Swimming to Catalina

by Stuart Woods

  “You’re moving up in the world.”

  “Well, at least I’m doing it with somebody else’s money!”

  “That’s the best way. I’ll call you on the portable number.”

  Stone hung up, started the car, and drove up to Sunset Boulevard. He found Vinnie’s Delicatessen, parked, went in, and looked around. It was still lunchtime, but the place wasn’t very busy, and he could see why. It seemed pretty greasy and not very inviting. He ordered a diet Coke to take away, and as he was paying, two hoodish-looking men walked in and, without slowing down, went behind the counter and through a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. Vinnie was probably running a book back there, Stone thought.

  He left, tossed the soda into a wastebasket, got back into his car, and drove to his hotel. On the way, he called the Bel-Air and booked a small suite. Back at Le Parc he went to the front desk and laid a thousand dollars on the desk. “I want to extend for a few nights,” he said to the desk clerk.

  “Of course, Mr. Smith,” the man said, making the money disappear.

  “I’m going to be in and out, so tell the maid not to worry if my luggage isn’t there.”

  “No problem. Oh, a Miss Betty Southard called.”

  Stone went back to his suite and called Betty.

  “Dinner tonight?” she asked.

  “Can’t. How about tomorrow?”

  “Okay.”

  “Anything happen I should know about?”

  “No. Vance didn’t come into the office. He sometimes stays home if he’s not shooting, so it’s been very quiet.”

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow, then.” He hung up, packed his bags, and carried them down to the garage. Fifteen minutes later, he was checking into the Bel-Air.

  “Welcome back, Mr. Barrington,” the woman behind the desk said.

  “Ah, for personal reasons, I’d like to be known as Jack Smithwick while I’m here.”

  “Of course, if you like.”

  “Would you let the telephone operators know about that?”

  “Surely.”

  “And if anyone calls and asks for Barrington, deny all knowledge.”

  “I understand,” she said. “Many of our guests travel incognito at one time or another.”

  Stone followed the bellman to his suite and sent his clothes out to be pressed. He checked in with his secretary and gave her his new name and address.

  “What if Vance Calder calls again?” she asked.

  “Tell him I went out to the Hamptons for a few days, but you expect to hear from me. You just love talking to Vance Calder, don’t you?”

  “Well…” She suppressed a giggle.

  He hung up and reflected on why he was playing that game with Vance. If some goombah was searching his hotel suite, then somebody knew he was still in L.A., and that somebody might tell Vance. The hotel change was probably a good idea, as long as he kept the suite at Le Parc. He was tired of people he didn’t know knowing where he was; it was becoming extremely irritating.

  He was at the Marina Del Rey chandlery at seven sharp, and Barbara Tierney was only ten minutes late.

  “I’m sorry you had to drive all the way down here to get me,” she said. “I’d have been glad to drive, if my friend’s car had been here.”

  “What does your friend drive?”

  “A Porsche.”

  A Porsche? Shit. Was this the wrong girl? “Well, if your friend were here we wouldn’t be having dinner, would we?”

  “Not necessarily,” she said. “I’m pretty much a free woman.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “I try to avoid men who make demands; I get irritable when they do that.”

  “I’ll do my best not to irritate you,” Stone said. He turned into Stone Canyon.

  “Do you always stay at the Bel-Air?”

  “Always; it’s my home away from home.”

  They pulled into the hotel parking lot, gave the attendant the car, and walked over the bridge leading to the hotel. Below them swans dozed in a pretty stream.

  “You certainly have good taste in hotels,” Barbara said.

  Stone took her hand. “I have good taste in dinner companions, too.”

  “Oooh, you should have been an actor,” she said.

  “You’re not the first to tell me that,” Stone replied.

  27

  They were shown to a banquette in a corner of the large dining room, and their drink order was taken. Stone was hungry, and he began looking at the menu.

