Sex, Lies & Serious Money

by Stuart Woods

  She apparently took a moment to confirm that through the peephole, then opened the door. “Good evening, Butch.”

  “Hi, Nan. I was expecting a delivery this evening, and it didn’t come. I thought they might have left it with you.”

  “No, I didn’t have any callers this evening.”

  He managed a yawn. “Thanks, Nan. I’m sorry to disturb you. Guess I’ll be off to bed. Oh, by the way, I saw a very good film tonight.” He gave a brief account of the picture. “I think you might enjoy it.”

  “Thank you, Butch, perhaps I’ll go.” She closed the door.

  He went back to the apartment, switched off all the lights, then he got dressed. He looked in his closet for something to wear and found an old plastic raincoat that he’d forgotten to throw away when he moved in. He set that on a chair within easy reach, then sat down on the living room sofa and went over it all again in his mind.

  —

  STONE TOOK HOLLY to Patroon for dinner, where she was treated as an old friend.

  “I love this place,” she said as they settled into a booth. “Is this your new Elaine’s?”

  “I’m afraid not. There is no Elaine’s without Elaine, and she’s gone. The restaurant was like her living room, where she welcomed friends to a party every night. That’s how she stayed in business for forty-eight years. She liked you, and she didn’t like all that many women.”

  “I liked her, too, and I’m flattered she liked me. How’d you meet her?”

  “Back when I was walking a beat, I started stopping in there late for dinner, and we got along. I wasn’t exactly one of her regulars, and I ate at the bar. After I’d been going in there for a couple of years, she’d give me a table, and after I made detective I could afford to go more often.”

  “Dino, too?”

  “Yep, but he had his own list of favorite places, when pretty much all I had was Elaine’s.”

  The owner, Ken Aretsky, stopped by their table. “No Dino and Viv tonight?”

  “We’re going to be spending a few days with them in Santa Fe, leaving tomorrow. I bought a house there.”

  “Another house? You’ll be like Ted Turner soon. He has, what, ten places?”

  “God save me from that fate,” Stone said. “Joan can barely keep up with what I’ve got now. I did sell Connecticut, though.”

  “That was brave of you.” Ken continued on his rounds.

  Stone turned his attention back to Holly. “How long are you going to stay in your job?”

  “Until Kate fires me.”

  “She’ll never do that, but White House people tend to burn out after a couple of years. Hardly any of them seem to make it into their president’s second term.”

  “I never got tired of working at the Agency,” she said, “and I was there a lot longer than Kate’s two terms will last, if she gets reelected.”

  “Are you concerned about whether she will?”

  “No, she loves the job, and Will is in charge of keeping her political bridges intact. He’s a big help with Congress, too; he has so many old friends there.”

  “I thought he was Babysitter in Chief these days.”

  “He likes people to think that, but he has two nannies to back him up, so he’s either on the phone or consulting with Kate most of his days. He sometimes works in the study off the Oval Office, so she can pop in between appointments in the Oval and talk over the meeting she’s just had. It’s a great system for both of them. And every time I’m out of the office for a day, they ask if I’ve seen you, thinking I’ve come to New York.”

  “I’d like it if that could happen more often,” he said.

  “I’d like that, too, but there are few opportunities. Kate had to practically run me out of the White House to get me to come up here.”

  “I’m looking forward to having you with me in Santa Fe,” he said.

  “I’m looking forward to it, too, but I haven’t gotten to the point where I can stop thinking about what’s going on in the White House. When I get back, I’m going to need some pretty extensive briefings on what happened while I was gone. And I know Kate has walled me off, but it bothers the hell out of me that no one is calling for advice on how to handle some problem or other.”

  “They’re ignoring you?”

  “Yes, and it’s really annoying that I’m not as indispensable as I thought.”

  “When we get to Santa Fe you’ll discover a lot to keep your mind off Washington.”

  “What will I discover?”

  “A whole new kind of town. It’s nothing like anywhere else I’ve ever been.”

  “Well, I’ll admit, that sounds intriguing.”

  “My worst nightmare is that you’ll get there and immediately want to go back to Washington.”

  “I don’t think that’s an option. Kate would have the Secret Service turn me away at the gate. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d already canceled my White House pass.”

  56

  SOFIA GOT UP EARLY on her first day home and went shopping for breakfast. She came home, scrambled some eggs, microwaved some bacon, toasted an English muffin, and poured herself some fresh-squeezed orange juice. She ate while her coffee brewed, and when she had finished eating, took her coffee into the living room and turned on the TV, switching to Morning Joe, her favorite political show, and opened The New York Times.

  She couldn’t concentrate. She felt bad about leaving Marv so abruptly; it wasn’t what he would have come to expect of her. Finally, she picked up the phone and dialed his number. She got an immediate recorded announcement that she had dialed a number that was not in service. He had thrown away his throwaway phone.

  She got out some stationery and wrote him a note:

  I’m sorry I left so suddenly. I tried your phone, but it was no longer working, but mine still is. Call me, and let’s talk about your coming down here for a while. Marie.

  She set it aside to mail later.

