by Stuart Woods
“That I wanted to be absolutely certain that this is real before telling her.”
“Pretty good. Then you’re afraid she’s not going to believe you about where the money came from, that she’ll think you’ve done some shady business.”
Dino was silent, then came to his own defense. “Viv would never even think such a thing.”
“Dino, she’s in a business where people are trying all the time to do shady things to her clients.”
“Well, you have a point there,” Dino said.
“It will be a reflex for her. Don’t worry, when she calms down and you show her the bank statement, she’ll be very happy.”
“I don’t have a bank statement to give her.”
“Tomorrow morning, call your banker, who will confirm the transfer. Then ask him to e-mail you a copy of your account statement. Believe me, he will be very happy to help you.”
* * *
• • •
STONE WAS IN BED before midnight. The following morning he went down to his office to catch up on mail and messages.
Joan came in. “We’ve had confirmation this morning of two enormous wire transfers to the Bianchi estate account from the Swiss and Italian banks.” She handed him a piece of paper with the numbers.
Stone did some adding and dividing on his calculator, then wrote down two numbers. “Please wire transfer these funds to Dino and Ben Bacchetti. They’re expecting them.”
Joan nodded. “Don’t we get to keep any of it?”
“Just my fee as executor, which we will collect before we’re finished.”
Joan went back to her desk. A half hour later she buzzed him.
“Yes?”
“The funds have hit both accounts.”
“Thank you.” Stone called Dino.
“Bacchetti.”
“It’s Stone. The money is in your account. Ben’s is, too.”
Dino took a deep breath and said, “Whoosh.”
“You sound relieved.”
“That’s the sound of being suddenly rich.”
“If you’re not very careful with this money, you’re not going to be very rich for very long. Want some advice?”
“No, but advise me anyway.”
“Don’t buy anything that costs more than a million dollars.”
“I hadn’t planned to.”
“Viv is coming home today, isn’t she?”
“She is.”
“Tell her immediately and you’ll stay out of trouble.”
“From your lips to God’s ear,” Dino said, then hung up.
* * *
• • •
LATE IN THE AFTERNOON Dino went to his bank, completed a transaction, and got a copy of his bank statement. He made another stop for some purchases, then went home to his apartment.
* * *
• • •
WHEN VIV ARRIVED HOME, just after six, Dino was sitting in one of a pair of armchairs before a fire. On a table between the chairs was an ice bucket with a bottle of Dom Pérignon chilling in it, a bowl of Beluga caviar was nestling in another bowl of ice, and something on a plate had a napkin over it.
Viv dropped her carry-on at the door, walked over to him, kissed him hello, then viewed the tabletop. “What’s all this?” she asked.
“I have some news,” Dino replied.
She flopped onto a chair. “Oh, God, this is going to be bad,” she said. “You’re dying, and you’re trying to soften the blow.”
“I’m very healthy, thank you,” Dino said, pouring her a flute of champagne and removing the glass cover from the caviar. He spooned a heap of the roe onto a blini and handed it to her on a plate. “Eat and drink,” he said. “You’ll feel better.”
“Dino,” Viv said. “Tell me what the fuck is going on or I’ll throw that champagne bottle at your head.”
Dino picked up the napkin-covered plate and placed it in her lap. “I’m sorry, it’s sort of heavy.”
“I’m not touching this,” she said, biting off half the blini.
Dino reached down and swept away the napkin. Underneath it were stacked ten bundles of hundred-dollar bills. “Happy Birthday!” he said.
She didn’t touch the cash. “My birthday is five months away,” she said.
“What does that matter?” he replied.
She nudge a stack of bills with a fingernail. “How much is this?”
“Each bundle contains one hundred thousand dollars,” Dino explained. “There are ten bundles.” He could see her lips moving.
“That’s a million dollars,” she said.
“Yours to do with as you wish.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Dino, have you taken a bribe?”
“I have not. The money is honestly obtained.”
“Have you embezzled from the Police Pension Fund?”
“Once again, I have not.”
“Start at the beginning,” she said, “and don’t leave anything out.”
13
Viv drained her champagne flute and allowed Dino to refill it. “You’re going to want sex, aren’t you,” she said, and it wasn’t a question.
“Of course, but not until you absorb all of this and tell me what you want to do.”
“I want to go down to ABC and buy some really expensive carpets: old ones, tens of thousands apiece.”
“What else?”
“I want silk draperies in this room.”
Dino looked around. He liked the curtains fine, he thought. “Okay.”
“I want a new car and a full-time driver. Wait, cancel that: I want a full-time couple, possibly live-in, and I want him to drive me whenever I like.”
“Okay. What kind of car do you want?”
“A Bentley Flying Spur,” she said.
