Cold Paradise 07

by Stuart Woods

  “Great! What is it?”

  “One Vanderbilt Avenue, New York City.”

  “Thanks, Bob.” Stone hung up. “Another dead end.”

  “You got any other ideas?” Dino asked.

  “No.”

  “Neither have I.”

  “Well, we’re just going to have to wait until he has another go at Liz,” Stone said.

  38

  EVERYBODY SEEMED TO BE TAKING A NAP, EXCEPT DINO. “I need some things from the drugstore,” Stone said. “You want to come?”

  “Nope,” Dino replied. “Married men don’t need things from the drugstore.”

  “Toothpaste and dental floss,” Stone said.

  “Whatever you say.”

  “I’ll be back in half an hour, if anybody calls.”

  “See ya.”

  Stone walked to the parking lot and got into his borrowed Mercedes convertible, putting the top down. He pulled out of the driveway, behind a passing Ford, which was driving rather slowly. Stone edged up behind the car, hoping to pass, when, suddenly, the Ford came to a screeching halt, and Stone plowed into it with a crash.

  “Oh, shit,” he said aloud. Now he had smashed up Thad’s car, and it was his own fault. He got out of the car and walked toward the Ford. As he did, a man got out of the Ford, and to Stone’s surprise, he was smiling.

  “I’m sorry I hit you,” Stone said, “but why did you slam on your brakes like that?”

  The man looked like a salesman of some sort. He was dressed in a white short-sleeved shirt and necktie, and his shirt pocket contained a plastic pen guard and several writing instruments. “Don’t worry about it,” the man said, and very quickly, there was a gun in his hand.

  Stone looked over his shoulder for some way out of this, but as he did, a silver Lincoln Town Car with darkly tinted windows screeched to a halt beside him.

  The man with the gun opened the rear door. “Inside,” he said, “and don’t let’s get blood on this pretty street.”

  Stone got in, followed by the man with the gun, and the car moved forward, leaving the other two cars stopped in the middle of the street. The whole thing had taken less than thirty seconds, he figured, and more disturbing than the gun in the man’s hand was the fact that he was wearing rubber gloves. “What’s this about?” he asked.

  “First, let’s get you all secured, and then I’ll tell you,” the man said. “Get down on your knees, rest your head on the armrest and put your hands behind you.” He nudged Stone’s ribs with the gun barrel for emphasis.

  Stone did as he was told, and in a moment, he was handcuffed.

  “All right, now you can sit back up here,” the man said.

  His accent was Southern, sort of educated redneck, Stone thought. “So what’s this about?” he asked again.

  “First, let’s get the introductions out of the way,” the man said. “You can call me Larry, and the feller driving is Ernest. And you would be one Mr. Stone Barrington.”

  “How do you do?” Stone said.

  “I do pretty good,” Larry replied. “Now, as to what this is about, we’re going to take a little drive out in the country, and then we’re gonna make a phone call.” His tone was pleasant, conversational. “I don’t enjoy putting violence on folks, so I’d ’preciate it if you wouldn’t make that necessary. I can do it, if the need arises.”

  “All right, I’ll behave,” Stone lied. He was going to get out of this at the first opportunity, and he was beginning to regret that he had gotten into the car without a fight. The rubber gloves were weighing heavily on his mind.

  Shortly, they were in West Palm, driving west on one of its broad boulevards. “You were saying?” Stone asked.

  “Oh, yeah. A friend of mine called me a couple of days ago and asked me to come down here and shoot your ass.”

  “What friend is that?”

  “Does it matter? He’s paying me and Ernest, here, fifty big ones to deal with you, and that’s the most I ever got for a hit.”

  They stopped at a traffic light, and a police car pulled up next to them.

  Larry stuck the gun in Stone’s crotch. “Don’t you even think about it,” he said. “They can’t see us, and if they hear something, then I’m going to have to do you and the cop. Besides, wouldn’t you rather die with your dick still on?”

  Stone didn’t answer that. “I’d like to know who your friend is,” he said.

  “I don’t think you’d recognize the name,” Larry said. “He uses a lot of them.”

  “What does he look like, then?”

  “Tall feller, going gray.”

  “Ah, yes, Mr. Manning.”

  “Manning? If you say so.”

  “Funny thing is, I was about to try and give Mr. Manning a whole lot of money. Tell you what: Why don’t you call him right now and tell him that? It might have an effect on the outcome of your day and mine.”

  “And why would you want to give him a lot of money?” Larry asked.