  “May I take your order, Mr. Smithwick?” a waiter asked.

  It took Stone a moment to react. “Give us a minute, will you? And may I have a wine list?”

  “The smoked salmon sounds good,” Barbara said, then she made a little noise.

  Stone turned toward her. “What?”

  “My God,” she half-whispered, “look who just came in.”

  Stone followed her gaze to the center of the dining room. Vance Calder and a party of six were being seated at a round table.

  “I’ve never seen him in person, have you?”

  Stone raised the wine list to cover his face. “Well, he doesn’t turn me on as much as he does you.” He lowered the list enough to allow him to see Vance’s party, and things got worse. Betty Southard was sitting next to him. “Oh, Jesus,” he murmured under his breath.

  “What?”

  “Nothing; I was just trying to pronounce the name of this wine. I think I’ve read about it somewhere.” He was trapped, within plain view of both Vance and Betty. He did not need this.

  “I think I’ll go and say hello to him,” Barbara said.

  “What? Who?”

  “Vance Calder.”

  “I don’t think you should do that, Barbara.”

  “Why not?”

  “The hotel has a lot of celebrity customers, and they’re very protective of them.”

  “Oh, it’ll be all right,” she said, pushing the table away. “We have a mutual friend.” She got up and started toward Vance’s table before Stone could stop her.

  Stone watched as Barbara made her way between the tables and came to rest at Vance’s elbow. Vance looked up at her. The headwaiter began to move. Barbara spoke. Then, to Stone’s amazement, Vance stood up, shook her hand, and started to introduce her to the rest of his party. All eyes were riveted on the beautiful brunette. It was now or never, Stone thought. He pushed away the table, rose, and walked quickly through the dining room, staying as far away as possible from Vance’s table, hoping to God that no one there looked away from Barbara. Once in the entrance hall between the bar and the restaurant, he chanced a look back into the dining room. Barbara still held their attention.

  Stone signaled to the headwaiter. “I’m not feeling very well,” he said. “Would you please ask my dinner companion, Miss Tierney, to phone me in my suite?”

  “Of course, Mr. Smithwick,” the man said. “I hope you feel better.”

  “Thank you,” Stone said and got out of the restaurant, taking care not to pass the window on the way to his suite. The phone was ringing as he walked in. “Hello?”

  “Jack? Are you all right?”

  “Oh, yes, Barbara; I’m so sorry I had to leave. It must have been something I ate at lunch.”

  “We had the same thing for lunch, and I’m all right,” she said.

  “I’ve been this way a couple of days. Look, would you mind if we had dinner in my suite? If you’re uncomfortable with that I’d be glad to order a car to take you back to the marina, but I do think I should stick close to home this evening.”

  “All right,” she said. “How do I find it?”

  Stone gave her directions, then hung up, took off his jacket, left the door ajar, and went into the bathroom.

  “Jack?” she called from the door.

  “Come on in; I won’t be a minute.” He threw some water on his face, then grabbed a towel and walked out, mopping his face dry. “I’m so sorry; I’m all right now, I think.” He motioned to the sofa. “Have a seat.�
�� He handed her a menu. “Would you like a drink?”

  “Scotch on the rocks, please,” she replied, and started to look at the menu.

  Stone poured her a drink and fixed himself a bourbon.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t drink,” she said.

  “It’ll be all right.” he replied.

  “I’ll have the smoked salmon and the chicken breast,” she said.

  Stone phoned in their order and sat down beside her. “So, did Vance Calder remember you?”

  “He remembered my friend,” she said. “They do some business together.”

  “What business is he in?”

  “Finance.”

  “What sort of finance?”

  “I’m not sure exactly, but he deals in large sums of money. He’s in Mexico right now.”

  “Ah.”

  “Have you ever been to Mexico?”

  “No, and with the state of my innards, I’m not sure I should.”

  She laughed and gave him a little kiss. “You know, I think I prefer having dinner here instead of in the restaurant.”

