Hot Mahogany (10 page)

“Yeah, and you can take the boy out of the Bronx, but…”

“I get the picture,” Stone said. “Charlie is still a little rough around the edges, then?”

“Correct picture.”

“I’d like to know if he has a sheet for anything besides his real estate scam.”

Dino unsheathed his cell phone and made the call. “They’ll get back to me,” he said, putting the phone away.

“Who’s Charlie’s publicist?” Stone asked.

“Ask the guy behind you.”

Stone turned and found Bobby Zarem, ace publicist, at the next table. “Hey, Bobby,” he said.

“Hey, Stone.”

“You ever heard of a guy named Charlie Crow?”

“Hasn’t everybody?”

“You don’t, by any chance, represent him, do you?”

“Too sleazy for my taste,” Zarem said. “He’s one of Irv Kaplan’s clients. They’re well suited to each other.”

“Thanks, Bobby.” Stone turned back to Dino. “You hear that?”

Dino held up a hand while he opened his cell phone. “Bacchetti. Yeah? Yeah. Read it to me. Thanks.” Dino hung up. “Charlie had a juvey record, small time stuff: joyriding in other people’s cars, petty theft. Nothing after that. Maybe the Marines straightened him out.”

“From what Barton says, they just made him a better criminal.”

“Barton should talk.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you about the gold double eagle.” Stone told him the story.

“So, when Barton gets a little short, he can always stamp out another twenty-dollar gold piece and sell it for a few million?”

“He’s admitted to doing that twice but not recently.”

“Our Barton is quite the card, isn’t he?”

“He certainly is,” Stone agreed. “Did I mention that the die for the gold coin was in a drawer of the secretary when it was stolen?”

“You did not mention that, but I guess it makes Barton more anxious than ever to get the furniture back.”

“Yes, it certainly must,” Stone said.

“Well, let’s hope whoever has the thing doesn’t go through the drawers; he might recognize it. What does a die look like, anyway?”

“I’m not sure, but I once had a tour through a factory that makes class rings, and they had this good-sized machine that stamped them out. They’d put a blank piece of gold, already cut to shape, into the thing, and bang, the thing stamped the design onto it. The die part was pretty small, though, not a lot bigger than the ring it stamped out.”

“So you could put the die in your pocket?”

“Or in a small drawer in a large piece of furniture.”

“Having the die would be like having a license to print money, wouldn’t it?”

“It would be like not having a license to print money, just a printing press.”

“That would do me,” Dino said.

21

Stone was at his desk at the crack of ten. Joan had left a list of the bills needing to be paid, and it turned out to be a rather depressing list, since there was not enough cash in his bank account to meet them.

Joan came to his office door. “Good afternoon,” she said archly.

“Don’t start, Joan.”

“You saw what we owe?”

“Yes.”

“And what we have in the bank?”

“Yes. Use your own judgment as to which and how many to pay.”

“Is there any oil in the pipeline?” she asked.

“There is oil in the ground, and as soon as I locate it, there will be an abundance in the pipeline.”

“So much for geology,” she said, then returned to her office.

Stone called Bob Cantor.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Bob, you sound a little down.”

“I guess you could say that.”

“What’s the problem?”

“I can’t go into it.”

“Let me ask you a question: Was the guy you saw at Clarke’s Charlie Crow?”

There was a dead silence.

“Bob?”

“How did you know that?”

“The information came my way in connection with some work I’m doing for a client.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Bob, how else would I be able to guess that? And it was a guess.”

“I only saw him for a minute.”

“And he saw you.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Why didn’t he speak to you?”

“Look, we made a pact a long time ago not to contact each other.”

“Do you think his presence at Clarke’s was just a coincidence?”

“It’s a popular place; a lot of people drink there.”

“Do you think it was a coincidence?”

Cantor sighed. “I don’t know,” he said. “I just didn’t expect him to pop up on my radar.”

“Another of your former Marine buddies has popped up, this time on my radar.”

“Huh?”

“Ab Kramer.”

“Holy shit. How’d you run into
him
?”

“I was having dinner at a restaurant in Litchfield, Connecticut, with Barton Cabot, and he stopped by our table to say hello, then stayed for a drink.”

