Dirt

by Stuart Woods

  “This is fine,” Stone said, settling on the stool. “Smells good; what are you cooking?”

  “A lamb dish,” she said. “One of a repertoire that includes only half a dozen recipes, all easy.”

  “Easy is okay when it smells like that.”

  “How was your day?”

  “I went to a funeral in Brooklyn, that’s how my day was.”

  “Oh. Somebody important to you?”

  “Somebody I knew when I was a cop. Another cop, retired.”

  “Are you sad?”

  “I didn’t know him all that well, but he sometimes worked for me. He was a likeable guy.”

  “I’m not sad anymore,” she said. “Again, I’m sorry about last night.”

  “Last night had its rewards. And this morning.”

  She smiled a little. “I’m glad you think so. Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes; good thing you were on time.”

  “I’m compulsively on time.”

  “Not I.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  She checked something in the oven, then pulled a stool up to face him. “I don’t get you,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you don’t add up.”

  “No?”

  “No. You’re this extremely polished man; you live in this very impressive house; you dress beautifully; you have something to do with a prestigious law firm, but you don’t actually work there; and yet you’re retired, at an early age, from a blue-collar job that doesn’t produce a whole lot of polished men.”

  “I was something of a misfit on the force,” he said.

  “That I believe.”

  “And I was never allowed to forget it.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, as my former partner once said to me, ‘Stone, the police force is a kind of mystic lodge, and you never joined.’”

  “You didn’t buy into the cop culture?”

  “Not really. I found the work fascinating and often rewarding, but, I confess, I was unable to become one of the guys. I knew it, and they knew it. The only cop I was ever really close to was my ex-partner, Dino.”

  “Dino Bacchetti?”

  Stone blinked. “How did you know that name?”

  “I wrote something for New York magazine once, about a case at the Nineteenth Precinct. I interviewed him for it.”

  “I’m surprised you got out of his office with your virtue.”

  She laughed. “I nearly didn’t; Dino is very smooth.”

  “That he is.”

  “So you were white bread among the Italians, the Irish, and the Hispanics in the department?”

  “That’s about the size of it.”

  “What, exactly, do you do for Woodman and Weld?”

  “Their dirty work, mostly; the odd criminal case, the odd investigation.”

  “Now I’m getting the picture.”

  “So I add up now?”

  “The house doesn’t add up.”

  “I inherited it from a great-aunt, my grandfather’s sister.”

  “Money, too?”

  “Just the house. I did a lot of the restoration myself, but it damn near broke me.”

  “I’m glad you’re not filthy rich,” she said.

  “I’m not glad,” he replied. “I’ve got nothing at all against filthy rich. My father, God rest his soul, would be deeply ashamed of my attitude.”

  “Your father the Communist?”

  “Father and mother; they met at a Party meeting. They were idealistic; they had both broken with their families in New England and had been through a depression.”

  “Your polish must have come from them.”

  “Unlike some of their colleagues in the Party, they had abandoned a lifestyle, but not the manners acquired therefrom.”

  “Good for them.”

  “You would have liked my mother.”

  “I love her work. How about your father?”

  “He’d have been deeply suspicious of you.”

  “Why?”

  “He knew class when he saw it, and he wanted to live in a classless society.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

  “You should.”

  She went to the oven, removed an iron pot, and set it on a small table in the living room that had been carefully set. “Open another bottle of wine, will you? It’s right there on the kitchen counter.”

  Stone found a corkscrew, opened the bottle, and took it to the table.

  She poured them another glass of wine and raised hers. “Bon appétit.”

  “Bon appétit.”

  They sat among the ruins of dinner, sipping coffee.

  “That was wonderful,” he said.

  “Thanks; if you only cook half a dozen things, they have to be wonderful.”

  “Tell me about this guy you just broke up with.”

  She looked into her wineglass. “I’m embarrassed. Why do you want to know?”

  “I just want to know where you are and how you got there. It seems to have become important to me.”

  “I’m still embarrassed. He’s younger than I am.”

  “How much younger?”

  “A couple of years.”

  “Not so bad; lots of men date women a lot younger.”

  “It’s not the same for a woman.”

  “Why not?”

  “Men see younger women for sex, whereas…” She stopped.

  “Whereas…?”

  “Well, all right, I did it for the sex, too, mostly.”

  “Is sex in such short supply for you?”

  “It’s not that; I mean, anybody can get laid. For some reason, I was feeling old, so I was vulnerable.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-one. Do you always ask women that?”

  “Always.”

  “Why? It’s supposed to be rude.”

  “It’s not important to know how old a woman is, but it’s important to know if she’ll tell you. It’s a matter of character.”

  “Do you know how old Amanda Dart is?”

  Stone shrugged. He could feel the tops of his ears turning red.

  “She’s fifty; I have it on the best authority.”

  Stone was surprised, but not shocked. “Why are we talking about Amanda Dart?”

  “Because you’re involved with her.”

  “Am I?”

  “I could tell at dinner that night; not from your behavior, from hers.”

