by Stuart Woods
“I thought so. Where can we meet?”
“I suppose you could come to my office.” She certainly was not going to be seen in public with this man.
“Oh, no, I’m not talking anywhere that might be bugged.”
“Just what is it, exactly, you want to talk about?” she asked.
“I’m not going to talk about it on the phone.”
“How long are you in town for?”
“Until the day after tomorrow.”
“I’ve got somebody working on this; I’ll have him get in touch with you.”
“Listen to me, Amanda; I probably know more about this than you do, but I’m not talking to anybody else. It will have to be you and I, face-to-face.”
Amanda thought for a moment. “You be on the corner of Madison and Seventy-second Street, outside the Ralph Lauren sports store, on the west side of the street, at four o’clock today. I’ll be in a black Mercedes Six Hundred.”
“Fine.”
She hung up. “God,” she said aloud, “some of the people you have to deal with in this business!”
Chapter 33
Dino showed up at the hospital as Stone was getting dressed to leave. “Where are you going?” he demanded.
“Home. I can’t stand it here anymore.”
“Are you nuts? You look rotten.”
“I’m fine.” He didn’t really feel all that great, but he thought he would feel better in his own bed.
“Has a doctor discharged you?”
“Yes; I didn’t give him any choice. Can you give me a lift?” he asked, holding up his slippers. “I don’t have any shoes.”
“Yeah, okay. At least I’ll know you didn’t pass out on the street.”
The phone rang, and Stone picked it up.
“It’s Arrington; how are you feeling today?”
“Well enough to go home.”
“Really?
“Well, I ache all over, but apart from that, I’m fine.”
“Want me to come get you?”
“Dino’s giving me a lift.”
“I’ll drop by to see you a little later; maybe feed you some chicken soup.”
“Sounds good.”
“See you.” She hung up.
“That Arrington?” Dino asked.
“Yep.”
“Looks like you might have something good going there, pal.”
“Maybe. Sometimes she gets a little crazy.”
“Only sometimes? You’re a lucky man; I could tell you about crazy.”
“You found an apartment yet?”
“Yeah, and they’ve accepted our offer.”
“How much?”
Dino lowered his voice. “You ready for this? Seven hundred thou and change.”
“Seven hundred thousand?”
“And change.”
“You have a very generous father-in-law.”
Dino shook his head. “He just wants her to shut up about it, like me. He’d pay twice that, if she’d shut up about it.”
“Where is the apartment?”
“East Sixty-sixth, between Fifth and Madison.”
“Uptown!”
“Yeah. We’ve still got to go before the co-op board.”
“Relax, they’ll be delighted to have a cop in the building. You might let drop that you can get the patrol frequency increased on the block.”
“Good idea. I can do that, too; I’ll have a foot patrolman by there every hour.”
“How are you going to dress?”
“In a suit, I guess.”
“Want me to loan you one?”
“What’s the matter with my suits?” Dino demanded indignantly.
“They’re probably a little too Italian for an East Side co-op board. A trip to Brooks Brothers or Ralph Lauren might be a good investment.”
“I’ll think about it. When this board hears us talk, they might bounce us.”
“Use your interrogation English.”
“Huh?”
“Talk to them the way you interrogate upscale witnesses.”
“Oh, that. That could work, if I don’t let Mary Ann talk at all.”
Stone laughed. “Come on, get me out of here.”
Dino dropped him in front of the house, and Stone climbed the front steps more slowly than he’d planned. Helene met him at the door, fussing, and in five minutes she had him tucked in bed.
“Don’t bring food,” Stone said. “There’s a lady coming whom you haven’t met yet, and she’ll want that privilege.”
Helene went back to her work, chuckling.
An hour later, Arrington showed up. He could hear her and Helene coming up the stairs together, laughing. When they came into the room, Arrington was carrying what looked like a large leather portfolio and a paper bag.
“I take it you two have met,” Stone said.
“Yes, we have,” Arrington said, handing the paper bag to Helene. “I stopped by the deli for soup; can you warm this up?”
Helene went to the kitchenette and came back in five minutes with a large steaming mug.
Arrington made him drink it. “Good for what ails you,” she said. When he had finished the soup, she opened the leather thing, which turned out to be a portable massage table. “A little gift,” she said.
“Thanks very much,” he replied. “How does it work?”
She took a sheet from the linen closet and spread it over the table. “Get out of that nightshirt, and hop up here; I’ll show you.” She retrieved a bottle of oil from her large purse.
Stone climbed onto the table and stretched out, his face in an opening provided for breathing.
Arrington started with his neck and shoulders. “You’ve got a very large bruise right here,” she said, poking the back of his neck. “Is that sore?”
“You bet it is; go easy there.”
She worked her way slowly down his back and buttocks, letting her hands stray now and then.
“You keep that up, and I’ll forget I’m sick,” Stone breathed.
“Oh, shut up.” She moved down to his legs and feet, then had him turn over.