  —

  CURLY GOT UP and worked out for a while, then watched some TV in the lounge. Later he went to the pay phone and called Chico, the super.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s Curly,” he said. “Thanks for the call yesterday. I got out just in time.”

  “It’s what you paid me for. I guess you got away.”

  “Have they been around again?”

  “First thing this morning. I told them I hadn’t seen you.”

  “I may come around later today and pick up some things,” he said.

  “They probably won’t be back.”

  “If they do come back, put that flower pot in your kitchen window, and I’ll stay away.”

  “Okay.”

  Curly watched some more TV, then took the subway uptown and walked down his block and past the building. Chico’s kitchen window opened onto the space below the stoop, and there was no flower pot there. He walked the block a couple of times, more to be sure there were no cops watching the place, then let himself into the building.

  He took the elevator to the floor below his apartment, then walked up the stairs and listened at the hall door. He heard nothing, so he opened it and went to his apartment door. It hung slightly ajar, the doorjamb was splintered, where they had kicked it in. He listened again, then crept into the apartment.

  It had been turned over, but nothing had been taken, as far as he could tell. He went into the kitchen and looked in the bucket under the sink, where he had hidden the paperwork he had used to raid Hayward’s bank account. It was still there, and he took it into the living room and shredded it in the small machine under his desk. He unplugged his small desktop computer and dropped it into his shoulder bag, then went through the apartment, taking some clothes and making sure there was nothing else in the apartment that would tell the police anything about him. He didn’t bother to wipe the place down for fingerprints, since they al
ready knew who he was.

  He left the apartment, leaving a fifty stuck in Chico’s door, and walked away from the building. A couple of blocks away he came to a construction Dumpster. He bashed the computer against the side of it and tossed the remains into the Dumpster, then went on his way, wondering why the cops hadn’t taken the computer. Maybe they just weren’t that interested. He still had his laptop in his bag, and it was easier to use when traveling.

  He stopped in a candy store and bought the cheapest throwaway phone they had. He thought about calling Butch at work but figured he wouldn’t respond. He’d just have to keep their date. But he meant to be ready for it. Once Butch was out of the way, he’d head for Fort Lauderdale and start looking for Maria.

  He’d been thinking about her a lot. He sat down on a bench at a bus stop and called her cell number. Probably, she’s already tossed it, he thought. To his surprise, she answered.

  “Hello.”

  “It’s Marv.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad. I just tried to call you.”

  “I already tossed the phone.”

  “I’m sorry I walked out.”

  “It’s okay, I understand. The cops came for me early in the morning, but I got a warning from the super and beat it out of there.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m going to do a little business with Irv tonight to get some traveling money, and I thought I’d head south, if you still want me there.”

  “Of course I do.” She gave him her address. “Come as soon as you can. Don’t call this number again. I need to get rid of the phone.”

  “Got it. I’ll be down there in a couple of days.”

  “Sounds good.”

  He gave her his new throwaway number. “In case you change your mind.”

  “I won’t. I’ll be glad to see you.” They both hung up.

  57

  CURLY LEFT THE Y via the emergency exit and walked down the alley to the street, where he found a cab. It was raining lightly and was colder; he pulled his jacket more tightly around his neck. He got out at the corner and walked down the street to the building where Irv had a small apartment. As requested, he walked down the steps to the basement door and waited under the stoop.

  Irv appeared a little after eleven and handed Curly a slip of paper. “Take a cab to this address and wait for me across the street from the shop. We don’t want to be seen together.”

  “All right.”

  Irv handed him a brown paper bag with something heavy in it. “This is what you wanted, and I’m taking five hundred out of your end to pay for it. There’s six cartridges, too.”

  “Fine with me,” Curly said, slipping the bag into his jacket pocket.

  “Me first,” Irv said. “Wait a couple of minutes then find a cab.” He strode off as best he could, limping.

  Curly checked the address, in the East Nineties, then headed for the corner and hailed a cab. Ten minutes later, with little traffic to slow him, he got out of the cab and checked the block. No person in sight. He crossed the street and found Irv waiting behind some trash cans.

  “You watch for anyone, and I mean anyone coming,” Irv said.

  “Right,” Curly replied, and turned toward the street while Irv went to work on the front door. Finally, he heard it open.

  “Come on,” Irv said.

  “How do you know the alarm isn’t working?” Curly asked.

  “Inside information. Besides, do you hear an alarm?” He hustled Curly inside. And led the way to the rear of the store. Outside the small rear office was a large double-doored safe.

  “Here’s how it goes,” Irv said. “You wait in the front, staying out of sight. If you see anything small enough to put in your pocket that might be worth real money, take it, but I’m pretty sure everything worth stealing is in this safe. This is probably going to take me half an hour, maybe longer. I managed to practice on a similar model, so it shouldn’t be impossible.”

  “Then go to it,” Curly said. He walked up front and looked around. Shades were drawn over the windows and door, so he didn’t have to worry about being seen from the street. He took a taped flashlight from his pocket and had a look around with the narrowed beam. There was a tempting case of guns, but he was already heeled; everything else was musical instruments, stereo equipment, binoculars, and knickknacks. He took the .38 snub-nosed Smith & Wesson from its bag, scooped up the cartridges, and loaded them, then crumpled the bag and put it back in his pocket; he was leaving no trace.

