Sex, Lies & Serious Money

by Stuart Woods

  “Got any ideas?”

  “You say Barrington’s place has a lot of art? How do you know it’s worth anything?”

  “I read a lot in prison. I recognized some of the artists, particularly Matilda Stone.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “An American painter. He’s got maybe a dozen of her paintings.”

  “And how do you get rid of stuff like that?”

  “I know a fence who deals in high-quality stuff. He’ll take them off me. I reckon my end would be a hundred grand, maybe more.”

  “Tell me about the cameras.”

  “Nothing to tell—they’re invisible, at least to me.”

  “Then how do you know they’re there?”

  “Because the cops were all over me. I came in through the front door, picked the lock both times. There’s a security box in a front hall closet, but the system wasn’t armed either time. Still, I heard the cops coming after I’d been in the house maybe three minutes. They even tried to cut off my escape route through the common garden. They had to know I was there, so I figure cameras.”

  “Makes sense,” she said. “Do you know where the pictures are?”

  “Four of them are in the living room, another four in the study.”

  “You said there were a dozen.”

  “I’m guessing. I did some research at the library and Matilda Stone is Barrington’s mother, and he owns at least a dozen of her works. She’s got stuff in the Metropolitan Museum. I figure the others are in the bedroom.”

  “And this fence is ready to take them off your hands?”

  “Cash on delivery, ten grand a picture.”

  “So the eight you’re sure about are worth eighty grand to you?”

  “Right.”

  “Marv, it sounds to me like you’d enjoy a spell in Florida. I know how to make you comfortable there.”

  “That’s where you live?”

  “It is. And it’s warm all winter. Have you ever spent a winter in a warm place?”

  “No, and I think I’d like that.”

  “You bet your sweet ass you would. Now all I have to do is to think of a way to crack the Barrington place.”

  “You do that,” Curly said.

  “Leave it to me. How about the Fairleigh place? He got any pictures?”

  “Now that you mention it, yes—more than Barrington, maybe. There’s four Milton Averys.”

  “Who’s Milton Averys?”

  “Avery—another American painter.”

  “You’re sounding like quite the art expert.”

  “I told you, I was always reading when I was in prison.”

  “Time well spent.”

  “The Averys are only worth five grand apiece from the fence.”

  “Still.”

  “Yeah, still.”

  “You know anything about alarm systems?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Well, Marv, what if we cut the power to the system?”

  “They’ve got battery backups.”

  “Ah. When are the alarm systems not armed?”

  “When the people are there.”

  “Or when they go out and forget to arm them, right? That worked twice for you.”

  “Yeah, but Barrington has two systems—one for the motion detectors and the door and window sensors, the other for the cameras.”

  “The cameras are no good unless somebody’s watching, right?”

  “Yeah, I hadn’t thought of that. They record when nobody’s watching, though.”

  “We don’t care if they record, if they can’t identify us. In fact, they’ve already identified you, so it doesn’t matter if they make you again.”

  “It matters when they show the tapes at my trial.”

  “Well,” she said, “there is that.”

  45

  CURLY PUT TOGETHER his gym clothes in a bag.

  “Going somewhere?” Sofia/Maria asked, looking up from the Times crossword.

  “To the Y,” Curly replied.

  “What for?”

  “Work out, do some weights, have a swim.”

  “You do that a lot?”

  “A couple times a week—more, if I’m bored.”

  “You bored?”

  He laughed. “Around you? Never!”

  “Good answer. Is there some other reason you go to the Y? Besides working out?”

  “Sometimes I see some of the guys from the joint.”

  “You got somebody in mind?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Whozzat?”

  “I’ll tell you later, maybe.”

  “Getting all secret on me, huh?”

  “You don’t need to know everything.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong—everything is exactly what I need to know.”

  “Well, you’re just going to have to sit on it, aren’t you? Get your nails done or something.”

  She examined her nails. “That’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had. There’s a nail salon down the block.”

  “I’ll be back late this afternoon.” He let himself out.

  At the Y, Curly rented a locker, changed, and went to the weight room. He had been there half an hour when the guy came in. They exchanged a glance but didn’t speak at first. Finally, when they were both satisfied they could talk without being overheard, they sat on a bench together.

  “How’s it going, Irv?” Curly asked.

  “Could be worse,” Irv replied.

  “Could you use a gig?”

  Irv shook his head. “I don’t want to go back to prison,” he said.

  “All I need is for you to give a place the once-over, tell me how to deal with the security. You don’t have to go in.”

  Irv shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “There’s ten grand in it for you.”

  “Yeah? Up front?”

  “I have to collect from the fence before I can pay you. I can give you a grand up front, though, if that’ll help.”

  “That’ll help. Tell me about the place.”

  “There’s two systems—a regular alarm system, then a later, camera installation. I need to make them both go out for half an hour, and maybe you can tell me how to do that.”

  “And I don’t have to go inside?”

