Indecent Exposure

by Stuart Woods

  Stone placed his palms on his desk and rose. “Now, Mr. Teppi, unless you wish me to draw your will or perform some other conventional legal service, I believe I have done all I can do for you.”

  Teppi rose slowly and thoughtfully and shook Stone’s hand again. “Thank you for the courtesy of your time, Mr. Barrington.” He turned to go.

  “Oh, Mr. Teppi, might the name of your client be Danny Blaine?”

  Teppi blinked. “Why, yes,” he said.

  “I rather thought it might be,” Stone replied, then he sat down and pretended to work until Alphonse Teppi had made his exit.

  —

  When Stone had stopped chuckling to himself, he phoned Dino.

  “Bacchetti.”

  “Dino, have you ever heard of someone called Alphonse Teppi?”

  The clicking of computer keys ensued. “All I can tell you about him is that he has never been arrested,” Dino said. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because a person calling himself that just walked into my office and pretty much asked me, straight out, to bribe Danny Blaine out of Fishkill.”

  “How much did you charge him?” Dino asked.

  “Let me put it this way—my boot may still be lodged in his ass.”

  “You’re such a disappointment to me, Stone. You and I could have dined out for a year on the proceeds of that conversation.”

  11

  Stone and Gloria Parsons were dining out at Rôtisserie Georgette, uptown from him, and were awaiting delivery of a plump roast hen. They were on their second drink.

  “Now that we’re all settled in,” he said, “tell me how your Mr. Teppi came to believe that I would bribe people to get your pal Danny out of Fishkill.”

  “Mr. Teppi has a mind of his own,” she replied smoothly.

  “Then tell me how he came to choose me to make his proposal.”

  “I may have mentioned your name in passing.”

  “Kindly refrain from mentioning my name to such people,” he said, “in passing or in any regard.”

  “I have just mentioned it to some three million people,” she said, “and that is only in the contiguous forty-eight states.”

  “What’s the matter, are there no pseudo-sophisticates in Alaska, Hawaii, Puerto Rico, and Samoa?”

  “They’re not worth the postage,” she replied. She withdrew a magazine from her purse and handed it across the table. “Come to think of it, neither are you, so I’m delivering it personally.”

  Stone was greeted with the photograph of Holly and himself taken in Georgetown. “Jesus Christ,” he said.

  “What’s the matter, don’t you enjoy being a cover girl?”

  “I had imagined this would rate a column or less on the page with the truss and erectile dysfunction ads,” he said, flipping the magazine open and finding that the interview with him covered three and a half pages, with photos from his college yearbook, his NYPD ID, one next to an old airplane, and one from his extreme youth, of him playing touch football in Central Park in which all the other players were girls. “Where the hell did you come up with all this?”

  “Well, I did take a rather nice one of you naked on your back in bed, but my editor said you weren’t well endowed enough for our centerfold.”

  “Please thank her for her discretion.”

  “I’ll pass it along.”

  “When I read this, am I going to want to sue you?”

  “I hope that what you will want to do to me rhymes with ‘sue,’” she said, tickling his crotch with a stockinged toe.

  He laughed in spite of himself. “I want you to stop that fairly soon.”

  Their chicken was presented, and they began dismembering it.

  “To get back to Mr. Blaine, why the hell are you so hot to get him out? From what I’ve read about him, he richly deserves his sentence.”

  “He is my friend, and I am a loyal person.”

  “If you aren’t careful you’re going to end up in a cell of your own for your efforts on his behalf. I mean, Mr. Teppi could have contacted an attorney who has the police commissioner for a friend.”

  “Those are the chances one must take to help a friend.”

  “What about his partner in crime, Spike Whatshisname? Is he an old high school chum, as well?”

  “Danny is my friend. Spike is Danny’s. It stops there.”

  “Tell me, what happened to the millions these two filched from eager home buyers?”

  She stopped chewing. “Do you suspect me of dark motives?”

  “I was trained as a cop, I reflexively suspect people of darker motives than friendship.”

  “I suspect they spent it on booze and loose women,” she said. “Neither of them has ever struck me as an investor.”

  “A dozen or more apartments that sold for between half a million and a million—that’s a ton of money when you add it up. Did they have expensive lawyers?”

  “I doubt it. They suggested that I might contribute to their defense fund, but I declined. Whoever they hired advised them to plead out, and it doesn’t take a Stone Barrington to handle that.”

  “Do they really think you can get them out?”

  “There’s no ‘them,’ for me, just Danny. Spike can go rot, for all I care. Danny has a child-like faith in me, and I dislike disappointing him.”

  “What other jams have you gotten him out of over the years of your cherished friendship?”

  “Nothing that a little flirting with a school principal couldn’t fix.”

  “I’m sure you could bat your eyelashes and his eyes would glaze over.”

  “You’re a good judge of character,” she replied.

  The waiter spirited away the remains of the chicken and brought a complimentary dessert from Georgette.