  He found a stool, had a seat, and waited.

  When they had been inside nearly an hour, Irv sang out, “Got it!”

  Curly got up and walked back to the safe and played his flashlight beam around the contents. Quite a lot of jewelry, but he wasn’t taking anything that could tie him to the job. What interested him more was the steel box Irv was working on with a hammer and chisel. “Faster this way,” he said. He hit the lock a couple of heavy blows, and it popped open, revealing stacks of cash, each secured by a rubber band. Irv stuffed the cash into a black bag he had apparently brought with him. “We’ll count it at my place,” he said, “but I reckon there’s at least thirty grand here.” He handed Curly the bag. “Let me lock up before we go.”

  Curly pulled the .38 from his pocket. “I’ll pay you for the .38 now.” He took a couple of steps back and fired at the back of Irv’s head. The man sprayed blood and bone, then collapsed like a punctured balloon and lay still.

  Curly tripped the front door lock and closed it firmly behind him. At the corner he turned down the avenue and glanced at his watch. Half an hour to get there; he would walk it.

  —

  BUTCH DRESSED IN THE DARK; he pulled on a black sweater, got into his plastic raincoat, and brought along a knitted cap. Finally, he went to a kitchen drawer and put on a pair of light gloves, then retrieved Theresa’s little .25 automatic, which had been wiped clean of prints, inside and out. He put that into his raincoat pocket.

  He closed his apartment door behind him, then took off his loafers and padded down the stairs to the lobby, encountering no one at this hour of the night. Once on the street, he walked rapidly the few blocks to the Fifth Avenue and Seventy-second Street entrance to Central Park and turned toward the band shell, three minutes’ walk away. As he approached, he checked the time: 12:46 AM. He took a seat in the front row of the benches and waited.

  In the few minutes remaining, he reviewed how he had come to this point in his life. During all his time in prison, he had avoided any violence but what was necessary to keep from being bullied, and after he had been discharged from parole he swore to himself that he would not ever do anything that might return him to prison. Curly had destroyed all that for him—first, with intimations of friendship, then by crude threats, then by the raid on Laurence’s bank account. He admitted to himself that he had willingly cooperated with Curly, but he had rapidly grown sick of him. He had promised that if he ever saw the man again, he would kill him, and now he was at that point, and he wasn’t sure he could go through with it.

  Still, he had brought no money to give Curly, so unless he was allowed to walk away, he would have to take steps.

  He heard no footsteps, but then suddenly, Curly sat down beside him.

  “Evening,” he said. “I’ve got something for you.” He reached into a bag and pulled out a stack of hundreds, secured with a rubber band. “Here’s the fifteen grand I took from you, maybe with a bit more for interest.”

  Butch was flabbergasted. He took the money and set it on the bench beside him. “Where’d you get it?”

  “A friend and I made a score earlier tonight. This was my share.”

  “Well, shit, Curly,” Butch said, “that’s damned good of you. I hadn’t ever expected to see it again.”

  “I’m hitting the road, and I’ve got more than enough to get me there,” Curly said.
“There’s a girl, too. She lives in Florida, and that’s where I’m headed. I think I’ve had it with New York and New York’s had it with me.”

  “Well, Curly,” Butch said, “I wish you and your girl every happiness.” He took the .25 automatic from his pocket, pointed it at Curly’s right temple, and fired.

  Curly collapsed sideways onto the bench and lay very still. Butch picked up the black bag, stuffed the money Curly had given him into it, then looked into the other bag he had brought with him; he was sure that the computer contained information about their raid on Laurence’s bank account. He found Curly’s MacBook Air laptop and put that into the black bag with the money. He went through Curly’s pockets and there was nothing of note except a snub-nosed pistol, which he dropped on the ground next to the body; then he got up, tucked the black bag under his arm, and walked out of the park.

  He walked home, stopping at a garbage can to smash the laptop and hide it under the other trash, reckoning there might be some reference to him in the contents, then he walked home.

  During the remainder of his walk, he unloaded and dismantled the small gun and dropped pieces of it and the remaining ammunition and his raincoat and gloves in trash cans along his route.

  —

  BACK AT HIS BUILDING he found the lobby empty and took the elevator to his floor. He then pressed the lobby button and let it descend back to the lobby. He let himself into his apartment, switched on the kitchen lights, and examined his clothing for blood spatter, but the raincoat and gloves had taken it all; he was clean.

  He went into the living room and emptied the black bag onto the dining table. A quick count told him there was a little over fifty thousand dollars there. He would add that to his safe-deposit box tomorrow. He hid the bag in a kitchen drawer.

  He was overwhelmed with relief at having removed the only obstacle to his success and happiness, and he fell into bed exhausted and slept soundly.

  58

  DINO FOLLOWED VIV into the rear seat of his city-owned SUV, and as his escorting policeman closed the door his cell phone rang. “Probably Stone to see if we’re on time,” he said, putting the phone to his ear. “Bacchetti.” As he listened, his expression changed. “Be there shortly,” he said.