to his feet and snagging a Danish. He wrapped it in a napkin and put it in his jacket pocket. “Good day to you all,” he said, and marched toward the door. But before reaching it he stopped and said, “ Barrington, step outside with me.”
Stone reluctantly set down his Danish and followed. The sugar was making its way to his brain now, and he was thinking more clearly. He followed the commissioner out of the office and through the reception area into the hallway outside.
“Listen,” the commissioner said to Stone. “Has Doyle really got this thing in hand?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know,” Stone said truthfully. “So far, I’ve been used as a beard for Detective Reynolds for the most part.”
“Not a bad place to be,” the commissioner said with a little smirk.
“She’s a very competent detective,” Stone said, not wishing to mention her other area of expertise.
“I’m going uptown,” the commissioner said. “Can I give you a lift?”
“Thank you, sir, yes,” Stone said. A detective came out of the office with Stone’s coat and umbrella. They took the elevator to the basement garage and got into the commissioner’s black Lincoln, which followed a black SUV and led another, and shortly they were motoring through driving rain. Stone kept quiet, knowing that the commissioner didn’t like small talk.
“How come you never made detective first grade?” the commissioner asked suddenly.
Stone was surprised he knew that. “I was due for promotion at the time I was retired for medical reasons,” Stone said.
“Bullet to the knee, wasn’t it?”
“That and a lot of precinct politics,” Stone said. “I disagreed with the direction an investigation was taking, and somebody wanted me out. The knee was an excuse.”
“Ah, yes, the Nijinsky investigation. I heard some stuff about it at the time,” the commissioner said. “I was captain of the First Precinct, and shortly after that I got moved up the ladder. I reread the file when Doyle wanted you reactivated. I know how to read between the lines. If it’s any consolation, I added an addendum, correcting the impression your captain left in it.”
“Thank you, sir,” Stone said, surprised. “That was very kind of you.”
“I hear you’ve done all right since leaving the department,” the commissioner said.
“I can’t complain,” Stone said.
“You might have done better, if you’d had Brian Doyle’s political instincts.”
Stone said nothing.
“Doyle will go far,” the commissioner said, “but only so far. Somebody will cut him off at the knees before he gets to my office.”
“There’s usually somebody willing to do that,” Stone agreed.
The car came to a halt in front of Stone’s house. He had forgotten how fast a police motorcade could move through traffic.
The commissioner shook Stone’s hand. “Try not to let anybody get hurt in this investigation,” he said, holding on to Stone’s hand. “That’s not the sort of thing Doyle thinks about.”
“I’ll do my best,” Stone said. “Thank you for the lift.”
Stone opened the car door, got his umbrella outside first, and ran for his office door.
Joan looked surprised to see him back. “How’d it go?” she asked.
Stone hung up his wet coat. “Better than I could have hoped,” he said. “The commissioner is a better guy than I had thought.”
The phone began ringing.
46
JOAN HANDED THE CALL OFF to Stone. “Hello?”
“It’s Mitzi.”
“Hi.”
“Where did you go?”
“The commissioner wanted to talk to me, and he offered me a ride uptown.”
“Brian is livid.”
“Because I left his meeting?”
“Because you left with the commissioner.”
“Oh.”
“Tiffany Baldwin was a little upset, too, but she hid it better. I think she didn’t want to share you with the commissioner.”
“If you say so,” Stone said.
“What did you and the commissioner talk about?”
“He wanted to talk about old times,” Stone said.
“You had old times together?”
“Not exactly. He apparently followed a case I worked right before I left the department.”
“Tell me about it.”
“It’s a long story.”
“Does that mean I’m not supposed to ask?”
“I’ll tell you about it when we have more time.”
“And when is that going to be?”
“I’m at your beck and call,” Stone said. “You tell me.”
“I’ll have to place another order with Derek Sharpe first,” she said.
“And when is that going to happen?”
“We’re letting him stew a bit; besides, I don’t want to appear too eager.”
“If it’s any help, I think Sharpe and Larsen are going to decamp.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because they’re both involved in enterprises that can’t continue forever without their getting caught, and I think they’re too smart to wait too long. I think you should see Sharpe for coffee and place a really big order.”
“How big?”
“Forget the marijuana. Ask him for ten kilos of cocaine, and imply that the orders could grow. You want to order enough to appeal to his greed; he’ll hang around a little longer for a big sale.”
“Good idea,” she said. “I’ll run it by Brian.”
“Don’t tell him it was my idea; he’ll screw it up just to spite me.”
“So I get all the credit?”
“And all the blame if it spooks Sharpe.”
“You said have coffee with him?”
“Don’t go to his studio; he’ll rape you.”
“Yuck. Coffee it is.”
“Some place where Tom can see you from the street.”
“Okay.”
“When you’ve got the buy set up, tell Sharpe you want the delivery at your apartment. He ought to be comfortable there now.”
“All right. Then after we bust him, you and I will celebrate.”
“You’re on,” Stone said. He hung up, and the phone rang immediately.
“It’s Tiffany Baldwin,” Joan said.
“Hello?”
“What did you do to get the commissioner to get you out of my meeting?” she asked.
“I think he thought that if I kept eating Danish, he might have to perform the Heimlich maneuver,” Stone replied. “Did anything happen after I left?”
“Not a hell of a lot. I don’t think I trust Lieutenant Doyle,” she said.
“You have good instincts,” Stone said. Line two began flashing on his phone. “I’ve got another call coming in,” he said, “so I’m going to have to go.”
“Let’s get together.”
“Maybe after this is over. Bye.” Stone hung up and waited for Joan’s voice.
“Brian Doyle on two,” she said.
“Hello?”
“It’s Brian.”
“Hi, there.”
“What was that you pulled with the commissioner?”
“He offered me a ride home, and it was raining like hell.”
“If you think you can pull something behind my back, Stone…”
“Didn’t you notice that he asked me to step outside? It wasn’t my idea.”
“All the same…”
“What happened at the meeting?”
“We just got our priorities straight with the U.S. Attorney.”
“And how do you intend to proceed?”
“I’ve been thinking about it, and I believe Derek Sharpe and Sig Larson are going to run for it soon.”
“Oh? Why do you think that?”
“I think they’re too smart to think they can get away with what they’re doing forever.”
“That’s very insightful of you, Brian,” Stone said. “You might very well be right.”
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Doyle said. “Mitzi is going to ask Sharpe for ten kilos of coke and forget about the grass. I think he’s greedy enough to hang around until the big deal gets done.”