  “You were wrong; we weren’t involved, except professionally.”

  “Liar.”

  “Not until the next day. We spent that… together.”

  She shrugged. “I can’t say that I blame you. After all, you had just broken up with somebody, and she is quite attractive.” She looked at him levelly. “Everybody’s entitled to a sex life.”

  “You have me at a disadvantage; you know more about me than I about you.”

  “All right,” she sighed, “his name is Jonathan. He’s one of those young men who seem to earn their living by… being charming and attractive.”

  “You mean, he was paid?”

  “Not exactly. Men like Jonathan don’t ask for money; they just seem always to be broke. I picked up a lot of tabs.”

  “I’ve known women like that,” Stone said. “Still, it’s more embarrassing for a woman paying for a man.”

  The phone rang; Arrington didn’t move. On the third ring, the answering machine kicked in.

  “It’s Jonathan,” a disembodied voice said. “I want to see you. I want…”

  She got up and grabbed the phone. “Hello?”

  Stone could no longer hear the young man’s voice.

  “No, thanks,” she said. “I’ve no intention of doing that. I dropped by last night to tell you.” She listened for a moment. “It’s over, Jonathan. I have no desire to see you again.”

  He was obviously giving her an argument.

  “Jonathan,” she broke in. “It’s over; accept the fact
and get on with your life.” She hung up and turned to Stone. “I’m sorry you had to hear that,” she said.

  “I’m glad I heard it,” Stone said. He stood up and started clearing the table. Together, in silence, they put the dishes in the dishwasher and cleaned up the kitchen.

  “He’s going to call back,” she said, but she was wrong. Instead, the house phone rang. She picked it up. “Yes? No, Jimmy, don’t send him up; put him on.” She waited a moment. “Listen to me very carefully,” she said. “I have company; I have no intention of seeing you, now or ever again. Please go away.” She hung up, seemingly on the verge of tears.

  Stone took her shoulders and turned her toward him. “Are you all right?”

  She buried her face in his chest. “I’m afraid of him,” she said. “When you leave, he’ll still be there.”

  “Then I won’t leave.”

  “I don’t want to stay here tonight,” she said. “Will you take me back to your house?”

  “Of course. Is there a way out of the building, other than the front door?”

  “Yes, we can take the elevator to the basement; there’s a door that opens onto the side street.”

  “Get your coat and your toothbrush.”

  She went into the bedroom, put some things into a duffel, got her coat, and came back, brushing away tears.

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” Stone said. “Come on, let’s go.”

  She double-locked her door, and they took the elevator to the basement. She found a light switch, but it didn’t work. “Come on,” she said, “follow me. I have cat’s eyes.” A moment later they were at the side door of the building. “Will you look out and see if anyone is there? I don’t want him following us.”

  “Sure.” Stone opened the door and stepped into the street while she hung back. A taxi came down the block and he whistled it to a halt. There was no one else visible in the street. “Come on, Arrington,” he called. They got into the cab, and Stone gave the driver the address. He watched out the back window, and he thought he saw someone, a man, come around the corner from Fifth Avenue, but in a moment they were gone.

  For the second successive night, she slept in his bed, falling asleep immediately. Again, they did not make love.

  Chapter 25

  Stone was awakened by the smell of coffee brewing. He sat up in bed in time to watch Arrington, wearing his robe, come into the bedroom with a tray containing orange juice, coffee, and an English muffin.

  “Good morning,” she said. “I hope you’re ready for breakfast.” She set the tray on his lap.

  “Actually, I’m more ready for you,” he said, stroking her cheek.

  She kissed him on the forehead. “That’s a sweet thought, but I have an early appointment with my agent. I’ve got to run.” She stood up and sloughed off the robe, standing naked at the foot of the bed.

  Stone set the tray aside and started to get up.

  “Oh, no,” she said, grabbing for her underwear, “you get right back into bed.”

  Stone fell back onto the pillows, watching her. “It seems to be my lot in life to watch you walk naked around my bedroom while I do nothing about it.”

  She smiled, hooking her bra. “Bad timing,” she said.

  “You’ve spent the past two nights in my bed…”

  “Sweetie…” she pulled her sweater over her head and brushed her hair back with her fingers. “You’ve just caught me at a bad time in my life, and I need some time to sort things out.”

  “How can I help?”

  “By not pressing me.”

  Stone picked up the tray and returned it to his lap. “Consider yourself unpressed,” he said.

  “Stone,” she said, sitting next to him on the bed. “I like you, I really do; I want this to go somewhere…”

  Stone took a bite of his muffin. “Arrington, it can’t go anywhere until it goes somewhere.”

  Her shoulders slumped. She crossed her arms, took hold of the sweater, and yanked it over her head. “All right,” she said, “let’s do it.”

  Stone took another bite of the muffin. “No thanks,” he said, his voice muffled by the food. “I’m eating.”

  “Tell me what you want,” she said.

  Stone washed the muffin down with some orange juice. “I don’t know what I want, beyond the immediate urge to make love to you, but I know what I don’t want; I don’t want to be kept at arm’s length.”

