Naked Greed (Stone Barrington)

by Woods, Stuart

  “What would you like?”

  “A couple of dumplings, lots of fried rice, General Tso’s Chicken, and the Grand Marnier Shrimp, for a start.”

  She served them both and they ate greedily.

  “I figured out why you have so many Matilda Stone paintings,” she said. “She was your mother.”

  Stone’s mouth was full, so he just nodded.

  “I looked her up on Wikipedia, and it said she had one son.”

  Stone swallowed and washed it down with the wine. “You are correct,” he said.

  “What was she like?”

  “Just wonderful. She worked like a beaver all day and was transformed into a mother at quitting time.”

  “I’m a little like that. I work like a beaver all day, then I turn into a sex maniac at quitting time.”

  “Then I’d better stop eating, or I won’t be able to get my clothes off.”

  “I’ll help,” she said.

  The following morning, after their usual early-morning carnal cavort, Caroline took her shower and dressed in the change of clothes she had brought in her bag.

  “I had a thought,” Stone said.

  “Speak it, then, I don’t want to be late.”

  “Why don’t we get out of town for the weekend? I’ve got a country place. We can breathe free up there.”

  “What a good idea!”

  “Can you shake loose from work after lunch?”

  “I can go home, pack a bag, and be here by, say, noon?”

  “Good. See you then.”

  —

  Jerry Brubeck got to his office by eight AM, as usual. He had not slept well, and he knew he was going to have to confront Gino, which always made him nervous. He made coffee and put the cheese Danishes he had bought on the way into the city on a plate, then poured himself a cup. At eight-thirty, right on schedule, Gino bustled into the office.

  “Grab some coffee and Danish, Gino,” Jerry said. “We have to talk.”

  “Oh, shit, not again.”

  “I don’t know what you mean by that, but this is an entirely new talk.”

  Gino hung up his jacket, poured himself coffee, took the Danish, and sat down at the table, opposite Jerry. “All right, take your best shot.”

  “Part of this you’ve heard before,” Jerry said, “but you’re going to have to hear it again.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “We’ve got a good business here, but you’re screwing it up.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You and I are in two different businesses. I’m running a modern, state-of-the-art beverage distribution business, and you’re running a mob family that isn’t really there anymore. You’re behaving like your father and his father before him, and you’re raising your son to do the same.”

  “I like tradition,” Gino said, taking in a mouthful of Danish.

  Jerry spoke hurriedly, to get his thought in while Gino was chewing. “We lost our advertising agency yesterday, because you’ve behaved like a jerk at every meeting we’ve ever had with them.”

  Gino swallowed hard. “Fuck ’em,” he said. “We’ll get another agency.”

  “They are the best agency in town, and now they’re representing our new competitor from Texas instead of us.”

  “So what? That Texas guy is never going to make it. I’ll screw him up so bad he won’t know what hit him.”

  “See, Gino, that’s what I’m talking about, that’s no way to run a business. Nowadays you compete by offering your clients good service and prices and by running a good advertising and marketing program. Gone are the days when you beat up the competition or shoot them, but that’s what you still want to do.”

  “Listen, Jerry, you count the beans, and I’ll take care of the competition.”

  “No, Gino. That’s not the way it’s going to happen anymore.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “Yes, Gino, I’m threatening you. You and I each own forty percent of this business, and the rest is owned by other family members. I’ve counted noses, and I have a majority on my side. From now on, Bowsprit Beverages is a strictly legit business.”

  “You little shit! You’re running around behind my back getting votes against me!”

  “And you’re running around behind my back hiring goons to beat up people, or worse, for all I know.”

  “Are you calling my son a goon?”

  “That’s what you’ve made him into.”

  “Well, he’s not that smart, I’ll admit, so I had to give him something to do.”

  “Tell you what, keep him on the payroll until he can find something that suits his unique talents, but don’t let him near a customer or a competitor again.”

  “Yeah, he’d like that, doing nothing for money.”

  “That’s how it’s going to be, Gino. In fact, I propose that we keep you on salary, but you don’t participate in the business anymore.”

  “Not gonna happen, Jerry, and you can’t make it happen.”

  “There’s where you’re wrong, Gino. You’re my brother-in-law, and I respect that, but I have the votes to force you to sell out to me at the formula price stated in our contract. Is that what you want? Doing nothing?”

  Gino suddenly seemed to get it. He held up his hands in a placating fashion. “All right, all right, we’ll do it your way, but I’ve got something set up, and I’m going to have to go through with it. I promise you, when I’m done, Perado will go back to Texas, and we’ll never hear from him again. You can keep Al on the payroll, but he won’t make any sales calls.”

  “What have you got set up, Gino?”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’ll all be over in a couple of days, and then you can run the business the way you want to.”

  “All right, Gino, I’ll give you a week, then you take a powder from the business, or I’ll buy you out, your choice.”

  “It’ll be okay, I promise you.”