  Stone kissed her back. “So do I.”

  Sometime after midnight, Stone crept from the bed and tiptoed into the sitting room, leaving Barbara sound asleep. He found her handbag, opened it, and extracted her wallet. Standing next to the window, he used an outside light to illuminate the contents. Her name was really Barbara Tierney, an Illinois driver’s license testified to that, and she really was an actress, according to her Screen Actors Guild card. He replaced the wallet and rummaged around in the bag for a moment longer, but found nothing else of interest, just the usual female detritus. He put the bag back where he’d found it and crept back into bed. Barbara rolled over and reached for him.

  “More,” she said.

  “Absolutely,” he replied.

  * * *

  Stone was awakened by the doorbell, and Barbara called out that she’d get it. He fell back into bed. A moment later, she pushed a rolling table into the room.

  “I ordered you a big breakfast,” she said.

  “Thanks,” he replied, sitting up and arranging pillows. He tucked into bacon and eggs, a luxury he rarely allowed himself “First bacon cheeseburgers, now bacon and eggs,” he said. “If I hang around you long enough I’ll have a coronary.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, eating her own breakfast. “You seem in pretty good shape to me.”

  “That’s because I lead an abstemious life, when I’m not with you.”

  She threw back her head and hooted. “I love it!” she cried. “You were a virgin before I came along, right?”

  “Absolutely. You’ve taught me everything I know.”

  She set down her plate and took his away. “Well, I must be one hell of a teacher,” she giggled.

  “You certainly are.”

  “Now, let’s see, what shall we learn this morning, class?”

  “Entirely up to you, ma’am.”

  “Well, we’ve already tried positions one, two, and three.”

  “I don’t think I remember position three,” he said.

  “I can see that you learn only by repetition.”

  “That’s always the best way, isn’t it?”

  “Well, it’s one way.”

  “Not the best way?”

  “Sometimes, my dear, you have to improvise.”

  “Improvise? How does one do that?”

  “Like this,” she said, “for starters.”

  “That’s a very nice starter. What’s the main course.”

  “You’re not ready for the main course.”

  “I think I’m getting there.”

  “I think you are, too!” she cried. “What a good student!”

  “I do my best,” he said.

  “You’d better, or you’ll have to repeat the course.”

  “Oh, God,” Stone moaned, “I don’t think I could repeat the course.”

  “We’ll see,” she said.

  28

  The hour was near eleven when Stone, drained of any sexual desire and close to exhaustion, drove Barbara Tierney back to Marina Del Rey. As they pulled into the parking lot, she gasped and brought a hand to her mouth. “Oh, shit,” she said.

  “What?”

  “My friend is back; there’s his Porsche. What am I going to do? I can’t show up on the boat having been out all night.”

  “Um,” Stone said, helpfully. Then he had an idea. “Why don’t you run into the chandlery and buy some shorts or something. Change, and you can say you’ve been for a walk.” He peeled off a couple of hundreds and handed them to her.

  “You have a devious mind,” she said. “Thank God. Listen, you’d better beat it out of here before someone sees us together.” She leaned over and kissed him, then dug in her handbag, found a slip of paper, and wrote down a number. “You can call me here,” she said, handing it to him, “but only daytimes and…”

  “If a man answers, hang up.”

  “Right.”

  “Before you go,” he said, “satisfy my curiosity.”

  “About what?”

  “I was in the chandlery the other day, and I thought I saw you drive away in a Mercedes roadster. Whose car was that?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “Bye.” She hopped out of the car and ran toward the chandlery.

  Stone drove away, but not before he had made a note of the Porsche’s vanity plate, which read BIGBUKS. He got out his portable phone and called Rick Grant.

  “Lieutenant Grant.”

  “Rick, it’s Stone.”

  “Hi. I was promised something on the boat registration before lunch.”

  “Something else; can you run a plate and a phone number for me?”

