BOOKS BY STUART WOODS
FICTION
Hot Pursuit
Insatiable Appetites†
Paris Match†
Cut and Thrust†
Carnal Curiosity†
Standup Guy†
Doing Hard Time†
Unintended Consequences†
Collateral Damage†
Severe Clear†
Unnatural Acts†
D.C. Dead†
Son of Stone†
Bel-Air Dead†
Strategic Moves†
Santa Fe Edge§
Lucid Intervals†
Kisser†
Hothouse Orchid*
Loitering with Intent†
Mounting Fears‡
Hot Mahogany†
Santa Fe Dead§
Beverly Hills Dead
Shoot Him If He Runs†
Fresh Disasters†
Short Straw§
Dark Harbor†
Iron Orchid*
Two-Dollar Bill†
The Prince of Beverly Hills
Reckless Abandon†
Capital Crimes‡
Dirty Work†
Blood Orchid*
The Short Forever†
Orchid Blues*
Cold Paradise†
L.A. Dead†
The Run‡
Worst Fears Realized†
Orchid Beach*
Swimming to Catalina†
Dead in the Water†
Dirt†
Choke
Imperfect Strangers
Heat
Dead Eyes
L.A. Times
Santa Fe Rules§
New York Dead†
Palindrome
Grass Roots‡
White Cargo
Under the Lake
Deep Lie‡
Run Before the Wind‡
Chiefs‡
TRAVEL
A Romantic’s Guide to the Country Inns of Britain and Ireland (1979)
MEMOIR
Blue Water, Green Skipper
*A Holly Barker Novel
†A Stone Barrington Novel
‡A Will Lee Novel
§An Ed Eagle Novel
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
Publishers Since 1838
An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC
375 Hudson Street
New York, New York 10014
Copyright © 2015 by Stuart Woods
Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Woods, Stuart.
Naked greed / Stuart Woods.
p. cm.—(Stone Barrington ; 34)
ISBN 978-1-101-66424-7
1. Barrington, Stone (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Private investigators—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3573.O642N35 2015 2015007427
813'.54—dc23
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Version_1
CONTENTS
Books by Stuart Woods
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Author’s Note
Stone Barrington and Dino Bacchetti were having dinner at Patroon, a favorite restaurant. Dino’s wife, Viv, was out of town on business—she was an executive at the world’s second-largest security company, Strategic Services, and had to travel a lot, so Stone and Dino were having, perhaps, their thousandth dinner together, just the two of them.
The owner, Ken Aretzky, stopped by and bought them a drink, then continued on his rounds. They ordered the Caesar salad, a house specialty prepared at the table, and the chateaubriand, medium rare, and Stone ordered a bottle of the Laughing Hare Cabernet.
“Laughing Hare?” Dino asked.
“A Cabernet you never heard of,” Stone said. “Honest public servants can’t afford it.” Dino was New York City’s commissioner of police, but the two men had been partners as homicide detectives many years before. “That’s why I’m buying.”
The waiter brought the bottle and poured them a taste. Dino sampled it. “So I should consider this a bribe?”
“Let’s call it a bribe in the bank, since there’s nothing in particular I want from you at the moment.”
“That makes a nice change,” Dino said, and took a larger swig of the wine. “Not bad.”
“You are given to understatement,” Stone said.
“Okay, it’s pretty damn good.”
Stone took a swig himself. “Better than that.”
“So how come you’re alone tonight? Where’s Pat Frank?”
“Who knows?” Stone said. “She has let it be known that she’d rather be alone than with me.”
“What did you do?”
“It’s what you did,” Stone said. “You arrested her boyfriend on a double murder charge and her old friend as an accessory after the fact.”
“And she blames you?”
“I tried blaming you—it didn’t work.”
“So she pulled the plug?”
“Not exactly, she just got really busy.”
“She just started a new business, maybe she is really just very busy.”
“When I hear that excuse twice, I usu
ally pull the plug myself. But the second time I was understanding, then I heard it a third time, and I got the message.”
“I’m sure it’s you, not her.”
“Isn’t that line supposed to be the other way around?”
“It’s always you.”
“What, am I too nice to them?”
“Maybe. They don’t always appreciate that the way you expect them to.”