  “By the way,” she said as he paid the bill, “I argued with my editor about your endowment.”

  “Oh?”

  “I explained to her that skill trumps size.”

  “That’s very sweet of you. I hope that didn’t make it into your piece.”

  “It’s not information I would want to share with our readers,” she said. “You might never have time to see me again.”

  “Well, we can’t have that, can we? What are you doing right now?”

  “I am at your disposal,” she replied.

  Stone ran outside and threw himself in front of a cab.

  12

  Stone was at his desk the following morning, feeling a little sore from his exertions the previous night, when Joan buzzed him.

  “Madam Secretary on one for you.”

  Stone pressed the button. “Yes?”

  “Will you speak to Secretary Barker?” the chilly woman asked.

  “At all times,” he replied, “you don’t need to ask.”

  “I need to ask at all times, Mr. Barrington,” she replied, and there was a click.

  “Good morning.”

  “And good morning to you, Madam Secretary.”

  “I’m getting used to being called that,” she said.

  “All right,” he said, “but never in bed.”

  “Careful.”

  He hadn’t thought about that. “Still saving the world?”

  “Every day, from seven to seven more or less. I had a call from Kate’s secretary this morning. She and the family are available for a holiday cruise.” She suggested dates.

  “Confirmed,” Stone said.

  “They would like to fly into Key West Naval Air Station, then take a helicopter from there directly to the yacht, which should be docked at the Coast Guard facility in Key West.

  “She also said that they prefer not to use a naval or Coast Guard vessel as an escort, since they might attract the attention of the media. Instead, they have asked the secretary of the Navy to look through his inventory and see if the N
avy possesses a motor yacht of a suitable size that could be used.”

  “A sensible suggestion. I hadn’t thought about a Coast Guard cutter attracting attention.”

  “Just between us, since the close election, death threats directed at the First Family have been received, and they are being particularly careful about personal travel.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, and I understand their concerns. Will you be flying in with them, or shall I transport you myself?”

  “If it is convenient, could you pick up Peter, Celeste, and me at Manassas and fly us to Key West to meet the yacht on the day?”

  “I’d be delighted to, Manassas is on the way.”

  “Oh, and Kate suggests that if there’s room, you invite Dino and Vivian Bacchetti to join us.”

  “There is room, and I will invite them. They can fly down with us.”

  “And she will be traveling at all times with two Secret Service agents as body people, and they will need to stay aboard. How many cabins are there?”

  “Seven, so we will have three spares available, should she need to bring a secretary or maybe a food taster.”

  “I’ll let her know. Oh, there’ll also be a naval officer aboard who is in charge of the football.”

  “There’s a large, open upper deck, but it’s not really suitable for sports.”

  “I refer to the suitcase that travels everywhere with the President, containing the codes and communications for nuclear war.”

  “Oh. Well, it looks as though we will have a full complement of passengers, then. I’ll let the chef know.”

  “The Secret Service and any staff can dine with the crew,” Holly said. “The Secret Service will need to inspect the yacht, of course, and I’m told a small amount of communications equipment will need to be brought aboard. They’ll need a full day.”

  “Then they can have their day.”

  “And I’ll need the cell phone number of the captain, so that various people can communicate with him in the planning stages.”

  Stone gave her the captain’s name and number.

  “I think that’s all for the present,” she said. “As you can see, all this could be a logistical nightmare if it’s not very well planned well in advance.”

  “I get the picture.”

  “Are you surviving without me?”

  “Barely. Oh, I saw the piece in Just Folks. I don’t think there’s anything that will alarm you.”

  “Good, I get enough alarms in this job.”

  They said goodbye and hung up.

  —

  Stone called Dino.

  “Bacchetti.”

  “I am required by the President of the United States, on pain of death, to command the presence of the commissioner and Mrs. Bacchetti aboard the yacht Breeze, for a holiday cruise with the Presidents Lee and family, departing from Key West, Florida.”

  There was a brief silence. “Okay,” Dino said. “Anything else?”

  “We will depart Teterboro for Key West on my airplane that morning.”

  “Got it.”

  “That is all.”

  “Have you read the thing in Just Folks?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Maybe you’d better read it more carefully. See ya.” Dino hung up.

  Stone reached for the magazine; the item Dino had clearly referred to was near the end.

  Stone Barrington has been either a bachelor or a widower for all but a year of his life, a fact well known to a great many women. A dozen or so that this publication spoke to were very complimentary of his style, equipment, and skill. “That combination is very hard to come by,” one of them said, sighing. “You should excuse the expression.”

  Stone sat back in his chair and emitted a sound that combined a groan and a whimper.

  “Ah,” said Joan, who had been standing in the doorway. “You’ve read the magazine.”

  Stone leaned forward and pressed his hot forehead against the cool desktop.

  “I’ll leave you alone with yourself,” Joan said, and closed the door behind her.

