Unnatural Acts

by Stuart Woods

  “About the same as yours,” Dino said. “Zip, pretty much. She’s a smart girl, you should forgive the expression, and if you haven’t run her down so far, you’re not likely to get her now. There are eight million stories in the city, and hers is only one of them.”

  “You’re probably right,” Kerry said, “but I’ll deny I ever said that. There’s more bad news on that front: Shelley had substantial inheritances from her grandfather and her mother, and she moved her capital out of the country, through a series of offshore banks. She worked on capital-tracing cases earlier in her career, so she knows how to do that.”

  “So she’s well financed?”

  “Extremely.”

  “I could never get her to talk much about her background,” Dino said. “What do you know about her?”

  “Born in Philadelphia, where her grandfather owned a large department store. Her father died in a riding accident when she was seven, fell off a horse and broke his neck. She and her mother moved in with the grandparents, and she had a happy life. College at Mount Holyoke and Harvard Law School, where she edited the Law Review. Joined a New York firm after school, lasted a couple of years. Hated it. Joined the Bureau for excitement, I guess, and she did well.”

  “Suppose she shows up. What do you want me to do?”

  “Are you nuts? Arrest her!”

  “I’d feel bad about that,” Dino said. “We got close when I was in D.C.”

  “Yeah, well, she and I were close for a couple of years, too, but I wouldn’t hesitate to clap irons on her.”

  “Yes, you would,” Dino said.

  “Well, maybe for a second or two,” Kerry admitted. “She was really something.”

  “Yeah,” Dino said, “she was. See you, Kerry.” He hung up and waved at a waitress for another cup of coffee.

  3

  STONE GOT a call from Bill Eggers at ten.

  “Stone, we’ve got a client who needs the sort of attention that you’ve given our clients in the past.”

  “What’s his problem?” Stone asked.

  “We’re having lunch with him at the Four Seasons at one o’clock. He’ll explain it to you then.”

  “Fine, Bill, see you there.” Stone hung up and reflected on the kind of help he had given to clients of Woodman & Weld in the past. His specialty had been to handle the kind of cases the firm did not wish to be seen handling in-house. Now that he was a partner, Stone did not particularly wish to be seen handling those cases himself. However, he could not refuse such a request from Bill Eggers out of hand. There was an etiquette involved here. Stone would have to listen to the client’s problem, then find a way to tell Eggers that he would not handle it. He felt in a strong enough position, now, to tell him to go fuck himself, if necessary. He was responsible for three major additions to the Woodman & Weld client list, one of them his late wife’s estate, as well as himself and Peter. He made a decision: if he didn’t want to do it, then the hell with it.

  STONE ARRIVED at the Four Seasons, which occupied the ground floor of the iconic Mies van der Rohe design, the Seagram Building, which also housed Woodman & Weld. He walked up the stairs, past the bar, and into the Grill Room, where Eggers’s permanently reserved table sat. Bill was already there, and they shook hands.

  Stone needed to keep his wits about him, so he ordered San Pellegrino mineral water. “So, Bill, who’s the client and what’s his problem?”

  “The client is Marshall Brennan,” he said, “of the Brennan Group.”

  Stone didn’t need the firm name; everybody on the planet with a room-temperature IQ knew who Marshall Brennan was and, apparently, was anxious to invest in his hedge fund, which controlled a growing list of diversified companies, everything from hotel and restaurant chains to industrial and high-tech companies. Stone had seen the man across crowded rooms but had never met him. “And what’s his problem?”

  “Ah,” Eggers said, “here he is now.” He stood up to greet his client. “Good afternoon, Marshall. I’d like you to meet our partner, Stone Barrington.”

  Stone shook the man’s hand and observed that he was wearing a faded, wash-and-wear suit and a bad necktie and was carrying a cheap plastic briefcase, this from a multibillionaire.

  “I hope you’ve been well,” Eggers said. “And Ethel, too.”

  “Yes, we’re both well, Bill. And, Stone, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve been following with interest your progress with the new hotel in Bel-Air.”