  “I’m a lawyer. I represent a lady he knows. She’s willing to pay a large sum to get him to go away.”

  “How much money we talking about?” Larry asked, clearly interested.

  “She’s willing to give him a million dollars,” Stone said, “maybe more.” But not now, Stone thought. She won’t give him a fucking penny, if I have anything to say about it.

  “You really expect me to believe that.”

  “You don’t have to. Just make the call, and I’ll make him believe it.”

  “What’s in it for me?” Larry asked.

  “How much has he paid you so far?” Stone asked.

  “Twenty-five thousand,” Larry replied. “There’s another twenty-five due when he shoots you.”

  “When he shoots me? I thought he hired you to do that.”

  “Well, yeah, but only if you give me any trouble. He wants to do it himself, if he has the time. Something personal, I don’t know.”

  “Tell you what. You make the call. If I can get him to agree to a settlement, I’ll give you another fifty, on top of the twenty-five he’s already given you.”

  “I don’t know,” Larry said.

  “What have you got to lose? Tell you what. Drive me to the nearest bank, and I’ll give you the fifty right now, in cash. Any bank will do. I just have to make a phone call.”

  “Well, see, I’ve got a lot of problems with that,” Larry said. “You could make all sorts of trouble for me in a bank.”

  “You’ve got a point,” said Stone, who had been planning on making a lot of trouble for him.

  “And that wouldn’t be the honorable thing to do, see? I mean, my deal is with Doug, not with you. Word got around about that, and I’d be short of clients.”

  “So, call him and let me speak to him.”

  “What the hell, why not? Ernest, give me the phone.”

  Ernest passed back a cell phone, and Larry dialed, mouthing the numbers from memory.

  Stone heard the electronic shriek from the phone, and the announcement that the cellular customer being called was unavailable or out of the calling area.

  “No luck,” Larry said.

  “Try him again in a minute,” Stone replied. They were out of West Palm, now, headed west on a narrowing, increasingly empty road that seemed to be heading straight into the Everglades. He didn’t want to go there.

  “Okay,” Larry said.

  “You do a lot of this work?” Stone asked.

  “You bet. Make a nice living at it, too.”

  “How’d you get into it?”

  “Fellow offered me five grand once, when I was broke, so I got myself a mail-order book that tells you how to do it and get away with it.”

  “The work doesn’t bother you?”

  “Naw, it’s just business. I mean, I don’t have anything against the people I hit.”

  “You know, in my line of work, I have clients who sometimes have need of somebody with your skills. Maybe you should give me your number?”

  Larry grinned broadl
y. “Well, first, let’s see how this goes, okay?”

  “Why don’t you try the number again?” Stone said.

  “Sure thing.” Larry punched redial, then held the phone away from his ear, so Stone could hear the recorded message again. “Hey, Ernest,” Larry said. “It’s your next left, right?”

  “Right,” Ernest said, and a moment later, he turned left onto a dirt road. A moment later, they were winding down a track that ran through scrub pines. To their right, mangrove grew in swamp water. Shortly, they came to a small clearing, and Ernest made a U-turn and stopped.

  “Okay, out of the car,” Larry said, opening the door and helping Stone out of the rear seat.

  “Let’s try the number again,” Stone said.

  Larry punched redial, and again, the dreaded message repeated.

  “Well, I guess you’re just shit out of luck,” Larry said, pocketing the phone. He pushed Stone toward the mangrove. “My instructions were, if I couldn’t reach him, to do the deed and meet him tonight.”

  “You’re doing this on credit, then?” Stone asked, trying not to panic.

  “Don’t worry,” Larry said. “Me and Mr. Barnacle go way back. We did a little stretch together.”

  Suddenly the name rang a bell. “Barnacle? Douglas Barnacle?”

  “That’s his name.”

  Stone realized that he was about to be murdered by a dead man. “Hang on,” he said.

  “Listen, Mr. Barrington, there’s no use stretching this out. You don’t want to think about this any more than you have to.”

  “Don’t you read the papers? Watch television? Listen to the radio?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Didn’t you hear about the shoot-out in a Palm Beach restaurant last night?”

  Ernest, who had gotten out of the car, walked up. “Yeah, I heard something about that,” he said.

  “What shoot-out?”

  “The guy you call Doug Barnacle was living in Palm Beach under the name of Paul Bartlett. The police killed him last night.”

  That brought Larry up short. “Ernest, that was the name, wasn’t it? Paul Bartlett?”