“Like Stone’s?”
“Yes, but silver, with red upholstery.”
“You might have to order the car to get what you want,” Dino pointed out. “It could take three or four months.”
“We’ll see about that,” she said.
“What else?”
“I want to go to the Armory Antiques Show and buy a lot of expensive accessories for this apartment that will make it look like we’ve always lived here.”
“Okay.”
“What do you want, Dino?”
“I thought I’d wait for you to finish and see if there’s anything left. I calculate that you’ve already spent more than a million dollars.”
“My list won’t be finished for a while,” she replied. “I’ll let you know as ideas pop up. Come on, what about you?”
“Well, we have a nice library, but I’d like a lot more leather-bound books—sets. I want to design and build a new bar in there, too. A welcoming one.”
“Is that it?”
“For now.”
“I thought of something else,” she said.
“Shoot.”
“I want to buy the little penthouse on the floor above us—the super says it’s about to go on the market—then turn it into a master suite and install a stairway. And I want a Steinway grand piano in this room.”
“That’s doable,” Dino said. “Maybe this would be a good time for the sex.”
“You’re on,” she said, rising and flinging herself at him.
* * *
• • •
STONE CALLED DINO.
“Bacchetti.”
“Would you two like some dinner?”
“Not tonight,” Dino said. “We’ve started something we haven’t finished yet.”
“Talk to you tomorrow,” Stone said and hung up.
* * *
• • •
THE FOLLOWING MORNING Stone was in his office when Joan buzzed. “The D.A. for you on one.”
Stone picked up th
e phone. “Good morning, Ken.”
“Good morning, Stone. I take it you’ve returned from your trip.”
“I have.”
“Where did you go?”
“To Switzerland, on business.”
“I guess that’s why they haven’t found you yet.”
“Why who hasn’t found me yet?” Stone asked.
“They’ll be unconnectable to the Thomas family, but nevertheless . . .”
Stone’s stomach turned just a little sour. “And they’re looking for me?”
“There’s good news and bad news,” Burrows said, “and the good news isn’t all that great.”
“Tell me all of it.”
“Well, as you said in your call, Heather Thomas blabbed to her ex-husband.”
“Right.”
“The good news is, they don’t know I have the Tommassini file.”
“All right.”
“The bad news is, they think you have it.”
“Why do they think that?”
“Because that’s what Heather told Jack Thomas. Fortunately, she didn’t know that you gave me the file, so Jack thinks you still have it.”
“Well, I’ll have to ring Jack up and disabuse him of that notion,” Stone said, “and pass along your involvement.”
“Don’t do that, Stone.”
“Why not? It’s the truth.”
“Because it would hinder the progress of justice.”
“Oh, so a bullet in your head would hinder justice, but a bullet in mine would be okay?”
“Of course not. I just need time to make a case from what’s in the file.”
“How much time is that going to take?”
“A few weeks,” Burrows said. “Possibly, a few months.”
“And you think I can survive that long, with Jack’s mob buddies after me?”
“Stone, you have the advantage of multiple homes and your own airplane. You can just disappear.”
“You don’t think the mob has access to transportation?”
“They won’t know where to look,” Burrows said.
“So, they’ll look everywhere.”
“That will take time, and I’ll be building our case.”
“Swell, I’m happy for you and your little army of ADAs.”
“Something else they don’t know.”
“I’m happy to hear it,” Stone said wryly.
“They don’t know about the other eleven files.”
Stone laughed. “The files on all those dead people?”
“‘Those dead people’ have progeny—children and grandchildren.”
“What, no great-grandchildren? No cousins or nephews?”
“Well, now that you mention it . . .”
“What’s your head count on the progeny?”
“Thirty,” Ken replied. “Well, thirty-odd . . . but not all of them are in the family business. If we’re talking made men, thirty’s not a bad guess.”
“And all of them are looking for me?”
“Well, not all of them. They still have loan collections to enforce, prostitutes to pimp, and legit businesses to subvert. My people’s guess is that not more than ten are involved with, ah, speaking to you.”
“Ken, you haven’t gotten to the part about how you can protect me.”
“Times is hard, Stone. I suggest you go private on that—you can afford it.”
“Tell me, Ken, how many outstanding warrants do those ten made men have?”
“I’m not sure, but at least a few, I would suppose.”
“Well, why don’t you start by executing those warrants, and let’s see how many we have left on the landscape looking to flame my ass.”
“I’ll look into that,” Burrows said.
“Forgive me, if I can’t detect urgency in that statement.”
“As I say, times is hard. We’ll do what we can.” The district attorney hung up.
14
Faith walked into Stone’s office and handed him a sheet of paper. “Here’s the expense report on the trip to Switzerland.”