  Stone’s son had inherited from his mother an eighteen-acre property in Bel-Air, Los Angeles, and Stone was a lead investor in the project to build a new, ultra-luxury-class hotel there.

  “Thank you, Marshall, it seems to be going well. We broke ground last fall, and the old Vance Calder house is being turned into the reception area, with an addition for offices. Construction has begun on the cottages and rooms, too.”

  “What’s your grand opening date?” Brennan asked.

  “Probably early next year. I don’t think we can make Christmas, unless things go faster than planned.”

  “My people have had a lot of experience in hotels, so let me know if I can be of any help.”

  “Thank you, Marshall, that’s kind of you.”

  They ordered lunch, then Eggers sat back in his chair. “Stone, Marshall’s youngest son, Dink, has gotten himself into a bit of a mess.”

  “Oh?” Stone couldn’t wait to hear this.

  “He’s at Yale—in Peter’s class—and he has acquired a bit of a gambling problem.”

  “How much of a problem?” Stone asked.

  “About two hundred thousand dollars’ worth,” Brennan interjected, “to a bookie and loan shark.”

  “Is he able to pay it?” Stone asked.

  “Of course not,” Brennan replied, “but the bookie knows I can pay it.”

  “Do you intend to pay it?” Stone asked.

  “That depends a lot on the advice I get from you. Bill tells me you’ve dealt with people like this in the past.”

  “I was a police officer for fourteen years,” Stone replied. “I dealt with all sorts of people, some of whom were unable or unwilling to pay their gambling and loan debts.”

  “What happened to those who couldn’t or wouldn’t pay?”

  “Unpleasant things,” Stone said. “I’ve rarely known a bookie or a loan shark to kill people, because the dead can’t pay their debts, but quite often such people required medical attention after negotiations failed.”

  “So, these things are negotiable?”

  “Only when the lender is convinced that the borrower can’t pay it all. In your case, as you say, he already knows that you’re Dink’s father.”

  “That’s what I’ve been told.”

  “Then I should think that the bookie/lender has every intention of collecting every penny, and the total goes up daily, at the rate of about ten percent a week, so time is of the essence.”

  “Can I have him arrested?”

  “Such activities are certainly against the law, but I don’t think you want to get into a legal wrangle with a criminal. First of all, such action would not necessarily protect your son or even you from retribution, and second, there might be an unwanted level of public attention brought to bear on everyone involved. The tabloids would love the story.”

  “So I should pay up and end it?”

  “Paying up is probably necessary, but that might not end it.”

  Brennan looked alarmed. “Why not?”

  “Because paying the money won’t deal with your son’s gambling problem. Indeed, if you get him off the hook this time, he might take that to mean that you always will. And the paid-off bookie will certainly be willing to extend him more credit.”

  “So how do I fix this?”

  “Marshall, may I ask, what is your relationship like with your son, apart from the gambling?”

  “Sometimes good, sometimes bad,” Brennan said.

  “Good when he gets what he wants, bad when he doesn’t?”

 
“That’s about the size of it.”

  “Then I can only tell you what I would do if it were my son.”

  “And what is that?”

  “How old is he?”

  “Twenty.”

  “That precludes an involuntary commitment to an institution.”

  “Yes, it does. I thought of that.”

  “Does he have means of his own?”

  “No.”

  “Then I would sit him down and force him to close his bank and credit card accounts and destroy his credit cards. I would leave him no option but to leave Yale and voluntarily enter an intense, residential treatment program, and by ‘residential’ I mean a place with a high fence around it and bars on the windows.”

  “And what if he refuses to cooperate?”

  “Then leave him to the tender mercies of his bookie. After a couple of large men have beaten him to a pulp, he may take a different view of things.”

  To Stone’s discomfort, Marshall Brennan began to cry.

  Eggers comforted him while Stone waited quietly for him to continue.

  Finally, Brennan was able to speak. “I don’t think I can confront my son in that fashion.”