  “Up to you. I just need enough peace and quiet to get some goods out of the place. It’s a town house in Turtle Bay.”

  “That the place with the common garden out back?”

  “Right.”

  “I did two places there, couple years ago, before I went inside.”

  “You got caught?”

  “Not for Turtle Bay. A bitch snitched me out for another job. I got three to five, but then that early-release thing came along. When do you need this?”

  “Soon, next day or two.”

  “Can I do it at night? I like working when the people are out.”

  “Suit yourself.” Curly handed him a piece of paper with the address and his cell number. “Don’t get caught with this on you—memorize it.”

  Irv looked at the paper for a little while, then handed it back. “Got it. I’ll need the grand.”

  Curly produced the wad of bills from a pocket. “Don’t be too long.”

  “Maybe I’ll take a look tonight.”

  “Call me.” Curly went back to his lifts.

  —

  THEY HAD JUST come home from a neighborhood restaurant when Curly’s cell rang.

  “Who’s that?” Maria asked.

  “Friend of mine. Be real quiet.” He picked up the phone. “Yeah?”

  “It’s me. I had a look.”

  “And?”

  “There’s the two systems, like you said. They’ve also got the Israeli door locks.”
<
br />   “The hell they do—I went in there twice, and I can’t pick an Israeli lock.”

  “I can. Did, in fact. I can get you in and shut down the systems, but here’s my thing—I want twenty-five grand, and I get the hell out of there as soon as you’re in.”

  “How long am I good for?”

  “Maybe half an hour, more like twenty minutes, to be safe. The system’s monitored by radio. When it goes down they’ll try to fix it first, then they’ll call the cops. I reckon you’ll have twenty minutes before you’re rumbled. Do you know exactly what you want and where it is?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Then it shouldn’t be a problem, should it? Oh, and I want fifteen grand up front, the rest when your fence pays. Forty-eight hours to wrap it up?”

  “That can be done. Let me talk to my partner.”

  “I’ll call you back in half an hour. I’ll need an answer then.” Irv hung up.

  Maria was staring at him. “Israeli locks? What’s that about?”

  “Let me tell you about Irv,” Curly said, and he brought her up to date, pretty much.

  “And he’s going to want fifteen grand up front?”

  “That’s right. Have you got it?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Don’t fuck around with me, Maria. Are you in or out?”

  “I get half of the take, after paying Irv, and I don’t go anywhere near the house.”

  “That works for me.”

  “When do you want to do it?”

  “Maybe tomorrow.”

  “I’ll have to visit a bank for the money.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “You get everything set up—Irv, the fence, everything. There’s no reason this shouldn’t go smoothly. One thing—how are you going to get the paintings out?”

  “I’ll put them in bags I’ve already got and bring them out on a folding hand truck to Second Avenue, where you’ll be waiting in a rented van.”

  “Me?”

  “Unless you want to bring in another partner. The more people, the less money, and the riskier.”

  “Oh, hell, all right. Where we going to take the goods?”

  “Here, then we return the van. The fence will come here with the money.”

  “I want all twelve pictures,” she said.

  “Well, me too, but we’re not exactly sure where the other four are.”

  “I like your theory about the bedroom.”

  “I’ll try it, but I can’t promise.”

  “Christ, they’ve got to be somewhere in that house.”

  “I’ll only have twenty minutes.”

  “Then you’d better move your ass, hadn’t you?”

  46

  STONE LAY ON HIS BACK and took deep breaths. Sweat poured off him, and his crotch was on fire.

  “Are you up for another?” Hev asked.

  “You were sent here to kill me, weren’t you?”

  She laughed. “Killing you softly.”

  “I don’t know where you get so much energy.”

  “You inspire me, babe.”

  “Hev, do you want to go to the big Strategic Services party tomorrow night?”

  “Oh, I know about that.”

  “Yes, but would you like to go with me?”

  “Look, sweetie, that’s for management and big-time clients. I’m a worker bee, I don’t float in that pond. If Mike Freeman saw us there together he’d think we were both crazy.”

  “I’m sorry, that never crossed my mind.”

  “It’s flattering that you didn’t consider it, but take somebody else.”

  “Okay.” He had no idea whom to take. He was in one of those dry spells between women.

  Hev got dressed. “I’m finishing up today. I’ll show Joan how to arm the system, if you aren’t around.”

  “Good idea. She’ll understand it the first time, and then she can explain it to me.”

  Bob trotted in and hopped onto the bed.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” Stone said to him. “I know you’ve already had breakfast and your cookie.”

  Bob denied everything.

  “You lyin’ dog,” Stone muttered, and headed for the bathroom. He was relieved that Hev didn’t follow him into the shower; he needed a rest.

  He shaved, and as he left the bedroom his phone rang. “Hello?”

  “It’s Holly,” she said. Holly was an old friend—formerly army, then CIA, and now the President’s national security advisor.

  “I seem to have a distant memory of someone by that name,” he said. They had agreed that she would make the calls, since she was usually too busy at the White House to take them.

