by Stuart Woods
When they had finished breakfast, they put their things and Daisy into the Mercedes and drove away from the house.
“Why are you driving so fast?” Holly asked.
“Because I like driving fast; because for once, nobody is in front of me on these roads; and because if these people are still keeping tabs on us, I don’t want to make it easy for them.”
“All good reasons,” she said. “Anyway, you drive well, and I don’t see how anyone could drive this car slowly. Do you ever get tickets?”
“Not as long as I carry a badge,” Stone replied.
“You do? Let me see it.”
Stone reached into an inside pocket and fished out the wallet that held his ID card and badge. “It’s not the real thing,” he said, handing it to her. “It’s something like a seven-eighths reproduction. Most retirees carry one.”
“It says ‘retired’ down at the bottom of your ID card,” she said, “but in very small letters.”
“You learn to cover that with a finger, when you’re flashing it,” Stone said.
“Does this allow you to carry a weapon?”
“No, but the department gives you a carry license when you retire. It’s in the wallet, behind the ID, along with a Connecticut carry license.”
Holly looked at them. “Do you carry a lot?”
“Not a lot, just when I feel nervous about the situation.”
“I can’t imagine you being nervous.”
“All right, wary.”
“Wary is more like you.”
They turned onto the interstate just north of Danbury, and Stone caught sight of a black SUV a quarter of a mile behind them. “There they are,” he said.
Holly didn’t look back. “What are they driving?”
“Black SUV, probably an Explorer.”
“That sounds like government, not something Trini’s friends would drive.”
“You could be right. After all, your boyfriend is pissed off; he could be keeping tabs.”
“He’s probably jealous,” she said, putting her hand on his thigh.
“Good.”
“You enjoy annoying the Feds?”
“Always.”
“What do you have against them?” she asked.
“I find them untrustworthy. When I had to work with them as a cop, they always wanted the collar and the press, and they usually got it. They were lousy at sharing information, and you couldn’t trust it when they did.”
“That pretty much sums up my experience, too,” she said. “Why do you suppose they’re that way?”
“It’s the federal culture, I think. They think they’re the pinnacle of law enforcement, and they tend to look down on anybody at the local level as backward children.”
She laughed.
“I don’t find them all that good at solving crimes, either.”
“Stone, you’re driving nearly a hundred miles an hour.”
“It’s Sunday morning, and the traffic is light.”
“Doesn’t this car attract cops like flies?”
“If they’re around, and if they feel like a pursuit.”
“Is the Explorer keeping pace?”
Stone glanced in his mirror. “So far.” He turned off I-84 and accelerated through a long curve and onto I- 684. “There’s a place a few miles down the road where the New York State cops like to lie in wait with their radar gun.” He accelerated some more.
“You just passed a hundred and twenty,” she said.
“Don’t worry. Our speed is electronically limited to a hundred and fifty-five.”
“Oh, good,” she said. “I feel better now.”
A beep sounded and a tiny red light on the steering column began to flash.
“Radar detector?”
“Yep.”
“Why aren’t you slowing down?”
“I want to try something.” He pointed ahead. “There they are.”
A state police vehicle was parked in the meridian, a radar gun hanging out a window.
Stone took out his wallet, rolled down the window a bit, and held his badge in the slipstream, creating wind noise. They flew past the police car, and Stone rolled up the window and checked his mirror. “They’re not budging,” he said. “Not yet, anyway. Hang on, there go the cops.”
Holly looked back. “They’re after the Explorer,” she said.
“I guess they’re not flashing a badge,” he said, checking the mirror again. “Yep, light’s on, they’ve got him.” He accelerated again.
“A hundred and forty,” she said. “Do you always drive this fast on the interstate?”
“Well, we know the cops are all involved with the Explorer,” he said, “so unless they radio ahead for a trap, we’re home free. Something else: If the guys in the Explorer are Feds, they’ll call ahead for somebody to pick up the tail at the other end. The goombahs wouldn’t think of that.” He pressed on through the light traffic, passing cars doing eighty as if they were standing still.
In what seemed an incredibly short time, they were turning into Stone’s block.
“Two guys on my front steps,” Stone said, slowing.
“It’s Ham!” Holly said. “What’s he doing here?”
“Who’s Ham?”
“My father.”
“Oh, God,” Stone said.
“You don’t want to meet my father?”
“The other guy on the steps is Herbie Fisher.”
“Who?”
“The guy Lance had me represent in court. I told you about him.”
“What does he want?”
“I dread to think.”
26
HAM BARKER WAS taller than Stone, and skinnier. Stone stuck out his hand. “Hello, Ham, I’m Stone Barrington.”
“Good to meet you,” Ham said gravely.
“Herbie,” Stone said, “what the hell are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in the Virgin Islands.”
“I just thought I’d drop by,” Herbie said, offering his hand.
Stone ignored it. “Don’t do that,” he said.
“Do what?”
“Drop by.”
“Aw, Stone . . .”
Ham spoke up. “Stone, there are two men in your block, watching this house.”