  “Then have someone else confront him.”

  “Do you have someone in mind?” Eggers asked, obviously hoping that Stone would volunteer.

  “I think Herbert Fisher would be well suited to the task,” Stone replied.

  “Who is Herbert Fisher?” Brennan asked.

  “He’s a young attorney with Woodman and Weld,” Stone replied. “He has a history of such problems in his own past, from which he has recovered.”

  “He’s one of the firm’s outstanding associates,” Eggers added.

  Brennan took a deep breath and let it out. “All right,” he said. “Do it.”

  “Do what?” Stone asked.

  “Exactly what you just said. Have your young man deal with it: pay the bookie, recommend a treatment facility, and confront Dink.”

  Stone took a jotter and a pen from his pocket and handed them to Brennan. “His full name, address at Yale, cell and phone numbers. And a list of his bank accounts and credit cards. And the name of the bookie/loan shark.”

  Brennan wrote it all down. “There’s a briefcase under the table with two hundred thousand dollars in it.” He handed Stone a business card. “Call me on the cell number if you need any further information.” Then Marshall Brennan got up and left.

  Eggers produced a cell phone and pressed a button. “Herbert Fisher, please. It’s Eggers. Hello, Herbie? You’re invited to lunch downstairs, my table, now.” He closed the phone. “Do you need me here for this?”

  “Yes,” Stone said. “I want Herbie to know this comes from you, and anyway, you haven’t eaten yet.”

  4

  HERBIE FISHER arrived just as his lunch did. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he said as he sat down.

  “We ordered for you,” Eggers said.

  Stone reflected that Herbie dressed better these days than many of the partners at Woodman & Weld, and that he had grown up a lot in other ways, helped along by his recent, newfound lottery wealth.

  “What are you working on?” Eggers asked him.

  “Whatever the partner throws my way,” Herbie replied, “and she’s thrown me a very mixed bag.”

  “Tell her that you’re going to be dealing with the problem of one of my clients for a few days,” Eggers said.

  “Yessir.”

  “We’ve chosen you for this assignment,” Eggers said, “because, among the partners and associates, you are uniquely qualified to handle it.”

  Herbie shoved a bite of Dover sole into his mouth. “I think that means the client’s problem has, shall we say, unsavory aspects.”

  “You are correct,” Eggers said. “Not that we feel there’s anything unsavory about you, Herbie, just that you have experience with the kind of people who are a big part of the problem.”

  “I understand, I think.”

  “Stone, explain things to Herbie.”

  Stone explained things to Herbie. “Now, how would you handle the situation?”

  “First,” Herbie said, “I’d visit the young man and impress upon him that either his life is about to change drastically for the better, or it will change drastically for the worse.”

  “Good. What if he doesn’t buy what you’re selling?”

  “Is the boy’s father willing for his son to take a beating by professionals?”

  “Yes,” Eggers said. “By professionals, I take it you mean people who can make an impression on the young man without killing or permanently disabling him.”

  “That is correct,” Herbie replied. “What is the boy’s involvement with drugs?”

  “We neglected to inquire about that,” Stone said.

  “Well, his kind of behavior is nearly always associated with either booze or drugs or both. Probably cocaine, in this case, so he may owe a dealer, too. Is more money available for that?”

  Eggers addressed this. “I believe I can convince our client to come up with whatever is necessary, if he feels that he has a chance to rescue his son.”

  “All right,” Herbie said, “I’ll take it on, but I’m going to need some things from you gentlemen.”

  “Name them,” Eggers said.

  “Bill, I’m going to need the name and address of a facility that can protect the boy both from harm and from himself.”

  “I can find out,” Eggers agreed.

  “And a voluntary commitment form for the kid to sign. I can notarize it.”

  “In one hour,” Eggers said.

  “I’m going to need two large men from the facility to be parked outside the boy’s residence while I’m talking to him, which means he has to be preregistered.”

  “I can do that, too.”

  “Stone, I’m going to need those two guys, the brothers, who work for Bob Cantor.”