  —

  Stone refused all calls for the rest of the day. As Joan was leaving work she stopped by his desk and left a stack of phone slips. “Most of them are from women,” she said, “but one of them is from Bill Eggers.” Eggers was the managing partner of Woodman & Weld.

  “I’ll never be able to leave the house again,” Stone said, but Joan had already gone.

  13

  Grimly, Stone called Eggers’s private line.

  He answered himself. “Bill Eggers.”

  “It’s Stone, returning yours.”

  Eggers emitted a low chuckle. “Stone, all of us at Woodman & Weld, partners and clients alike, would like to congratulate you on exceeding our opinion of you. And in a national magazine!” He roared with laughter, then hung up.

  No sooner had Stone set down the phone than the office doorbell began ringing repeatedly. Wearily, he got into his jacket and walked down the hallway past Joan’s office to the outside door and unlocked it. A woman he didn’t know but who looked vaguely familiar was standing there.

  “Come with me, please,” she demanded, then turned and started down the sidewalk. She stopped and looked back. “Come with me this instant!”

  Stone tried to catch up with her. “I don’t understand,” he said.

  She stopped two houses down the street, where the front door stood open. “In here!” she said, pointing.

  “Madam, I . . .”

  “In here!” she shouted.

  Stone peered inside, wondering what awaited him. He stepped into an entrance hall and a man wearing a cardigan sweater, reading glasses, and carrying a newspaper appeared from an adjoining room.

  “This is my husband,” the woman said. “I want you to tell him about the relationship between you and me!”

  He looked at her, then back at him. “What relationship? We have no relationship,” he said. “I don’t know either of you.”

  “There!” she shouted at her husband. “Is that good enough for you?”

  “Yes,” the man replied weakly.

  She turned toward Stone. “Thank you, you may leave now.”

  Stone was happy to leave as quickly as possible. He didn’t look behind him until his office door was closed and locked.

  He went upstairs to his study and poured himself a stiff drink, not bothering with the ice, and sank into a chair before the fireplace. The phone rang, and he glanced at the caller ID: Dino.

  He picked it up. “Yeah?”

  “Are you drunk yet?” Dino asked.

  “No, but I’m making a start.”

  “I’m in the car. I’ll be there in three minutes.”

  “In the study,” Stone said. Three minutes later the doorbell rang, and he buzzed it open.

  Dino came into the study, poured himself a stiff scotch, and sat down. “You okay?” he asked, tapping Stone’s glass with his own.

  “No,” Stone replied, “I feel like I’ve been struck with an ax handle.”

  “Like in the bar fight in Shane?”

  “Exactly like that. Do you know, a woman who lives a couple of doors down the street just rang the downstairs doorbell and insisted I come to her house, address her husband, and tell him we weren’t having an affair? I’d never clapped eyes on either of them.”

  Dino dissolved in laughter. “What did you say to him?” he asked, when he had recovered enough.

  “What do you think I said to him? I denied everything.”

  Dino laughed again.

  “Joan gave me a stack of messages, all from women except one from Bill Eggers.”

  “What was Bill’s reaction?”

  “Pretty much the same as yours.” Stone downed half his drink.

  Dino tossed off his drink and stood up, gr
asping Stone by the arm and hauling him to his feet. “Come with me,” he said.

  Stone put down his drink, followed him to the door and outside, where his SUV awaited. “Where are we going?”

  “Out to dinner,” Dino replied, thrusting him into the rear seat. “To Clarke’s.” He got in.

  “I can’t go out in public,” Stone said.

  “You have to, pal, there’s only one way to handle this—brazen it through.”

  “Oh, Jesus.”

  They were deposited on the sidewalk outside P. J. Clarke’s. “Neutral face,” Dino said, placing a hand in the small of his back and propelling him forward. “Don’t make eye contact.”

  They stepped inside, and as the door closed behind them half the room went silent and stared, while the other half chatted on as before. Dino led the way toward the dining room, holding up two fingers for the maître d’. They were at a table in seconds.

  Dino ordered the drinks. “Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “It was horrible,” Stone said.

  “Smile,” Dino said.

  “At what?”

  “Just smile.”

  Stone managed a toothy grimace.

  “That’s better.” A waitress approached. “Two New York strips, medium, fries, a bottle of the Châteauneuf-du-Pape,” he said to the young woman.

  “You’re Stone Barrington, aren’t you?” she asked slyly.

  “You bet your sweet ass he is,” Dino said. “Food!”

  She hurried away.

  —

  After Stone had eaten his steak and drunk two glasses of wine, he felt better.

  “You’re coming around, I can tell,” Dino said.

  “I feel nearly normal,” Stone said.

  The waitress came back with two slices of apple pie. “On me,” she said, with a broad smile and a wink.

  “Has Holly seen the magazine?” Dino asked.

  “God, I hope not.”

  “Well, you can hope.”

  “I told her it was inoffensive.”