“Give it to Joan, and tell her it’s chargeable to the Bianchi estate.”
“Certainly.” She started to leave.
“Oh, and get ready for another flight,” Stone said.
“Where to?”
“I haven’t decided yet. Let me look at the weather.”
“Just say when.”
“Don’t worry.”
Joan buzzed. “Dino on one.”
“Good morning,” Stone said. “How’d she take it?”
“If we’re talking money, she took it like a champ. I reckon I’m five million dollars poorer than I was this time yesterday. Oh, and she took the other thing just great, too.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Anyway, she’s taking a couple of weeks off, in order to spread cheer among the New York interior furnishings community.”
“What’s she buying?”
“Ancient carpets, silk draperies, antiquities, and, oh, the penthouse upstairs. I forgot, I’m supposed to be talking to the super about that right now, so we can steal it before it goes on the market.”
“Call me back when you’ve stolen it.” Stone hung up.
Joan came in. “Faith tells me you’re off again soon.”
“That is correct. Check the weather forecast for Penobscot Bay, will you? And call Charley Fox and ask him where the yacht is and in what stage of readiness it might be.”
“Okay.” She went back to her desk, where the phone was ringing.
Stone picked up. “Dino?”
“Yep.”
“Have you stolen the penthouse yet?”
“Yep. The owner took a quick sale for two and a half million—and no broker’s commission. And I have to write Richie a nice check.”
“Who’s Richie?”
“Our super—and sometime Realtor.”
Joan buzzed.
“Hang on a minute,” Stone said and pushed a button. “Yes?”
“The highs are in the upper sixties and the lows in the upper forties,” Joan said. “And the yacht is done with its winter refit, ready to launch on twenty-four-hours’ notice.”
“I’ll get back to you on that,” Stone said, then pressed the Dino line again. “How would you and Viv like to take a nice vacation, say a cruise?”
“Like I said, she’s already told Mike Freeman that she’s taking at least two weeks off. The architect is due here this afternoon to get started on the new stairway to upstairs and the renovation of the penthouse.”
“So you’re available?”
“Where are we cruising from and to?”
“From Maine, where the temps are in the upper sixties; to wherever you want to go.”
“South, I should think.”
“You’re on. How about day after tomorrow?”
“Let us talk to the architect, and I’ll get back to you.” Dino hung up.
Stone called Charley Fox, who was his partner, with Mike Freeman, in Triangle Investments, and who kept tabs on the use of the yacht, which the three of them had bought from the estate of the CEO of a company they had bought.
“Hey, Stone.”
“Hey, Charley. Can we launch the day after tomorrow and have Breeze at my dock the following day—crewed and provisioned for a week, maybe two?”
“Sure. Destination?”
“To be determined.”
“Are you running from somebody or are you just a free spirit?”
“A little of both.”
“It shall be done.”
“Thanks, Charley.” Stone hung up and buzzed Joan. “Tell Faith we’re flying to Maine the day after tomorrow, and she and I will copilot. Also tell her we’ll be gone a week or two, and she can choose t
o stay at the Dark Harbor house or to sail with us.”
“Tell me,” Joan said, “is the purpose of this cruise pleasure or self-defense?”
“A little of both; have you noticed something?”
“Well, the same black SUV has circled the block four times in the past fifteen minutes and slowed down at your front door each time.”
“Did you get a tag number?”
“I will on the next circuit.”
“Good.” Stone hung up. He was sweating a little.
* * *
• • •
DINO CALLED BACK late in the afternoon. “Well,” he said, “there’s a perfect site for the staircase, and all the penthouse needs is painting and a redo on the bathroom and kitchen.”
“Then you’re up for a cruise?”
“Viv needs tomorrow to deal with the contractor and think of a few more ways to spend my money.”
“Then we’ll leave for Maine day after tomorrow, wheels up at two PM.”
“You’re on.”
A minute later, Joan buzzed. “Dino’s back, on one.”
“What? Did you chicken out?”
“Something tells me I should have,” Dino said. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Stone said, defensively.
“This is all happening a little too fast,” Dino said. “Not that we’re not impulsive.”
“Well . . .”
“I knew it. Tell me all, so I’ll know what armaments to bring.”
“A black SUV is circling our block, casing the house.”
“Is there something to this, or are you just being paranoid?”
“A little of both.”
“I’ve got a message on my desk from Ken Burrows,” Dino said. “Should I call him back?”
“I’d appreciate it if you would. I’d like to know what he has to say.”
“I’ll get back to you.” Dino hung up.
Stone buzzed Joan. “Have you seen my yachting cap?”
“It’s in your office closet, perched on the top shelf, raring to go, along with your reefer suit and your mess kit.”
“Thank you,” he said.