  “That’s what he was using yesterday,” Ernest said.

  “Turn on the car radio,” Stone said. “Find an all-news station.”

  “Do it, Ernest,” Larry said.

  Ernest went to the car, turned on the radio and found a station. Farm report, bank robbery in West Palm, weather.

  Larry looked at his watch. “Ernest, we got a plane to catch.”

  “I know it,” Ernest said.

  Larry turned and marched Stone back to the mangrove. He put a foot against his backside and shoved him into the swamp. Stone kept his balance and ended up thigh-deep in the black water. A large snake slithered past no more than a yard away. “Mr. Barrington, that was a real nice try. I admire it, but it’s time for you to say bye-bye.” He raised the pistol and pointed it at Stone’s forehead, no more than five feet away.

  “Hey, Larry!” Ernest called.

  “What?”

  “Listen!” He turned up the radio.

  “… chaotic scene at La Reserve, a Palm Beach restaurant last night, ended up with one dead, and a Minneapolis police officer seriously wounded.”

  “Don’t Doug live in Minneapolis?” Ernest asked.

  “Shhhh.”

  “… have identified the police officer as Lieutenant Ebbe Lundquist, of the Minneapolis PD, and the dead suspect as Paul Bartlett, also of Minneapolis. Bartlett had been wanted in Minnesota for the murder of his wife, Frances Simms Bartlett, nearly a year ago, and Lieutenant Lundquist was trying to effect an arrest in the restaurant, backed up by the Palm Beach Police Department.”

  “Well, shit,” Larry said. “You’re not lying, Mr. Barrington.”

  “No,” Stone said, “I’m not.”

  “I mean, you got no idea what some folks will tell you in circumstances like this, you know?”

  “I’m sure. But the fact remains, Larry, that you’re not going to get paid for this one, so why do it? You’ve already got the twenty-five thousand, so you haven’t wasted your time, but Bartlett isn’t going to pay off, now.” Stone did not like standing in this swamp, with things slithering around in it.

  “He’s got a point, Larry,” Ernest said.

  “Maybe,” Larry said, thoughtfully.

  Ernest looked at his watch. “And we haven’t got all that much time before our plane.”

  Larry looked at Stone. “I don’t guess you’d really pay me the fifty grand, would you?”

  “Give me your address, and I’ll send you a check,” Stone replied.

  Larry burst out laughing. “Come on, Ernest, let’s get outta here!” He got into the car, and Ernest drove off, spinning the wheels and throwing mud everywhere.

  Stone stood in the swamp for a minute, trying to get his heart rate down, then the snake appeared again, and he started struggling for the shore.

  Once on dry land, he lay down and, with the greatest possible effort, got his handcuffed hands under his ass and finally over his feet. Now, with his hands in front of him, he was able to get to the cell phone under his sweater on his belt. He punched in the number.

  “The Shames yacht,” Dino said.

  “Dino,” Stone said, “I need you to come and get me, and bring your handcuffs key.”

  39

  DINO FOUND THE WHOLE STORY HILARIOUS. “I DON’T believe it,” he cackled. “Bartlett bites you on the ass from the grave! I wish I had been there!”

  “Dino, it wouldn’t have been funny, even if you were there.”

  “And you thought it was Manning who bought the hit!” He cackled again.

  “And it still isn’t funny.”

  Stone went to his cabin, showered and changed, retrieved his laptop computer and brought it into the saloon.

  “What are you doing with that?” Dino asked.

  “The only address we have for Frederick James is an e-mail address, so I’m going to e-mail him.”

  “Will he be able to tell you’re in Palm Beach?”

  “No. The return address will be the same as if I’d sent it from New York.”

  “Okay, why not?”

  Stone made some adjustments in his telephone dialing program, logged on to his Internet provider and went to e-mail.

  TO: FREDERICK JAMES

  FROM: STONE BARRINGTON

  DEAR MR. JAMES:

  I UNDERSTAND YOU HAVE BEEN TRYING TO GET IN TOUCH WITH ME. IF SO, YOU MAY REACH ME AT THE ABOVE E-MAIL ADDRESS, OR TELEPHONE ME AT (917) 555-1455. I THINK YOU AND I MAY HAVE SOMETHING TO DISCUSS THAT WOULD REACT TO YOUR BENEFIT.

  Stone sent the e-mail. “Let’s see if that raises him.”

  “And what if it does?”

  “All I want to do is buy the guy off. Maybe he’ll listen to reason.”

  “You think he’s interested in money?”

