Unnatural Acts

by Stuart Woods

  Dink listened and watched. “This is bullshit, Herb,” he said.

  “Shut up and listen,” Herbie said. When the two tapes had played, he switched on the recorder and put it back into his pocket. “Now, what you’ve just seen and heard is enough to get you five to seven years at a very uncomfortable state institution, a place not nearly as nice as this one.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Dink said. “Carson is making this up. She’s crazy, you know—she has spells where she doesn’t know who or where she is.”

  “Those probably come during sessions with the drugs you supply her,” Herbie said.

  “And it’s her word against mine. You have no evidence tying me to this.”

  “Your old roommate, Parker Mosely, is at this moment having a very long conversation with an NYPD detective lieutenant. I’ll have the recordings of that session for you in a day or two. And your stash of drugs has been located, so we can add another ten years to your sentence for that. You’re going to be well into your middle years before you see the light of day, Dink.”

  “I want a lawyer,” Dink said sullenly.

  “I’m the only lawyer you’re going to get, Dink. Have you forgotten that you signed a document making me your only legal representative for the foreseeable future? You also made me your legal guardian, upon your self-admission to this facility. Add while you are a patient here, you are, ipso facto, incompetent to change those agreements.”

  “My old man won’t let you get away with this,” Dink said. He was looking very worried now.

  “Your father has already had a long conversation with my associate, who is his good friend, and he has wholeheartedly approved of everything I’m telling you.”

  “And if I don’t do what you want me to?”

  “Oh, yes, the alternative scenario. In that case this facility will declare you competent, and you will be arrested and tried for your crimes. Carson and Parker will testify in court that you supplied her, through Parker, with drugs, then instructed her to entrap your attorney into a rape charge. You will be convicted and, when all charges are taken into account, sentenced to a term of fifteen to twenty years in a hard-core, non-country-club prison. Oh, and your father will wash his hands of you and disinherit you, as well. When you are finally released you will have to rely on the criminal and sexual skills you learned in prison to support yourself. Are you beginning to get the picture, Dink?”

  “Now look, Herb,” Dink said, tears appearing in his eyes, “I want to apologize for this whole thing. It was just a big practical joke that went wrong, and I’ll do whatever I possibly can to make it up to you, really I will.”

  “Well, Dink, that’s a great start on the new attitude you’re going to have to adopt if you want to be a free man before you’re forty.”

  “I’ll do whatever you tell me, Herb. Trust me, I will.”

  “Trust you?” Herbie laughed at that one. “You’re a junkie and a drug dealer, two of the most untrustworthy beings on the planet. You’ve just put the girl you supposedly love and your best friend, perhaps your only friend, in jeopardy of long prison sentences, and you’ve gravely endangered your relationship with the father who loves you and, not incidentally, with his very considerable fortune, and for what? You should start asking yourself that today.”

  “I’ll do whatever you say, Herb,” Dink said, and he sounded truly contrite.

  “You can start by stopping trying to use the people in this place who want to help you. The general consensus among them, you might like to know, is that you are a liar, a narcissist, a con man, and a sociopath who is a danger to himself and to others. You see, they are accustomed to being lied to by people like you, and they know how to deal with you.

  “By the way, while we’ve been having this conversation, the staff have taken apart your very comfortable quarters and removed all of your personal possessions and confiscated them. For the foreseeable future you’ll be wearing the orange hospital gown that you already know identifies the least trustworthy patients of this facility, and you are being moved to a room that is very much like the prison cell you will be occupying, if you should give your father or me the slightest difficulty. He and I are the only people authorized to contact you, and you may not contact anyone, especially Carson and Parker. Have you grasped your situation yet?”

  Dink looked out of breath. “Yes,” he said. “I’ll be good.” He sounded like a small child who had been chastened.

  “Ah, here come your escorts to your new quarters,” Herbie said. “They’ll give you your new gown after they’ve strip-searched you and given you today’s medications.”

  Herbie got up to leave as the two large men in white approached. “Enjoy your stay on the farm, Dink. I’ll be in touch from time to time, when I feel like it.”

  The two men took Dink’s arms and marched him away.

  Herbie went back to the Maybach and turned it toward the city. He thought he might do a little car shopping on the way home.

  35

  WHEN HERBIE got back to his office, Stone Barrington was seated on his sofa, drinking a cup of coffee. “How did it go?” he asked.

  “Pretty much as we expected,” Herbie said “He started with bluster and finished with blubbering. How did it go with Marshall?”

  “I think we’ve underestimated Marshall,” Stone replied. “Not only did he take it very well, but I think he had been dreading something like this situation. He seemed, at first, relieved, then determined to leave Dink in your hands, without interference.”

  “It’s a responsibility I don’t want, but I’ve got it, and I’ll handle it as best I can,” Herbie said, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

  “Dino called. His people found Parker Mosely at his parents’ home in the city, so he didn’t have to involve the Connecticut authorities. He reduced Parker to a quivering mass of jelly and got a signed statement from him. Both he and Carson will be in rehab facilities before the day is out.”

  “I’m very grateful to you and Dino, Stone.”