“You mean I should be less nice?”
“Look at it this way,” Dino said. “Her boyfriend had two arrests for domestic violence, both times against her, once with a gun, and still, she’s upset that he’s in jail. Does that make any sense?”
“None at all.”
“You’ve never been violent, have you? You take her out to good restaurants, you stay in good hotels, you have a jet airplane that you let her fly, because she can fly it better than you.”
“Had a jet airplane,” Stone pointed out. “Her boyfriend and her friend put a bomb in that airplane, which you detonated by pulling a string tied to the master switch.”
“Given the circumstances, I thought it was a better idea to pull the string than just sitting in the cockpit and flipping it to the on position, incinerating myself and, incidentally, you.”
“I’ll grant you that.”
“That’s swell of you. When does the new airplane arrive?”
“It’s sitting in Wichita, ready to go, but the FAA hasn’t certified it yet.”
“Why not?”
“Some sort of technicality, they tell me.”
They watched the maître d’ make their Caesar salad, then ate it and waited for their steaks to arrive.
“Don’t worry about Pat,” Dino said. “As you always say, ‘Women are like cabs—there’ll be another one along again in a minute.’”
“I have never spoken those words in my life,” Stone said, outraged. “I have too much respect for women.”
“Well, maybe you didn’t actually say that, I just read your mind.”
“I’ve never thought it, either.”
“Now we’re back to why they keep dumping you.”
“Can you suggest a solution to that problem?”
“Stop being so nice.”
“I don’t know how not to be nice. What should I do, beat them?”
“Pat seemed to respond well to that.”
“No she didn’t, she took out a protection order against him.”
“She knew that wouldn’t stop him, and it didn’t.”
Their chateaubriand arrived; the maître d’ presented it, sliced it, and served it.
They had just taken their first bite, when Dino’s phone rang. “Uh-oh,” he said, then put it to his ear. “What? Say again.” He listened. “All right,” he said wearily, “I’m on my way.” He put the phone back in his pocket. “I gotta go.”
“What is it?”
“Does it matter? It’s always something. We’ll continue your education on the treatment of women at our next meeting.”
“Oh, I’ll really look forward to that.”
“And you’ll have to eat my chateaubriand.”
“If I do that, I’ll explode. I’ll take it home and have it for lunch tomorrow.”
“That makes me feel so much better,” Dino said. He got to his feet, and a young woman appeared with his coat. “Talk to you tomorrow.”
“What was it they used to say on Hill Street Blues? ‘Be careful out there.’”
“Yeah, yeah,” Dino said, then left.
—
Three-quarters of an hour later, Stone left the restaurant with a doggie bag and a recorked half-bottle of wine. He stepped onto the sidewalk and looked up the street to the other side, where Fred, his driver and factotum, sat in the Bentley. The headlights came on, and the car started. It had just begun to pull away from the curb when another car roared past it, nearly hitting a fender, and screeched to a halt just past Stone.
Two large men in suits spilled out of it and were all over a man who had just passed Stone on the sidewalk. They threw him against the wall and began searching him, while he protested.
“What is it?” he asked, and he had a slight accent of some sort. “What did I do?”
“Shut up,” one of the men said, backhanding him.
Stone saw the flash of a gold badge on his belt as he drew back to hit the man again. There was a blackjack in his hand.
“Hold it!” Stone shouted.
The man froze for a moment, then turned toward Stone. “Did you say something to me?”
“I said hold it,” Stone said more quietly.
“Stay out of this, you dumb son of a bitch,” the man said.
“That’s an illegal weapon in your hand, Detective,” Stone said. “If you hit him with it, I’ll see that you spend the night in jail.”
Out of the corner of his eye Stone saw Fred get out of the car and unbutton his jacket. He raised a hand, motioning him to stop.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” the cop said. “I’m a police officer, I can do whatever I want to this guy.”
“Do you have a warrant?” Stone asked.
“I don’t need a warrant to use this on the guy”—he held up the blackjack—“and I’ll use it on you, too, if you don’t shut the fuck up and get out of my face.”
“Take a look at this,” Stone said, taking a gold badge from his pocket and holding it up. “Let me read it for you. It says ‘Detective First Grade.’ I’ll bet yours says ‘third grade.’”