“Oh, my God!” Stone said. “Herbie, they’re after you!” He stuck a hundred-dollar bill in Herbie’s hand. “Get out of here, quick!”
“Where am I going to go?” Herbie wailed.
“Go to your mother’s place, in Brooklyn. They’ll never think of looking for you there. Get out of here!”
Herbie sprinted down the block and was gone.
“Sorry about that,” Stone said to Ham. “Herbie’s a pest, hard to get rid of.”
“Quick thinking, there,” Holly said. “Ham, what are you doing here?”
Stone picked up Ham’s bag. “Let’s talk inside. The Feds may be able to read lips.”
“Is that who those two guys are?” Ham asked as Stone unlocked the front door and turned off the burglar alarm.
“Yep,” Stone said. “Holly’s boyfriend put them on us. Where are you staying, Ham?”
“Haven’t figured that out.”
“We’ve got room here.” He punched the elevator button and set Ham’s bag in the car. “Third floor, second door on your right.”
“Why, thank you,” Ham said.
“When you’re settled, come down and we’ll have some lunch.”
Ham got onto the elevator and started upstairs.
“Is your stuff out of my bedroom?” Stone asked Holly.
“Mostly. There are some things drying in the bathroom. Why?”
“Because if your father spots them, I’m dead. He’s a killer. You can see it in his eyes.”
“Oh, stop it, Stone. Ham knows I’m a grown-up.”
“He’s a father, and you’re his little girl; that’s all he knows. You’re sleeping in your own room while he’s here. Why is he here?”
“I don’t know. When he comes downstairs, I�
�ll ask him.”
“Why are you here, Ham?” Holly asked. They were eating pasta that Stone had prepared.
“Somebody messed up your place,” Ham said.
“What?”
“I went by to check on the house, and the front door was off the hinges. The place had been ransacked.”
“Anything missing?” Holly asked.
“How would I know? They had a go at your safe, but didn’t get in.”
“Not much in there—some papers and a couple of handguns.”
“Oh,” Ham said, reaching into an inside pocket. “I brought you a piece; thought you might need it.” He handed her a small pistol.
“Sig-Sauer P232,” she said, hefting it. “Nice. Thanks, Ham.”
“The magazine’s full, and there’s one in the chamber. The rest of a box of cartridges is upstairs, when you need it.”
“How’d you manage to get it here?”
“I showed the airlines my badge and declared the weapons. They were locked in a little case inside my bag.”
“What badge?” Stone asked.
Ham put a wallet on the table.
Stone opened it. “Lieutenant, Orchid Beach PD?”
“Ham’s kind of a consultant,” Holly said. “Dollar-a-year man.”
“Good idea. Makes carrying firearms easier, doesn’t it? What are you packing, Ham?”
Ham reached under his tweed jacket and put a Beretta 9mm on the table.
“Can you hit anything with that?” Stone asked.
“I fired expert in the army with the old automatic,” Ham said.
“I couldn’t hit a wall with that thing,” Stone said.
“Ham fired expert with everything the army had,” Holly said. “He’s the best shot in the world.”
Ham shook his head. “No, just the best shot you ever saw.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Stone said, glancing at Holly, who made a face at him.
“Be nice to my little girl,” Ham said.
Stone turned to Holly. “See?”
“Oh, Ham, shut up,” Holly said. “Don’t go scaring the men off.”
“I’m just saying,” Ham said.
“It’s all right, Ham,” Stone replied. “I understand.”
“Good. Good spaghetti, too,” he said.
“It’s penne, actually.”
“It’s all spaghetti to me.” He stuffed another forkful into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.
“Did you do anything about my house?” Holly said.
“I got you a new door and installed it. Ginny was cleaning up the place when I left for the airport.”
“So you came up here to rescue me?”
“I just thought you might need somebody to watch your back.”
“The Feds seem to be doing that,” Stone pointed out. “After all, she’s the one who’s dogging their witness.”
“Any luck?” Ham asked.
“A couple of sightings, no collar.”
“Want me to collar him for you?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that, Ham. The Feds are involved, so is the Mafia. Grant’s up here. That’s why those guys are out in the street. They followed us to Connecticut, too.”
“I guess that boy is taking a proprietary interest in you.”
Stone laughed, and Holly shot him a glance.
“Don’t worry, it’s all business.”
“I liked him, till he got to running the Miami office,” Ham said. “After that, he was just another bureaucrat.”
“That’s what I hear,” Stone said.
“So who the hell are you, Stone?” Ham asked.
“Lawyer,” Stone replied.
“Oh.”
“Don’t take it so hard, Ham,” Holly said. “He’s also a retired cop.”
“Little young to be retired, aren’t you?”
“Bullet in the knee,” Stone said, realizing that he was adopting Ham’s mode of speech.
“Uh-huh,” Ham said. “Must of hurt.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“You two are going to be comparing scars in a minute,” Holly said.
“Who was that Herbie character?” Ham asked.
“Former client and current nuisance,” Stone replied.
“He’s dangerous.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You can smell it on him. He’d sell you to save his own ass.”
“You’re a fine judge of character, Ham.”