  “Willie and Jimmy Leahy.” The brothers were large ex-cops.

  “Right. I’ll want to take them with me up to Yale and to talk to the bookie.”

  Stone handed Herbie the list that Brennan had written down.

  “Carlo Contini,” Herbie said. “I know him. He was my bookie”—he looked at Eggers—“some years ago.”

  “Good,” Stone said. “It’s nice that you two are acquainted.”

  “What’s this Carlo like?” Eggers asked.

  “Easygoing when a client is paid up, mean when he’s in arrears.”

  “I was afraid of that.”

  “How much am I authorized to pay Carlo?”

  “There’s a briefcase next to your right foot containing two hundred grand,” Stone said. “Try and get by on that.”

  “How much does the kid owe?”

  “His father says two hundred grand.”

  “Including vigorish?”

  “Apparently.”

  Herbie reached down and picked up the briefcase. “In hundreds? That’s what it feels like.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Hundreds count faster, takes half as long as fifties.”

  “Herbie, for all I know it’s in pennies.”

  “Nah, pennies would fill a couple of trunks.”

  “Deal with it.”

  “I’ll do that,” Herbie said, looking at his Cartier Tank wristwatch. “If you can get the Leahys for me first thing tomorrow morning, I can make New Haven by noon.” He looked at the paper again. “Dink? What’s the kid’s real name?”

  “Denton,” Eggers said. “Exactly what are you going to say to the boy, Herbie? I mean, you’ve got to convince him to take the deal.”

  “Bill, I don’t think you need to know that, or want to,” Herbie replied.

  “You’re probably right,” Eggers said, looking at his watch. “I’d better get upstairs and get you the name of a clinic and the commitment form.” He signed the check and left.

  “So, Stone,” Herbie said, polishing off the Dover sole, “how did my name come up?”

  �
��Your qualifications were obvious,” Stone replied.

  “Am I the firm’s new Stone Barrington?”

  “Herbie, think of this as an opportunity to impress Eggers and a very, very important client. If you can pull this off smoothly, nice things will happen.”

  “And if it doesn’t go smoothly?”

  “Failure is never attractive, Herbie.” Stone clapped him on the back and left.

  Herbie waved at a waiter. “May I see the dessert menu, please?”

  5

  HERBIE FISHER was up early the next morning. He ordered his car from the garage for nine a.m., then he showered, shaved, and returned to his bedroom, where he made love to Allison, Stone’s associate and Herbie’s girlfriend for the past few months.

  He was dressed and ready to go when Willie and Jimmy Leahy arrived. They renewed their acquaintance, then Herbie gave them coffee and sat them down. “Did Stone tell you anything about what we’re doing today?”

  “Not much,” Willie said. Willie usually did all the talking for his brother. “He said you wanted us to talk to some people.”

  “Not exactly,” Herbie said. “I’m going to do the talking. Your job will be to stand there and look just a tiny bit menacing.”

  “We can do that,” Willie replied.

  “Okay,” Herbie said, “we’re off to New Haven.” He led them to the elevator and down to the garage.

  “What is that?” Willie asked, pointing. “It looks like an overgrown Mercedes.”

  “It is an overgrown Mercedes,” Herbie replied. “But it’s called a Maybach. One of you drive, I’ll sit in the back.” Herbie settled into the backseat and called out directions to Jimmy, who was at the wheel. Then he put on a headset and tuned in WQXR, the classical station. Herbie loved sitting in the backseat. No one at Woodman & Weld knew that he owned this car. He felt it was not good policy to outdo the partners.

  THEY STOPPED in front of Dink Brennan’s dormitory at the stroke of eleven.

  “What if our boy is in class?” Willie asked.

  “My guess,” Herbie said, “is that our boy didn’t make it to class this morning, or on many other days. Let’s go.” He hopped out of the car and walked over to a van parked close by, which bore the name Winwood Farm on its door. He rapped on the passenger window, and it slid down. Two men in green hospital garb sat inside.