“Why were you having dinner with the Colonel?”

“At his invitation. I’m trying to help him recover the property he lost when he was, well, mugged, shall we say?”

“How is he?”

“He seems to have recovered himself, except that he can’t remember anything about being beaten up.”

“Do you believe that?”

“I don’t think he would conceal anything from me that would help find his property.”

“The Colonel is a complicated man,” Cantor said.

“You mean he lies a lot?”

“I wouldn’t put it quite that way. Let’s just say that he plays his cards very close to his vest. Always.”

“You know that Kramer has done well on Wall Street?”

“I read the business pages.”

“What do you know about Charlie Crow’s business life?”

“I read Page Six in the
Post
, too.”

“So you know that Charlie seems to have an unscrupulous side to his nature?”

“Charlie Crow was
born
with an unscrupulous side to his nature. When we were in ’Nam, if there were two ways to get something done, he would always choose the crooked way, and he’d always make a profit doing it.”

“Would you say that Charlie has a tendency to hold a grudge?”

“Forever,” Cantor replied.

“So, you think he might still be just a tiny bit peeved about the split in your caper with the gold coins?”

“How’d you know about the gold coins?”

“The Colonel told me.”

“Oh. One of the many reasons I was glad to agree never to contact any of the others again was that I would never again have to listen to Charlie Crow bitch about his cut. If he walked in here right now, the first thing he’d say to me would be ‘Y’know, I got screwed on that deal with the Colonel.’ ”

“Did Charlie have violent tendencies?”

“Shit, we were in a jungle war; we
all
had violent tendencies. That’s why we’re still alive.”

“Would Charlie have trouble letting go of that after reentering civilian life?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. If an argument got heated, Charlie always threw the first punch. Or, more likely, the first kick in the balls.”

“A street fighter, then?”

“He wouldn’t need a street; he was ready to go anytime, anywhere.”

“What about Ab Kramer?”

“Ab was smarter than Charlie and cooler, too. He’d pick his moment to take a swing at somebody, but he’d get around to it, if he was mad enough. He knew how to stay mad but not show it.”

“Did either of them ever kill anybody who wasn’t wearing black pajamas and carrying a Kalashnikov?”

“Let’s not get into that.”

“Let me put it another way: Would Charlie hesitate to kill somebody who made him mad enough?”

“He might; maybe he grew up some over the years.”

“Would Ab?”

“Ab was too smart for that. If he wanted to do more than just throw a punch, he’d find a way to do it so that the other guy never forgot it. I saw him maneuver a guy right into the stockade once. The guy did a year, and when he got out, Ab walked up to him in a bar in Saigon and asked him how he enjoyed his stay. Ab was fearless.”

“Which one of them would be more likely to have stolen the Colonel’s piece of antique furniture?”

“Stone, Charlie Crow might take a broken bottle to somebody who’d crossed him, but he wouldn’t know his ass from antique furniture.”

“Thanks, Bob. I think I get the picture.”

22

Joan buzzed Stone. “Bill Eggers is on line one, and he’s whispering.”

“Why is he whispering?”

“You’ll have to ask him.”

Stone picked up the phone. “Bill?”

“Stone,” Eggers said in a raspy whisper, “get over here.”

“What?”

“
Right now
.” Eggers hung up.

Stone slipped into his coat and stopped at Joan’s desk. “Bill wants me to come over there in a hurry.”

“Why was he whispering?”

“I forgot to ask. See you later.”

Five minutes later, Stone got out of a cab at the Seagram Building on Park Avenue at Fifty-second Street, where the law firm of Woodman & Weld occupied four high floors.

Woodman & Weld was often referred to as the gold standard of New York law firms, with a reputation for high-quality legal services, solid integrity and complete discretion. Every law firm, however, has clients and cases with whom it would prefer not to be publicly associated, and for that reason W&W employed Stone. He and Bill Eggers had been classmates at NYU Law School, and when Stone had been invalided out of the NYPD, Eggers had brought him aboard.

Stone got off the elevator, and the receptionist didn’t even speak, just waved him in the direction of the corner office of the managing partner.

Stone rapped lightly on the door, opened it and stuck his head in. “Good morning?”