  “I don’t think he’s interested in anything else. He’s doing this because he’s pissed off at his wife for taking all his money. I’m going to propose that she give some of it back.”

  “I think the guy’s a fruitcake, Stone, and …”

  A chime from Stone’s computer interrupted him. “You have mail,” a notice on the screen said.

  “That was quick. The guy must have been working on his computer.” Stone opened the e-mail.

  TO: STONE BARRINGTON

  FROM: FREDERICK JAMES

  DEAR MR. BARRINGTON:

  WHY DO YOU THINK I AM TRYING TO GET IN TOUCH WITH YOU? I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHO YOU ARE.

  Stone was annoyed. He immediately wrote back.

  TO: PAUL MANNING

  FROM: STONE BARRINGTON

  PAUL:

  ALLISON HAS ASKED ME TO REPRESENT HER IN COMING TO TERMS WITH YOU. SHE IS WILLING TO PART WITH A SUBSTANTIAL SUM OF MONEY IN ORDER TO AMICABLY END ALL TIES WITH YOU. LET ME KNOW IF YOU ARE INTERESTED.

  “Let’s see if that has any effect,” Stone said.

  Considerable time pas
sed while they waited. Stone and Dino chatted about nothing in particular for a while, then the computer chimed again, and Stone opened the mail.

  TO: STONE BARRINGTON

  FROM: FREDERICK JAMES

  SIR:

  YOU SEEM TO BE SUFFERING UNDER THE DELUSION THAT I AM SOMEONE ELSE. HOW DID YOU GET THIS E-MAIL ADDRESS?

  Stone immediately wrote back:

  PAUL, THERE IS NO POINT IN CONTINUING WITH THIS. IF YOU HAVE NO INTEREST IN A SUBSTANTIAL SETTLEMENT, THEN YOU AND ALLISON CAN GO YOUR SEPARATE WAYS, WITH YOU EMPTY-HANDED AND EXPOSED.

  There was an immediate return message:

  SIR:

  JUST WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU CAN EXPOSE ABOUT ME? YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW WHO I AM.

  Stone wrote back:

  PAUL, OF COURSE I KNOW WHO YOU ARE. HOW ABOUT THIS: I CALL SOMEBODY I KNOW AT 60 MINUTES AND SUGGEST THEY DO A PIECE ON PAUL AND ALLISON MANNING, WHO EVERYBODY THINKS WERE HANGED IN ST. MARKS A WHILE BACK. THEY COULD INTERVIEW ALLISON, WHO COULD TELL THEM HOW SHE BRIBED GOVERNMENT OFFICIALS FOR HER OWN RELEASE AND YOURS. THEN SHE COULD TELL THEM HOW YOU ARE NOW CALLING YOURSELF FREDERICK JAMES, AND AS SOON AS THE SHOW IS OVER, EVERY JOURNALIST IN AMERICA WILL BE TRYING TO FIND YOU, WHICH SHOULD MAKE YOUR LIFE FUN. YOU SEEM TO HAVE MADE A NICE NEW LIFE FOR YOURSELF, WITH A BOOK ON THE TIMES LIST. WOULDN’T YOU LIKE TO CONTINUE TO LIVE THAT LIFE, UNDISTURBED?

  ALL WE ASK IS THAT YOU TAKE SOME MONEY AND LEAVE ALLISON UNDISTURBED. TALK TO ME.

  James’s answer:

  SIR: I DON’T KNOW WHAT KIND OF MANIAC YOU ARE, BUT YOU ARE FLIRTING WITH THE BIGGEST LAWSUIT YOU EVER HEARD OF, PLUS MAYBE CRIMINAL CHARGES OF EXTORTION. THIS CORRESPONDENCE IS AT AN END. I DON’T WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU AGAIN.

  Dino, looking over Stone’s shoulder, read the e-mail. “Well, that was certainly indignant. You think he’s bluffing?”

  “Yes,” Stone said. “What’s more, I think we may have smoked him out. I don’t think we’ve heard the last of Mr. James.”

  40

  STONE WAS READING THE PAPERS THE FOLLOWING MORN ing, when Thad appeared on deck, carrying two briefcases. He gave them to Juanito. “Put these in the car, will you, please?”

  “You leaving?” Stone asked.

  “Yes. I’ve got to go back to New York, then back to the Coast again.”

  “Thad, it might be a good idea if you took Liz with you.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, I don’t know if or when Paul Manning is going to turn up, but if he does, it might be better if Liz weren’t here.”