  —

  Two men watched from the street as the garage door at the Barrington house rose, and a green Bentley Flying Spur backed out of the garage. They watched as the driver got out and went into the house. While he was gone one of the men, Frank, walked past the Bentley, looked around, then bent down and reached under the car for a moment, then went back and got into his own car.

  “Did you get it done?” his companion, Charlie, asked.

  “Of course I did, didn’t you watch? We can track him anywhere now, and watch him on the iPad. He’ll never know he’s being followed.”

  “I’ll believe this when I see it.”

  —

  Stone and Caroline gave Fred their luggage and got into the Bentley.

  “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” Caroline asked.

  “No, I don’t think so. Let’s make it a surprise.”

  “Okay, I like surprises—good ones, anyway.”

  “This is a good one.”

  They passed through the Lincoln Tunnel and drove into darkest New Jersey.

  “Have we picked up any tails, Fred?” Stone asked.

  “No, sir, I’m keeping a watch.”

  The car turned into Teterboro Airport and drove to Jet Aviation. A valet loaded their luggage onto a cart. “Your airplane is right down front, Mr. Barrington,” he said, and they followed him through the lobby and out onto the ramp.

  —

  The two men in the car across the street watched them. “They’re taking a fucking airplane somewhere,” Charlie said. “Now we’ll lose them.”

  “Just wait right here,” Frank said. “I’ll be right back, it’ll be okay.” He walked into the lobby and up to a rear window overlooking the ramp, where he saw Barrington and his girlfriend approach a light jet airplane. He noted the tail number, then went back to the car.

 
“I got their tail number,” he said.

  “So you’re going to send them a postcard? How’s that going to help?”

  “We can track the plane, just like we tracked the car.”

  “No shit?”

  “No shit,” Frank said, switching on his iPad. “You’ll see in a minute.”

  —

  This is very nice,” Caroline said after Stone closed the door and they had settled into the cockpit. “I’m a pilot, you know.”

  “I didn’t know. What do you fly?”

  “Daddy had a Cessna 182, and I learned in that. I’ve got about three hundred hours, total time. What is this airplane?”

  “It’s a Citation Mustang, borrowed. I used to have one of these. I’m expecting delivery of a new CJ3+ shortly.”

  “Lucky you.”

  —

  You’ll find our flight interesting,” Stone said. He worked his way through the checklist, all the while demonstrating how the avionics worked, then he started the engines and radioed ground control for a clearance. Fifteen minutes later they were lifting off Runway One.

  Stone explained the moving map as they flew northward.

  Caroline peered at their destination. “So we’re going to an island in Maine?”

  “Exactly. There’s the airport on the map.”

  “That looks awfully small for a jet airplane to land on.”

  “And it will look short when we get there,” Stone said, “since it’s only two thousand four hundred and fifty feet long. You’ll notice that we’re flying at only eleven thousand feet. Jets use much more fuel at low altitudes, so that’s to lighten our load, since we started with full tanks. By the time we land, we’ll be much lighter, and that will help us stop short on landing, then help us break ground on takeoff when we return home. It also helps that I’ve done this before.”

  “How long a runway do we need?”

  “Ordinarily three thousand feet is good.”

  “And this one is two thousand four hundred and fifty?”

  “Right, but there are only two of us, we don’t have much luggage, and when we take off we’ll be at half fuel, so no problem.”

  “I place myself in your hands,” she said.

  “That’s not a great compliment, since you’re already in my hands.”

  “How long is our flight?”

  Stone consulted the instrument panel. “Another fifty minutes.” Half an hour later he pointed ahead of them. “That’s the island. The airport will be right over there,” he said.

  “Ah, I see it. You’re right, it looks very short.”

  “It will look longer when we get there.” Stone lined up the airplane and started a steep descent. He dropped the landing gear early, helping to slow to approach speed, then set the airplane down, threw in maximum flaps and speed brakes, and taxied off the runway, well short of the end. “Here we are,” he said, “and there’s our ride.” He pointed at a 1938 Ford station wagon and a man leaning against it.

  —

  Back at Teterboro, the two men sat in the car and stared at the iPad. “There,” one of them said, “they’ve landed on an island in Maine called Islesboro.”

  “What do we do now?” his friend asked.

  “Tomorrow morning we rent an airplane. I know just the guy.”

  Stone introduced Caroline to Seth Hotchkiss, his caretaker. “You’ll meet Mary, his wife, too.”

  “This car is beautiful,” Caroline said as they got into the old station wagon. “It looks like new.”

  “My cousin Dick Stone, who built this house, had it restored.”

  “Will he be here, too?”

  “Dick is deceased, sadly. I bought the house from his estate.”

  They drove past the little collection of buildings that was Dark Harbor, then on to the house. Seth took care of their luggage while Stone gave Caroline the tour.

  “This is a lovely house,” Caroline said. “Who designed it?”

  “Dick did that himself, with a little help from somebody at the CIA.”

  “I’m confused—the CIA is in the house-building business?”

  “Dick was an important official at the Agency, and they tend to want their people to be safe, so many of the safeguards they demanded are built into this house.”