The cop backed away a step. “You don’t look like a cop to me,” he said.
“You mean because I’m not fat and ugly and wielding an illegal weapon?” Stone reached out and took the blackjack from him.
“Hey,” the cop said.
“Ryan,” his partner said, tugging at his sleeve, “back off.”
“What is this man charged with?” Stone asked.
“I haven’t done anything!” the man said.
“Come on, what has he done?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
Stone turned to the man. “Sir, I’m an attorney. Do you wish to have an attorney to represent you in this matter?”
“Yes, yes, I do.”
“Come on, Detective, what is my client charged with?”
“You said you was a cop.”
“No, I just showed you my badge. I’m a retired cop.”
“All right, give me my, ah, persuader, and we’ll go.”
“No,” Stone said. “What precinct are you out of?”
“The Three-Five South.”
“Let’s see, your precinct commander is Captain O’Donnell, right? Why don’t we get him out of bed and have a chat with him right now. Or, if you prefer, we can meet tomorrow morning in the commissioner’s office and see what he has to say about this.” He held up the blackjack.
“Look, mister, we don’t want any trouble,” the cop said.
“Then why are you still here?” Stone asked.
The two men got into their car and drove away. Stone turned to the man, who appeared to be in his sixties and Hispanic. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I’m okay. Are the police always like this in New York?”
“Not usually, and I don’t think you’ll have any problem with him again tonight. Are you from out of town?”
“From San Antonio, Texas. I’m in town on business.”
“Where are you staying?”
“At the Waldorf Towers.”
“Then let me give you a lift, it’s not far.”
Fred opened a door for him, and they got in.
“Fred, the Waldorf Towers.” Stone turned to his guest. “My name is Stone Barrington.” He offered his hand.
The man shook it. “I am Jose Perado,” he said. “Please call me Pepe—eve
ryone does.”
“What business are you in?”
“I’m in the beer business. I’m a brewer. Perhaps you’ve heard of Cerveza Perado?”
“Yes, I have. I had it once in Texas. It’s very good.”
“My grandfather started the business nearly a hundred years ago. I’m the third generation. Do you have a card, Mr. Barrington?”
“Of course.” Stone handed him a card.
“What kind of law do you practice?” Perado asked, looking at the card. “Oh, I’ve heard good things about Woodman & Weld. I hope to visit them while I’m here.”
“I practice mostly business law, and I’d be happy to introduce you to whoever you’d like to meet at Woodman & Weld.”
Fred drove the car to the Towers entrance at the Waldorf.
“Here we are,” Stone said.
“May I meet with you tomorrow, Mr. Barrington?”
“Yes, of course, and please call me Stone.”
“Would ten tomorrow morning be all right?”
“Of course. The address is on the card. My office is on the street level of my home. It’s a short walk from the Waldorf.”
“Until ten o’clock,” Perado said. He shook Stone’s hand, got out of the car, and went inside.
Stone went home, resisted eating Dino’s chateaubriand, and called his firm’s managing partner, Bill Eggers.
“Hello?”
“Good evening, Bill, it’s Stone. I hoped you’d be awake.”
“I am now. This better be good news—I don’t sleep well on bad news.”
“Have you ever heard of a beer called Cerveza Perado?”
“I have two six-packs of it in my bar downstairs. It’s hard to come by outside of Texas—you have to know somebody.”
“I chanced to meet Jose Perado, their third-generation CEO, this evening.”
“And how did you manage that?”
“I was coming out of Patroon as he was being ‘set upon by footpads,’ as Shakespeare once put it.”
“Right there in the street?”
“Yep, and the footpads were cops. I took a blackjack away from one of them and threatened to call his captain, whereupon they dematerialized. I gave Pepe, as he likes to be called, a lift to the Waldorf Towers. He’s in from San Antonio and looking for legal advice. I’m giving him some tomorrow morning. Would you like to join us?”
“In my office?”
“No, in mine, at home.”
“And that is supposed to impress him?”
“No, you’re supposed to do that. Ten o’clock?”
“See you then.” Both men hung up.
Naked Greed Page 1