“What was that angry phone call the other night about?” Stone asked. “The one on the machine.”
“Oh, I didn’t want to tell you until you were better.”
“Tell me what?”
“Somebody broke into my apartment earlier that evening.”
Stone sat up, but she pushed him back down. “What was taken?”
“Very little. I had a couple of hundred dollars in a dresser drawer; he passed up my jewelry, thank God.”
“That sounds strange.”
“Especially when you consider that my jewelry box was in plain sight on the dresser.”
“How’d he get into the building?”
“I don’t know; the doorman swears nobody got past him.”
“There’s that side entrance that you and I left by one night.”
“I guess that might be how, if he knew about it, and if he could get past the lock.”
“Is there something you’re not telling me about this break-in?” Stone asked.
“Sort of.”
“What do you mean, sort of?”
“I think Jonathan did it.”
“Why?”
“He’s been calling, and I’ve refused to talk to him. There’ve been some messages on my machine.”
“I want to hear the tape.”
“I’m sorry; I was so annoyed that I erased them immediately.”
“Anything threatening?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, I didn’t like his tone; it was… well, sort of proprietary.” She moved down to his chest and belly.
“I don’t think I like the sound of that.”
“Neither did I.”
“I think I should have a little talk with Jonathan.”
“I don’t want you two getting into fights over me.”
“I don’t get into fights.”
&
nbsp; “Jonathan does.”
“Trust me; I can handle this one.”
“Whatever you say, sir.” She giggled and stroked his penis, which was erect. “Is this the way you say howdy?”
“Can you think of a better way?”
“No, sir, I can’t,” she said, rubbing oil on it.
“Is my massage over?” he whispered.
“Not by a long shot,” she whispered back.
“By the way, what’s Jonathan’s last name?”
“Dryer.”
That rang a bell somewhere with Stone, but at the moment, his mind was elsewhere.
Chapter 34
Amanda rode up Madison Avenue in the back of the Mercedes. “Paul,” she said, “we’re going to pick up a gentle man at Madison and Seventy-second, left-hand side, near the corner.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Paul replied.
“I’m going to want to go someplace nearby, park for a few minutes and have a private chat with him. Can you think of a good place?”
“There’s a place in the park,” Paul said.
“That will be fine; better get in the left-hand lane.” Amanda put the armrest down to separate her from her unwanted guest, pressed a switch that put up the sunscreen on the rear window, for privacy, and eyed the corner ahead. “That must be him,” she said. “The one in the raincoat.” She had no idea what Allan Peebles looked like, but this was the only lone man on the corner. The car rolled to a stop, and Amanda pressed the window button.
The man leaned over and looked into the car. “Amanda?”
“Get in,” she replied. The car turned left on 72nd and headed for Central Park.
“I’m Allan Peebles,” he said, extending his hand.
She shook it perfunctorily, then held a finger to her lips for silence.
Halfway through the park, Paul pulled off the road into a small lot for maintenance vehicles and stopped.
“Give us a few minutes, Paul,” Amanda said.
Paul got out of the car and walked twenty yards to a bench and sat down, still in view of the car.
“Now,” said Amanda, “what do we have to talk about?”
“I’ve always been an admirer of your column,” Peebles said.
“I wish I could say the same.” She glanced at her watch.
“All right, I’ll get to the point: Why do you suppose you and I have been targeted by this scandal sheet?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea,” she said. “After all, Richard Hickock has been targeted, too, and Stone Barrington has been mentioned more than once, as well as Vance Calder.”
“With the possible exception of Calder, who was probably an innocent bystander, everybody is connected.”
“Connected? How could I possibly be connected with you?”
“We’re both published by the same people, in a manner of speaking.”
“What on earth are you talking about? I’m published and syndicated by Dick Hickock’s company. Stone isn’t published by anybody.”
“Barrington doesn’t really come into it, except as your surrogate.”
“What was that you were saying about ‘the same people’?”
Peebles smiled slightly. “You really don’t know, do you?”
“Know what?” Amanda demanded, irritably.
“About Hickock and us.”
“Who is ‘us’?”
“The Infiltrator.”
“What does Hickock have to do with the Infiltrator?”
“My father-in-law owns sixty-five percent of the paper, I own ten, and Hickock owns the other twenty-five percent.”
Against her will, Amanda’s jaw dropped.
“Surprised, aren’t you?” Peebles asked, smiling.
“You are out of your mind,” Amanda said. “Dick Hickock is a legitimate publisher with half a dozen companies – newspapers, magazines, book publishing, the whole gamut.”
“It’s a broader gamut than you know,” Peebles said. “Hickock has a corporate entity called Window Seat, Limited; the stock is in the name of his wife’s half-brother, Martin Wynne.”
“I didn’t even know she had a half-brother,” Amanda said, interested now.
“Neither does just about anybody else. I doubt if he’ll show up in Dickie’s obituary. Wynne is British, a friend of my father-in-law. The stock is in his name, but believe me, the money is Hickock’s, and Wynne doesn’t make a move without his permission.”