“Stone!” Eggers said, rising from his chair. His companion did not rise. “Come in, come in! I want you to meet someone.”

At this, the other man rose. He was of medium height and build, wearing a very good suit but somehow unprepossessing. He was bald, with a fringe of blond hair, and wore rimless spectacles. Stone knew who he was immediately.

“Stone, this is Harlan Deal. Harlan, this is my colleague, Stone Barrington.”

Stone shook Deal’s hand. His grip was firm and cool, but his demeanor was dour. He looked as though he had not slept well for some time. “How do you do, Mr. Deal,” Stone said.

“Hello,” Deal replied. “Please call me Harlan; everybody does.”

What most people called him, Stone reflected, was The Deal. Harlan Deal had inherited a portfolio of grimy real estate in the nether regions of the Bronx and Queens and had turned it into a giant holding company, called Real Deal, with a worldwide reach. It was a great American success story, but Deal, personally, remained low-powered socially. He contributed to good causes, even had his own foundation for that purpose, but he was not high on the dinner-party list of anyone who did not wish to borrow money from him. There were stories of dinner partners who had not heard him speak during a five-course meal.

“Sit down, Stone,” Eggers said. “Harlan has a little problem that I think you might be able to help him with.”

“Well, I’ll certainly try,” Stone replied.

“Heh, heh,” Eggers chortled. “I think you’ll find, Harlan, that Stone’s efforts are of a very high order.”

Stone stared at Eggers. What was he promising this guy? Stone had no clue as to why he was there. “Well, Bill,” he said, “let’s hear about the problem before we start making promises. Perhaps Mr. Deal will tell me about it.”

“Harlan,” Deal replied.

“Of course, Harlan, and please call me Stone.”

“What sort of work do you do, Mr. Barrington?”

“I’m an attorney, of counsel to Woodman and Weld.”

“Of counsel? What does that mean, exactly?”

“I think Bill could explain that better than I.”

Eggers had not been ready for this, but he caught the ball. “Stone is a generalist, where most of our people specialize. That sometimes gives him a better view of the big picture. He is a very, very capable attorney, I assure you.”

“I see,” Deal said, obviously not seeing at all. “And how are you going to help me, Mr. Barrington?”

Stone fixed a benevolent smile on his face. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to help you at all, until you tell me your problem, Mr. Deal.”

“It’s Harlan, please.”

“And please call me Stone.”

“I assure you, Harlan,” Eggers said, “all this will be kept in the closest confidence, under the full force of the attorney-client relationship.”

“I should certainly hope so,” Deal said, but he still made no move to explain his problem. He sighed deeply and finally said, “It’s my wife.”

Stone and Eggers sat silently, hanging on his every word.

“Oh, sorry,” Deal said. “I mean my fiancée. Soon to be my wife.”

“Yes, go on,” Stone said.

“There’s not much to tell,” Deal said.

Stone had that impression. “Perhaps you could tell me the nature of the problem with your fiancée.”

“I hope you understand that this is deeply embarrassing for me,” Deal said.

“Harlan,” Eggers said. “You’re among friends. Please feel free to speak candidly.”

“All right,” Deal said, but then he became silent again, staring out the window of Eggers’s office toward the East River.

Stone and Eggers waited patiently. Stone fought the urge to doze off. He was beginning to understand the reluctance of people who gave dinner parties to invite Harlan Deal.

“Harlan?” Eggers asked, expectantly.

“Yes, Bill?”

“You were about to tell us about the problem with your fiancée.”

“Oh, yes.” But still Deal said nothing.

“Tell me, Harlan,” Stone said, “if I may call you that.”

“Of course. Please call me Harlan, Mr. Barrington.”

“And call me Stone.”

“Of course.”

“Tell me, do you think that your problem with your fiancée might require a legal solution?”

“Well, certainly,” Deal replied. “Why else would I come to my law firm?”

“Of course,” Stone said. “Could you give me some idea of what might be the legal action you consider necessary?”

“Well, I don’t want to sue,” Deal replied. “That would just be all over the papers.”

“
Discretion
is the byword in these cases,” Stone said, although he had no idea what cases he was talking about.