  “So, you’ve got a bulletproof car and a bulletproof house? I’m starting to worry.”

  “Both came to me that way, and nobody will ever find us here.”

  Seth came into the living room. “Mary says dinner’s at seven,” he said. “Lobster tonight.”

  “Great, Seth, thanks.” Seth beat a retreat. “What would you like to do?” Stone asked Caroline.

  “You’re always going to get the same answer to that question,” she said, nuzzling him.

  “Let’s wait until bedtime. I want to pace myself.”

  —

  The following morning Frank and Charlie took off from Essex County Airport, west of Teterboro, in a single-engine Cessna 182, having paid their pilot cash in advance. Frank sat happily next to the pilot, watching the moving map, while Charlie quavered in the rear seat.

  “How long can we fly in this thing without crashing?” Charlie yelled over the noise of the engine.

  Frank handed him a headset. “There, can you hear me?”

  “Yeah,” Charlie replied. “How long can we fly in this thing without crashing?”

  “Oh, about six hours.”

  “How far is it to where we’re going?”

  “About an hour and a half.”

  Charlie did the arithmetic. “Okay,” he said.

  An hour and a half later, the pilot set down the airplane at Islesboro Airport. There were half a dozen small airplanes parked on the ramp, and a man was working on one of them.

  They taxied to the ramp, the engine was cut, and the two men got out.

  “’Scuse me,” Frank said to the man working on the airplane, “how far is it to town?”

  “Town?” the man asked. “You mean Dark Harbor?”

  “Right.”

  “A couple of miles, I guess.”

  “Can we rent a car?”

  “Sure, in Camden.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “On the mainland. You take the ferry.”

  “Is there a taxi?”

  “Sort of.” The man gave him a number. “Ernie will come, if he has nothing else to do.”

  Frank called the number, and the man who answered agreed to come to the airport. Forty minutes later he arrived, in an elderly Plymouth, and they got in.

  “Where you want to go?” Ernie asked.

  “Uh, to Mr. Stone Barrington’s house.”

  Ernie gave the two men another look. They were dressed in suits, one of them double-breasted. In Ernie’s experience only tax collectors and private detectives came to the island dressed like that. “Don’t know anybody by that name,” he replied.

  “Then just take us to Dark Harbor,” Frank said.

  Ernie nodded and put the car in gear, which was an occasion for a grinding noise, then drove away. Ten minutes later he drew to a halt in front of a general store. “Here y’go,” he said. “That’ll be ten dollars.”

  “There’s no meter on this thing,” Charlie pointed out.

  “That’s okay,” Ernie said, “I know how much the fare is. It’s ten dollars, unless you want to go somewhere else.”

  “How much for you to wait while we ask directions?” Frank asked.

  “Ten dollars.”

  Frank sighed, and he and Charlie got out of the Plymouth and climbed the stairs into the store.

  “Hey, they got ice cream,” Charlie said, and ordered a cone. “You want one, too?”

  “Strawberry,” Frank said. “Excuse me, miss,” he said to the girl who was scooping the ice cream. “Do you
know where we can find a Mr. Stone Barrington?”

  The scooper, whose name was Gladys, checked out the two men. They were wearing suits, and worse, hats. They had to be either cops or bill collectors. “Nope,” she said, handing them the two cones. “That’ll be ten dollars.”

  Frank paid for the cones. “Do you have a phone book?” he asked.

  “Right over there by the phone,” Gladys replied, pointing helpfully.

  Frank went over to the phone, licking the cone to keep if from dripping, and flipped through the thin volume with his free hand. “No listing,” he said. “C’mon, Charlie.” They went back to the car and got in. “The girl inside doesn’t know Mr. Stone Barrington,” he said.

  “Well,” Ernie replied, “if she don’t know him and I don’t know him, he ain’t worth knowin’.”

  Frank looked at Charlie questioningly.

  “I’m stumped,” Charlie said.

  “Let’s just drive around for a while,” Frank said to Ernie. “Maybe we’ll see him.”

  “You know what he looks like?” Ernie asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “How long you want to drive around?”

  “I don’t know, let’s cover the island.”

  “The whole island?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s fifty dollars,” Ernie said, “and don’t get that ice cream on my seats, or I’ll have to charge you for cleaning.” He put the car in gear again and gave them a tour of the island, carefully avoiding the Stone house, which was what the locals called the Barrington house. They ended back at the store. “Did you see him?” Ernie asked.

  “I didn’t see anybody but a man with a dog,” Frank said.

  “Was that him?”

  “No.”

  “You want to go back to the airport?”

  “What’s the alternative?”

  “The ferry to Lincolnsville.”

  “The airport,” Frank said.

  Ernie drove them to the airport. “That’ll be, let’s see, ten dollars for the drive to Dark Harbor, ten dollars for the wait, fifty dollars for the tour, and ten dollars back to the airport. That’s eighty dollars, as I make it. No checks or credit cards.”

  “Do you take American dollars?” Frank asked, handing him a hundred.