Naked Greed
Page 22
Ryan was getting nervous. He had now spotted a second likely cop at the dining room door.
“What’s the matter?” Sylvia asked.
“I’m not sure,” Ryan replied, “but if anything happens, get the hell out of here and don’t look back.”
“Gotcha,” she said.
The check came, and Ryan counted out the hundreds and a generous tip. He checked the doorway again and didn’t like the people he saw. “This might be a good time for you to go to the ladies’,” he said to Sylvia. “It’s down the hallway to your left. So is the kitchen door.”
“Good luck,” she said. “If you make it, give a girl a call.”
“Don’t go back to the suite.”
“There’s nothing there that I can’t walk away from.”
“Take care of yourself, Sylvia. It was fun.”
“It sure was.” She patted her lips with a napkin, got up, picked up her purse from the floor between them, and made her way unhurriedly toward the restrooms. As she stepped out of sight of the dining room door she detoured through a door marked KITCHEN EMPLOYEES ONLY.
Inside, she stopped a waiter. “Which way out?”
“Either back the way you came, or if you want Fifty-sixth Street, go to the end of the room and take your first left.”
“Thanks, sweetie,” she said, patting his cheek.
“Rough evening?” he asked.
“Not yet,” she replied, and went on her way.
—
Ryan gave her a couple of minutes’ head start, then he reached across his body under his coat and yanked the 9mm from its holster. As he stood up he put the weapon into his front right pocket but kept his hand on it. He walked unhurriedly toward the door, and as he approached he could see into the lobby. An elevator door opened, and Dino Bacchetti stepped out, his hand holding his jacket back to reveal a firearm.
The sight of Bacchetti caused a wave of anger to rise in Ryan’s body. He raised his arm, took aim for a tiny moment, and fired.
—
As Stone’s elevator door opened he saw Dino with his back to him, his right arm sweeping back his jacket to free up his weapon. As he did, a gunshot split the air, and Dino’s left shoulder jerked back. Simultaneously, he raised his hand and fired back. Stone pushed Hank to the rear wall of the elevator car and pressed her there with his body.
“This is the first time I’ve done this to gunfire,” she said.
“Don’t move.”
“Who’s moving? I’m enjoying myself.”
—
At the sound of the first shot, Sylvia began running flat-out toward the rear exit from the kitchen. It was at least a hundred feet and she brushed past a waiter, dumping a tray of dirty dishes onto the floor with a crash. “Out of my way!” she yelled to a busboy with a tray of glasses, and he obeyed just in time to save his burden.
Sylvia hit the door running and burst out of the building onto East Fifty-sixth Street, a block uptown from the hotel’s entrance. A few yards ahead a couple were hailing a cab, and as the man opened the door for his companion, Sylvia dived into the rear seat and slammed the door behind her.
“Hey!” the man outside the door yelled.
She retrieved a fifty from her bra and thrust it at the driver. “The Waldorf-Astoria,” she said.
The driver took the fifty. “Yes, ma’am!” Then he stepped on it.
—
Stone pressed his body against Hank. “Not yet,” he said. He waited for more gunfire, and when all he heard was yelling, he released her and they moved out of the elevator. Dino was standing, his gun in his hand, watching as half a dozen detectives poured into the dining room.
Stone put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right, buddy?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Dino said, “but Ryan isn’t.” He looked at his left shoulder, where the padding from his jacket had been exposed. “He fucked up a brand-new suit, though.”
“As long as you’re okay.”
“Get Hank out of here, will you? She doesn’t need to be questioned. Viv will be all right with me.”
Stone turned to see Viv, still in the elevator, holding the door open. “He’s okay,” he said. Then he turned to Hank. “Let’s go, and right now.” He took her arm and steered her toward the front door of the hotel. As they emerged, the doorman signaled for the first in a line of cabs to move up. They got in, and Stone said, “The Waldorf-Astoria.” The driver made a U-turn and then a right on Park Avenue.
“What happened back there?” Hank asked.
“Somebody who had it in for both Dino and me apparently took a shot at Dino, and that was not to the perpetrator’s benefit. Are you all right?”
“I think so,” she replied, “but I don’t think I want to be alone for the next few hours.”
“Then we mustn’t let that happen,” Stone said.
The taxi came to a halt in front of the Waldorf, and as Stone and Hank got out, a buxom woman showing a good deal of cleavage took their place in the cab.
—
LaGuardia,” Sylvia said to the driver. “Delta.” She looked at her watch: she had an hour and forty minutes to make the last flight to Charleston, and she didn’t have any luggage to check, so she would have some time to kill at the airport.
She rummaged in her purse for some money to pay the driver when they arrived, and she felt something that hadn’t been there before. She removed a jotter—a small leather pad that held a few sheets of writing paper—and read what was written there.
Baby, I don’t think I’m going to make it. Here’s my address and the combination to my safe. Clean it out for me.
She looked at the address. “Driver,” she said, “change of plan: we’re going to New Jersey first, then to the airport.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I am happy to hear from readers, but you should know that if you write to me in care of my publisher, three to six months will pass before I receive your letter, and when it finally arrives it will be one among many, and I will not be able to reply.
However, if you have access to the Internet, you may visit my website at www.stuartwoods.com, where there is a button for sending me e-mail. So far, I have been able to reply to all my e-mail, and I will continue to try to do so.
If you send me an e-mail and do not receive a reply, it is probably because you are among an alarming number of people who have entered their e-mail address incorrectly in their mail software. I have many of my replies returned as undeliverable.
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