  “Sure.”

  “The plate is a vanity, BIGBUKS.” He dictated the phone number.

  “These won’t take long.”

  “How about lunch?”

  “Sure. See you at the Grange on Melrose in an hour?” He gave Stone directions.

  “Good.”

  “I should have something on the boat by then.”

  “See you then.” Stone hung up and turned in the general direction of Beverly Hills.

  They were seated in a garden again. Stone liked L.A.’s alfresco dining, which was a rarity in New York.

  “Okay,” Rick said, taking out his notebook, “the plate you gave me is registered to a Martin Barone, of a Beverly Drive address in Beverly Hills; he’s CEO of something called Barone Financial Services. The phone number you gave me, however, is not in Barone’s name; it’s just an extension off the Marina Del Rey’s number, which means it’s on a boat.”

  “What about Paloma?”

  “The boat is more interesting; it’s registered to Abalone Fisheries, which is a processor of canned seafood.”

  “Why is that interesting?” Stone asked.

  “I pulled up some stuff about Abalone out of our financial database. It’s a cannery, all right, but it’s also a holding company; it owns, among other businesses, twenty-two percent of the stock of the Safe Harbor Bank. It also owns seventy-five percent of Barone Financial Services. Martin Barone owns the other twenty-five percent.”

  “A cannery owns a bank and a finance company?”

  “You don’t understand. You’ve heard of Warren Buffet?”

  “The richest man in America? Sure.”

  “His principal holding is Berkshire Hathaway, a textile mill. Years ago he bought the company, and he used it to invest in a lot of other companies, like Coca-Cola, and it’s now worth billions.”

  “Yeah? Who owns Abalone Fisheries?”

  “Onofrio Ippolito and David Sturmack. It’s their version of Berkshire Hathaway.”

  “Ahhhhh.”

  “I thought you’d like that.”

  “Seems like every time I turn over a rock, Ippolito is under it.”

  “What’s your interest in the boat?”

  “When your guys spotted Arrington’s car at the marina, a
girl drove it away, and the same girl, I think, is living on the boat. She’s a thing on the side for this Martin Barone, who’s married. Will you see what you can dig up on Barone?”

  “I can find out if he has a sheet.”

  “Thanks.” Stone took some prefolded hundreds from his pocket and slipped them into Grant’s jacket pocket. “Something on account.”

  “I thank you.”

  “By the way, I dropped by Vincent Mancuso’s deli on the Strip yesterday; I’d give you odds he’s running a book out of there.”

  “I’ll mention it to the relevant squad,” Grant said. “Stone, something’s been bothering me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “This business of Mancuso being in your hotel room.”

  “Bothers me, too.”

  “You moved there from the girl’s house, right? Calder’s secretary?”

  “Right.”

  “Who else knew you moved in there?”

  “My secretary, Dino, and a lawyer friend in New York.”

  “And neither Dino or your lawyer friend would have mentioned it to somebody who knows Mancuso, would they?”

  “Unlikely in the extreme.”

  “That leaves the girl.”

  Stone shook his head. “I’ve thought about this. I think I was followed to the hotel by Mancuso and his buddy.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Grant said, reaching into a pocket, “here’s Mancuso’s mug shot.”

  Stone looked at the photograph. “He’s older and heavier now, but that’s the guy who was driving the Lincoln that followed me the other night.”

  “And you think he followed you to the hotel?”

  “Yeah, that’s what makes the most sense.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You told me you changed cars at the rental agency and told the guy there to say he’d driven you to the airport if anybody asked.”

  “Yeah,” Stone said. He didn’t like where this was leading.

  “Assuming he did as you asked, that should have broken the tail, shouldn’t it?”

  “Unless Mancuso followed me to the rental agency and saw me drive away in the sedan.”

  “Were you followed?”

  Stone shook his head. “If I was, then Mancuso dramatically improved his tailing technique overnight.”