“How very odd.”
“It gets odder; Window Seat owns Personality.”
“That dreadful rag?”
“Dreadful it may be, but it hauls in the bucks, just as the Infiltrator does. There’s more: through two other corporations, Window Seat controls three gay porno magazines.”
“This is incredible; I don’t believe a word of it.”
“I’d say ask Hickock, but I don’t think he’d appreciate it. Window Seat is an offshore corporation, and the profits go straight into Cayman Island accounts, all tax-free. Hickock spends it in Europe; he never brings a dime into the U.S., unless it’s in cash.”
“He does spend a lot of time in Europe,” Amanda admitted. “So does Glynnis.”
“It’s profitable for them to do so.”
“They spend a lot of time at a friend’s château in France.”
“Owned by Window Seat, or an offshoot.”
“What you’re talking about would be a major scandal, if it were known,” Amanda said. “Why haven’t you printed this? After all, scandal is your business.”
“I told you, we’re in bed with Hickock. So are you.”
“Well, I don’t really care about any of this; it’s nothing to do with me.”
“It will be if it ever gets out, and I think that’s what this DIRT business is about.”
“What if it does get out?”
“There would be a major federal investigation, and the IRS would be all over Hickock. Can you imagine what that sort of investigation – not to mention a trial – would do to Hickock’s other interests? The stock in his various companies? He’d be ruined, and he’d take a lot of people down with him. Like you and me.”
Amanda was horrified.
“You’ve just done a new deal with him, haven’t you?”
Amanda said nothing; she stared into the middle distance and thought about what a Hickock collapse could do to her.
“I think you can see why it’s in our mutual interests to cooperate with each other,” Peebles said. “The first crack in the dike has already appeared.”
“Crack?”
“Glynnis Hickock’s divorce action.”
“You think Glynnis knows about this?”
“Do you think Hickock could be involved with her half-brother in something as complex as this and Glynnis not know about it?”
“Surely she wouldn’t jeopardize Dick’s fortune by some intemperate action,” Amanda said. “That wouldn’t be in her own best interests.”
“A woman scorned doesn’t always act in her own best interests,” Peebles said. “Anyway, Glynnis is a wealthy woman in her own right. If Hickock sank it wouldn’t cause more than a ripple in her lifestyle. And if she’s mad enough, she could sink him very deep. The odds would heavily favor a prison term, and she could plausibly deny all knowledge.”
Amanda stared at a squirrel outside the car, her mind racing.
“I think you can see why this DIRT thing has to be stopped,” Peebles said.
Amanda snapped back to attention. “Yes,” she said. “But so far, I don’t have a clue who’s involved. Stone Barrington is still investigating, but he’s been in the hospital.”
“Hospital?”
“Someone… this goes no further.”
“Of course not.”
“Someone broke into his house, and when he investigated, he got hit over the head.”
“I must say, I’m not surprised.”
“What do you know that I don’t know?” Amanda asked.
“You must understand, I’m in a very difficult position. T
he… allegations about me in the scandal sheet are very, very dangerous to my interests. I’m already persona non grata in London, with my wife and my father-in-law, and if the old man were sufficiently riled, he could, quite literally, destroy me. I’d never hold a job again, anywhere in the world.”
“Why is your position any worse than anybody else’s in this wretched business?” Amanda asked.
“Because I suspect – although I can’t prove it – that one of the people, perhaps the only person, behind DIRT may be someone I was once… involved with.”
“A lover?”
“That’s too strong a term, I think. No, there was never any love in it.”
“Who is this person?”
“His name is Geoffrey.”
“Geoffrey what?”
“When I knew him – this was nearly a year ago – he called himself Power, but I doubt that’s his name. I went through his wallet once, and I found three driver’s licenses, in different names.”
Amanda was alert now. “What were the other two names?”
“I don’t remember. I didn’t have any reason to, at the time; I figured they were aliases, too.”
“Geoffrey Power. Is Geoffrey his real first name?”
“I can’t swear to it, but I think so. I remember that the initial ‘G’ appeared in the names on all three licenses.”
“What does he have against Dick Hickock?”
“I don’t know, but I know what he has against me.”
“What?”
“After we stopped… seeing each other, I was very angry with him, and I did something that someone in my position should never do – I used the Infiltrator to get back at him.”
“How?”
“He was trying to make a career as an actor in L.A., and I assigned a reporter to call a couple of dozen casting directors and studios, and let drop that the Infiltrator was investigating him. Of course, no one would have anything to do with him after that. He left town and, I think, came to New York.”
“What does he look like?”
“Early to mid-thirties, tall, slender, but well-built, light brown hair, highlighted at the ends. He’s quite beautiful, actually.” Peebles sounded regretful.
Amanda had produced a notebook and was writing furiously. “Have you had him investigated? Really, I mean?”
“No; I’m afraid to. I’m afraid of what he’ll do.”