  “Oh, I don’t think you would have been convicted on her evidence alone, Herb.”

  “No, but my career would be in ruins.”

  “Put that behind you,” Stone said. “If anything, you’re in better shape today than you were this time yesterday. You’ve certainly earned Marshall’s trust, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he sends more business your way.”

  Herbie shrugged. “The really bad thing about all this is, I don’t know if it’s going to help Dink. I’m not at all sure that a year at the farm can make a decent human being out of him, and I’m very much afraid that Marshall will end up having to do all the things I told Dink he would.”

  “If that happens, Herb, it won’t be your fault. You’ve done everything you possibly could to help him.”

  Cookie knocked at the door. “Josh Hook is on his way up,” she said.

  “God, I forgot about him,” Herbie said.

  “Who’s Josh Hook?”

  “He’s the guy who’s running Strategic Defense’s new training camp for armed bodyguards,” Herbie replied. “I said I’d spend a few days up there learning to do whatever it is that they do.”

  “It’ll be good for you,” Stone said. “Take your mind off Dink Brennan.” He got up. “I’ll leave you to your client.”

  Josh Hook arrived, and Herbie introduced him to Stone.

  “I’ve heard about you from Mike Freeman,” Hook said.

  “Mike is a good man,” Stone replied. “You’ll enjoy working with him.”

  “He says the same about you,” Hook replied.

  Stone took his leave.

  “So,” Josh said, settling into a chair, “what have you been up to, Herb?”

  “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me,” Herbie said.

  DINK SAT on his bed and looked around his new quarters. It was a room of about nine by twelve, furnished with a bed and a chair. There was a small bathroom with a shower, but no closet and no chest of drawers. They were unnecessary, since its o
ccupants had no clothes. There was no TV, either, and the overhead light was controlled by the staff.

  Dink had recovered from the shock of what Herb Fisher had said to him, and now he was angry. He got up and walked around the room, looking for something of interest. There was nothing. Well above his head was a single window, of about one by two feet, covered with a heavy wire mesh that let little sunlight through.

  He sat back down on the bed, since the single chair looked very uncomfortable. He reflected on what he had going for him, and it wasn’t much. He knew he was not going to be beaten up or raped, and that was a start. He took a few deep breaths and tried to relax.

  He had more assets on the outside, of course, but at the moment, he had no access to that world. There were clothes out there and money, and he was going to need those things.

  The door opened and the two men who had escorted him to the room stepped inside.

  “Medication time,” one of them said, holding up a small paper cup and a cup of water.

  “What kind of medication?” Dink asked.

  “Just something to relax you,” the man said.

  “I’m perfectly relaxed,” Dink said. “Please tell the doctor I don’t need to be medicated. Tell him I’ll be cooperative.”

  “I’ll be sure and mention that to him,” the man said, “but right now, you have to take your medication.”

  “I really don’t—”

  “You want us to help you get it down?” the man said. Apparently, the other one never spoke.

  “All right,” Dink said, “I’ll take it.”

  “That’s a good boy,” the man said, handing him both cups.

  Dink looked at the large pill inside. He swallowed it, and chased it with the water.

  “Good boy!” the man said. “Everything’s going to be fine now. The doctor will be here in a few minutes.” They left.

  Dink immediately put to work a skill that had served him well in the past. He went into the bathroom, stuck a finger down his throat, and vomited the pill into the toilet.

  “Fuck you all,” he said aloud, then he went and sat down on the bed again.

  The door opened, and a middle-aged man in a white coat carrying a clipboard came into the room. “Good afternoon,” he said, “I’m Dr. Morton.”

  “Good afternoon, Doctor,” Dink replied.

  The doctor pulled up the chair and sat down. “Now, let’s have a little orientation,” he said. “Oh, are you feeling the medication yet?”

  “I’m feeling relaxed,” Dink replied.

  “Good. Now first of all, you are no longer a patient in the facility where you’ve been living and were treated. It was deemed by the people who were working with you that you were pretending to cooperate, just so that you could get out.”

  Dink nodded. “I’m afraid that’s true,” he said. “But I want you to know that I understand that I’m not a well person, and I want to do everything I can to get well.”

  “That’s a good attitude, if you’re not lying,” the doctor said. “The first thing that you’re going to have to learn is to be scrupulously honest with the people who treat you. They all have a great deal of experience with being lied to, so do yourself a favor and don’t lie to them.”

  “Do you mind if I lie down, Doctor?” Dink asked.

  “Yes, I mind, I’m not through yet. When I’m through, you can lie down if you want to.”

  “All right.” Dink decided to be polite but not to try to sell this guy anything, just appear to go along. Only going along could get him the things he needed to get out of there, and he had no intention of spending one more day there than necessary.

  36

  STONE SAT on his kitchen sofa and waited for Marla to appear from across the garden. It was to be their first evening together since her show had opened, and she seemed to prefer dining at his house to going out.

  She rapped on the garden door and let herself in. He rose to greet her and got a kiss on the corner of his mouth for his effort.

  “What can I get you to drink?” he asked.

  “I think I’ll try some of your bourbon.”

  Stone poured two Knob Creeks, and they sat down on the sofa. “So, is the show finally wrinkle-free?”