“I trained a lot of young men in the army. You get to know what to expect of them.”
The doorbell rang. Stone picked up a phone, pressed a button, and listened for a moment. “Come on in,” he said, pressing another button. He turned to Holly. “It’s Lance.”
“Who’s Lance?” Ham asked.
“Tell you what, Ham,” Stone said. “You meet him and tell me.”
27
LANCE AMBLED INTO the kitchen, dressed in a yellow cashmere turtleneck, a tweed jacket, cavalry twill trousers, and short alligator boots. He might have been a visiting movie star. Introductions were made, and he sat down. Daisy walked over and sniffed him. Lance scratched the top of her head, then ignored her.
“What’s up?” Lance asked.
“The Feds are all over us,” Stone said. “Followed us up to Connecticut yesterday. They’re camped outside right now.”
“Well,” Lance drawled, “I guess they take exception to Holly’s trying to arrest their man.”
“Their murderer,” Holly said.
“Or is there some other reason they’d be interested in the two of you?” Lance asked.
“You take that one, Holly,” Stone said.
“Oh, a guy I went out with a few times works for them, followed me up here.”
“You were living with him,” Ham said.
Holly turned beet red. “Herbie was here when we got back,” she said, looking for cover.
Lance permitted himself a small groan. “Stone, I wish you’d take charge of your client.”
“He’s not my client anymore, Lance. You shipped him off to Saint Thomas, remember?”
“Except he didn’t ship.”
“That’s not my fault.”
“Where did he go?”
“I gave him some money and told him to go to his mother’s place, in Brooklyn.”
Holly laughed. “Stone told him they’d never think of looking for him there. I think he bought it.”
“If there’s one thing I’ve learned about our Herbert,” Lance said, “it’s never to expect him to do as he’s told.”
Ham nodded. “I know the type.”
“You’re ex-army,” Lance said.
“Yep.”
Lance regarded him coolly for a long moment. “I read your service record,” he said.
Ham evinced mild surprise. “Did you, now?”
“I did. You want to shoot somebody for me?”
“Who’d you have in mind?”
“Herbie.”
Ham chuckled. “I can see why, but he doesn’t seem to be a threat to national security just yet.”
“Would you shoot him if I told you he was?”
“I wouldn’t believe you if you told me he was.”
“Why not?”
“Because I think I know who you work for, and folks in your line of work tell the truth on only the rarest occasions.”
Lance laughed. “You judge us too harshly, Ham. But then, you’ve had some experience with us, in Vietnam.”
“I have.”
“I was too young for that godawful mess,” Lance said, “and I’m glad of it. But you shouldn’t judge us now for how we operated then. You might find some satisfaction in working with us again.”
“Lance is recruiting,” Stone said.
Ham shook his head. “No, thanks. You want somebody shot, you do it yourself.”
“I was speaking metaphorically before,” Lance said.
“No, you weren’t,” Ham replied.
Stone was proud of him.
&n
bsp; For the slightest moment, Lance looked nettled, but then he relaxed. “Holly, I came to tell you that it’s going to be another day or two before you can put your hands on Trini Rodriguez without an unduly large reaction from the federales.”
“Shit,” Holly said. “I’m getting impatient. Ham, you want to shoot Trini for me?”
“Him? It would be my pleasure. Just point him out.”
Stone couldn’t tell if they were kidding. “Hang on,” he said. “We don’t need a shoot-out on our city streets.”
“Wouldn’t be a shoot-out,” Ham said. “Just a single pop.” He made a little gun with his fingers and fired it.
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Lance said.
“Because there’s nothing in it for you,” Stone replied.
“You have a point,” Lance admitted. He got to his feet and stretched. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have a lunch date up the street.” He shook Ham’s hand, waved goodbye, and was gone.
“Your assessment, Ham?” Stone asked.
“Now that,” Ham said, “is your large-bore, fully automatic Agency spook. Where the hell did you come by him?”
“I came by him in London a while back,” Stone said. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell it to you someday when I’m less sober.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” Ham said. “He’s more dangerous than Herbie.”
“Why?” Holly asked.
Ham got to his feet and moved his shoulders around. “Because he thinks of himself as a patriot, and they’re always the most dangerous. Well, I think I’ll have a nap. It’s an old man’s prerogative, and I’ve been traveling since dawn. See ya.” He headed upstairs, leaving Stone and Holly to ponder his assessment of Lance Cabot.
28
HOLLY GOT INTO some sweat clothes, stuffed the Sig-Sauer into her jacket pocket, clipped on Daisy’s leash, and headed uptown.
She and Daisy walked briskly until they entered the park, then Holly started to jog, with Daisy easily keeping pace. They ran past the zoo, then the pond where people raced model boats, and the statue of Alice in Wonderland, then they cut cross-country. Somewhere north of Alice, Holly became aware of another jogger not far behind.
Everything was perfectly normal until Holly noticed that there was something red attached to Daisy’s back. She stopped to pull it off and discovered that what was in her hand was a dart. Daisy sat down, panting, then collapsed, and then something struck Holly in the head.