  “I don’t mean to do that.”

  Stone sighed. “I think what we need to do is start over.”

  “Okay.”

  “When would you like to do that?”

  “Oh, Jesus, it’s a really bad time for…”

  “Arrington, you owe me nothing; you don’t have to change your life to make room for me.”

  “But I want to make room for you.”

  “Then what you have to do is figure out what’s clogging up your life, and do something about it.”

  “That’s just like a man,” she said. “Figure out your life, rearrange it, order your existence.”

  “This may have escaped your attention, but I am a man, and I don’t see what’s wrong with ordering your existence. Everybody has to order his existence, just to get through the day.”

  “Well, if that’s how you feel about it,” she said huffily, struggling back into the sweater.

  “It certainly is,” he said. “You go and take a look at your life, and if you find some room in it, call me.”

  “Typical,” she said, throwing things into her duffel.

  “Typical?” he nearly shouted.

  “Don’t raise your voice to me!”

  Stone’s bedside phone buzzed, and the intercom light flashed. He ignored it and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Good for you.”

  “Is this our first fight?”

  “It could be our last one,” she shot back, getting into her coat.

  The intercom buzzed again. Stone picked it up. “Yes?” he said.

  “Stone, I’m sorry to disturb you,” his secretary said, “but Bill Eggers left a message on the office machine last night. He wants you to be at his office this morning at ten for a meeting; he said it was important.”

  “Thanks,” Stone said and hung up.

  “Now you’re being rude to your secretary,” Arrington said.

  Stone looked at his bedside clock and got out of bed. “I’ve got a ten o’clock appointment,” he said, “and it’s nine-thirty now.”

  Arrington looked at him. “So now you’re going to parade around naked and try to turn me on.”

  “It’s a desperate move, but it’s the only card I have left to play.”

  “It’s working,” she said, walking over to him, dropping the duffel.

  She made a grab at his crotch, but he dodged her and ran toward the bathroom. “Oh, no,” he called back, “you’re going to have to wait until I can make room in my busy schedule for you.”

  “Bastard!” she yelled after him. “I’ll call you tonight.” She picked up the duffel and left.

  Stone arrived at Woodman & Weld five minutes late and went directly to Bill Eggers’s office.

  “Come in, Stone, and have a seat,” Eggers said, pointing at a chair next to the sofa. “You know Glynnis Hickock from Amanda Dart’s dinner party last week.”

  Dick Hickock’s wife sat primly at one end of the sofa. “Good morning,” she said.

  Stone sat down. “Of course. How are you?”

  “Just great,” the woman said through clenched teeth.

  “Would anyone like some coffee?” Eggers asked.

  “I would,” Glynnis responded.

  “Bill, could I speak with you outside for just a minute?” Stone asked. He had an idea of where this might be leading, and he wanted to head it off before it got started.

  “Stone, don’t worry, anything you’ve got to say you can say in front of Glynnis.” He set a cup on the coffee table and poured from a Thermos. “The short version of this is, Glynn
is needs some surveillance on her husband, in preparation for divorce proceedings.”

  “Bill, I really have to speak to you alone, and right now.”

  Eggers looked at him, surprised. “Glynnis, I’m sorry, will you excuse us for just a moment?”

  Glynnis crossed her legs and picked up her coffee cup but said nothing.

  Stone walked into the adjacent conference room, waited for Eggers, then closed the door. “I can’t be involved in this,” he said.

  “Now you tell me,” Eggers cried. “Do you know how big a divorce this is going to be?”

  “I can guess, but I can’t be involved. I have a conflict.”

  “What kind of conflict?” Eggers was working up an anger now.

  “I’m representing her husband on this DIRT thing.”

  “What? You’re supposed to be representing Amanda on that, not Dick Hickock.”

  “Hickock called me when he saw the sheet; I told him I couldn’t represent him, so he called Amanda, and she called me and told me to go ahead.”

  “As an investigator, then, not as a lawyer?”

  “Same thing, as far as I’m concerned. If you’d talked to me ahead of time, I could have explained it to you.”

  “What am I going to tell Glynnis?”

  “The truth; do you want me to do it?”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  Stone went back into Eggers’s office and sat down. “Glynnis, I’m sorry, but I have an ethical conflict in representing you in this matter.”

  Her hackles went up. “You’re working for Dick, aren’t you? Good God, you’ve been following me?”

  “No, I have not been following you, nor have I been asked to. I’m representing Dick in another matter, and that creates a conflict for me; I hope you can understand that.”

  She swiveled her head and looked out the window, saying nothing.

  “Glynnis,” Eggers broke in, “this doesn’t mean that the firm can’t represent you, just that Stone can’t. He’s not employed by the firm; he is only of counsel. I promise you we’ll deal with this matter in a manner that will represent your interests to the highest possible degree. Stone, I think that will be all,” he said.

  Stone made a brief good-bye and left the office.

  He was barely back at his desk when his secretary buzzed him. “Tiffany Potts is on the phone.”