  “There will always be ironing to do, but I had to make myself stop going to performances. I think we’re in for a good run. The advance ticket sales were light, but that’s picked up a lot since the reviews came in.”

  “You look more relaxed,” Stone said.

  “Relieved is more like it. Also, there’s always a letdown after a show opens and there’s nothing else for me to do.” She took a sip of her bourbon. “This is good,” she said.

  “Were you going to say something else?”

  “Well …”

  This is where she’s going to tell me there’s another man, he thought.

  “I have something of a problem.”

  “Can I help?”

  “I need some advice, that’s all.”

  “Advice is what I do, mostly.”

  “There’s this man.”

  “Uh-oh. I was afraid of that.”

  “No, I’m not dumping you.”

  “Now I’m relieved.”

  “I had a few dates with this guy a while back. It was nothing serious—at least, not to me.”

  “But he took it seriously?”

  “He seemed to. Then I started rehearsals for the show, and I used that as an excuse not to accept any more dates with him. Then, without my knowledge, he sought out our producer and invested some money in the show, apparently so he could attend some rehearsals and see me.”

  “Sounds like it was a good investment. He should be pleased.”

  “Yes, but now that the show has opened, he’s started a new campaign to see me. Flowers and gifts arrive, and the gifts were embarrassingly expensive, so I sent them back to him. I also wrote him a tactful letter explaining that, while I thought he was a nice fellow, I didn’t want to see him anymore.”

  “That would have been my first piece of advice,” Stone said. “How did he take it?”

  “Badly,” she said. “He called this afternoon and was very angry. How could I string him along? I didn’t. I finally said I wasn’t listening anymore, and not to call me anymore, then I hung up—right after he threatened me.”

  “Tell me exactly what he said.”

  “He said that I would soon learn that women don’t get away with ill-treating him, that I would regret it.”

  “All right,” Stone said, “it’s time for your attorney to write the next letter.”

  “I don’t have an attorney.”

  “You do now,” Stone said. He picked up a pad and got out his pen. “What’s his name?”

  “Ed Abney.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He has a publicity agency, specializing in Broadway and off-Broadway shows and theater people. He seems to be pretty successful.”

  “What’s the name of the agency?”

  “Bright Lights, Ink. He has offices on Eighth Avenue—I don’t know the number.”

  “I’ll get the address and have a letter hand-delivered tomorrow morning.”

  “What are you going to say in the letter?”

  “That Ms. Marla Rocker would not like to see him or hear from him again, and that any further advances or gifts from him would be unwelcome, and that any further communication must be through your attorney.”

  “And what if it doesn’t work?”

  “Then we go to a TRO, a temporary restraining order.”

  “Will that work?”

  “If he ignores it I’ll haul him in front of a judge, and if he continues after that, he could end up in jail.”

  “What’s to keep him from killing me?”

  Stone put down his pad and turned toward her. “What reason do you have to think that he might become violent?”

  “I didn’t tell you about this, but he was at our opening party, at Sardi’s. I saw him across the room with a woman who lo
oked familiar, and when I went to the ladies’ she followed me. She told me that I should be careful with him, because he has a history of violence with women. I asked if that was the case, why was she seeing him? She said because she was afraid not to, and that she was leaving town, moving away from New York to get away from him, and she wasn’t telling anybody where.”

  “Do you know her name?”

  “Annette Redfield. She’s an actress. I looked her up and it seems that she has been working regularly for the past ten years or so, in supporting roles on and off Broadway. I suppose that’s why she looked familiar.”

  Stone got up. “I’ll be right back,” he said. He walked down the hall to his office, then into Joan’s office, where he found a copy of that afternoon’s New York Post. He went back to the kitchen and leafed through the paper until he found the article he was looking for, then handed it to her.

  ACTRESS FOUND DEAD

  A popular supporting actress on Broadway was found late last night by a neighbor, dead on the kitchen floor of her apartment. Annette Redfield, 38, had been strangled, according to police sources, and it appeared that she had been trying to defend herself with a kitchen knife.

  “Don’t read any more,” Stone said, taking the paper from her.

  Marla’s face had drained of color. She took a pull on her drink and sat back on the sofa. “Now what? Am I going to have to leave town?”

  “No,” Stone said, “and I’m going to see that he doesn’t bother you again. Do I have your permission to do that?”

  “Whatever it takes,” Marla said, “short of killing him.”

  “Don’t worry,” Stone said, “nobody is going to die.”

  Marla sighed. “Someone already has.”

  37

  HERBIE STOOD in a gymnasium that smelled of fresh paint and listened to Josh Hook, who was standing on a mat, teaching a self-defense class.

  “Welcome to Strategic Defense,” Josh said. “You’ll begin your training here by taking a class that is incorrectly named. This is not a class in defensive measures, it is a class in offensive tactics. If, in protecting your client, you find yourself in a defensive posture, it is already too late to defuse the situation quickly. If you do this, or this, or this”—he assumed the postures of boxing, karate, and judo—“you are wasting time. All you’re doing is getting yourself into a fight, and while you are fighting, your client is unprotected—at least, by you.”