  “I’ve got a free chopper ride to New York tomorrow. You got a free evening?”

  “Better than that, I’ve got a great party to go to. Bring a killer dress, it’s black tie.”

  “That sounds like my kind of party. I should be in around midday.”

  “Come straight to the house, and make yourself at home.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll do that, sir.” She hung up. Holly never wasted a moment on the phone; she had been national security advisor to the President for nearly two years, and every moment counted.

  Stone got dressed, then checked the guest bathroom and dressing room for signs of the previous woman. He found a lipstick and put it in his pocket.

  Downstairs, Joan was occupied with her security lesson from Hev. He worked for a couple of hours, then Hev came into his office.

  “I’m outta here,” she said, “and I won’t be back unless the equipment malfunctions, and I mean the security equipment, nothing personal.”

  “You’re very kind,” Stone said, slipping the lipstick into her cleavage.

  “Cleaning up after me, huh?”

  “A friend called and is coming in from out of town.”

  “Then you need a blank page to work on.” She kissed him lightly. “It’s been fun,” she said, “but we both know it’s over.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it.”

  “Law of the jungle—stay in your own tree. I learned that a long time ago.”

  “That’s good advice, I guess.”

  “Joan knows the equipment as well as I do,” she said.

  “The security equipment, you mean.”

  “That’s what I mean. Let me give you an overview—both your systems are now interconnected, and the cameras and the alarm share all the keypads. You can arm or disarm the system from any keypad. Arming it from upstairs in your bedroom turns on the whole house, but on the top floor not the motion detectors. Bob would have a field day with those, and you wouldn’t get any sleep. Everything is monitored by our East Side tech office, where the rent is cheaper than at headquarters. There’s always at least one guy sitting at a console, gazing at a bank of monitors, and if he gets an alarm, his system switches to the premises involved. He’ll call the house to see if it’s a false alarm. If he doesn’t get ahold of somebody with the cancellation code, he’ll call the cops. I suggest you change your security and cancellation codes. Your house number and your date of birth are too obvious. Joan knows how to do it.”

  “I’ll see if I can think of another code I can remember.”

  “What would you do without Joan?” she asked.

  “Perish.”

  “Right. Okay, sweetie, I’ll see you when I see you, if I see you at all.” She kissed him again, grabbed her toolbox, and fled the premises.

  Joan came in. “Okay, you ready for some training?”

  “No, I am not. I have to be in the mood for that sort of thing if I want to remember it.”

  “Then let’s leave the codes as they are for the moment, otherwise you’ll light up this place like a Christmas tree the first time you try to arm the system.”

  “Agreed. Oh, you’d better cal
l Bob Cantor and tell him Strategic Services are running the thing now.”

  “Already done. He was hurt a little, I think.”

  “Can’t be helped. We can’t have strange people roaming the house at will, even if we are photographing them while they’re doing it.”

  “When are they going to invent a camera that shoots intruders with something more serious than a lens?” Joan asked.

  “They probably already have, but that would rob you of the pleasure of killing strangers and messing up the rugs.”

  “Oh, well, it was fun while it lasted.”

  “By the way, Holly Barker is choppering in tomorrow around midday. If I’m not here, please see that she gets settled and that Helene gives her lunch.”

  “I keep hoping she’ll come and stay,” Joan sighed.

  “Not while she can pretend she’s President of the United States. I can’t compete with that kind of fun.”

  “I guess not. Still, I worry about her working too hard.”

  “You can mention that to her when she gets in, but don’t expect her to take you seriously. She thrives on overwork.”

  “I’ve never understood people like that,” Joan said.

  “Who does? They’re a breed unto themselves. Still, I’d rather have Holly keeping an unblinking eye on the world more than anybody else I know.”

  “Me too.”

  47

  HOLLY BREEZED INTO the house in time for lunch, and they had it on a little table in Stone’s study. “So,” he said, “how goes the nation?”

  “Steady as she goes,” Holly replied. “With women in charge, did you expect anything less?”

  “Certainly not, and I haven’t noticed any stray nukes going off.”

  “Nor will you on our watch.”

  “Are you really enjoying yourself, Holly?”

  “I simply can’t tell you how much. It’s like playing with the world’s largest chess set, and I get to make all the moves. Well, many of them. Well, I get to suggest which moves are to be made, and sometimes my advice is taken.”

  “Does Kate Lee really need a national security advisor?” he asked mischievously.

  “She certainly does, and me in particular. Seriously, there are so many cards on the President’s table, so many hands being played all at once, that she, like any president, needs somebody to remember it all and help out with the decisions. It never ceases to amaze me how many Republican businessmen there are who think they can waltz into the White House, rearrange the foreign policy furniture, and expect everything to keep running smoothly. It’s more than a full-time job, it’s a way of life, and you can’t just turn it off for a round of golf. Things go right on happening, and you’d better be on top of them the way Kate—and I—are.”