Kisser (23 page)

“It’s on the way uptown as we speak.”

“You think he has any money?”

“Not enough for us to bother with,” Larsen said.

41

STONE HAD MADE IT HOME
and was at his desk when Joan buzzed him.

“A man to see you. He says he’s from Sig Larsen,” Joan said on the intercom.

“Send him in,” Stone replied.

The man did not look like someone from a messenger service; he looked like someone from the Russian mob, tall and thick. “Good morning,” he said in unaccented English. He handed Stone an envelope. “Mr. Larsen says you can read this, but you can’t copy it; I have to take it back with me.”

“Would you like some coffee?” Stone asked.

“Yes, thank you.” The man took the offered chair. “Black, please.”

Stone buzzed Joan and asked for a large coffee, and she brought it in.

The proposal was forty-one pages long, and Stone began to read every line.

The man finished his coffee and began to look restless.

Stone was on page eight.

“Could I use a restroom?” the man asked.

“Right over there,” Stone said, pointing to a door.

The man got up, went to the toilet, and closed the door.

Stone picked up the proposal and ran down the hall to Joan’s office. She watched incredulously while he shoved the stack of papers into the Xerox machine and pressed the button. “How many pages a minute does this thing copy?”

“I don’t know, maybe twenty-five.”

Stone tapped his foot impatiently, and when the last copy came out he grabbed the original and ran back to his office. He had just sat down when the man let himself out of the toilet.

“Sorry this is taking so long,” Stone said.

“Take your time,” the man replied.

Stone began reading faster, then scanning. Finally, he restacked the sheets and handed them to the man. “Tell Sig thanks,” he said.

The man returned the pages to their envelope and left.

Stone called Mitzi.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Stone. Sig sent over his proposal, and I read it.”

“What was it like?”

“Too good to be true. There is no corporation or company mentioned, no names of the principals, and no audited balance sheet.”

“A scam, then?”

“Of course, what did you expect?”

“And you weren’t allowed to copy it?”

“I wasn’t allowed, but I copied it anyway, while the messenger was in the john.”

“Oh, good. Will you fax it to the U.S. Attorney’s office?”

“No, but I’ll give it to you, and you can fax it to her without mentioning my name in any context.”

“Is it really that bad between you and her?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t want to find out.”

“Okay, here’s the fax number at the apartment.” She gave it to him. “Dinner tonight?”

“Can’t tonight.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Let me call you; I’m still in recovery.”

She laughed. “Poor baby.”

“Bye-bye,” Stone said. He hung up, gave Joan the fax number, and asked her to send the document to Mitzi.

“Sure,” Joan said. “Oh, a delivery arrived for you.”

“Bring it in.”

Joan came in holding a crystal vase containing at least two dozen red roses. “Here’s the card,” she said, then stood waiting while he read it.

With fond memories and anticipation

The card didn’t need a signature; Stone immediately recognized Dolce’s bold, slanted handwriting.

“Who?” Joan asked.

“Will you kindly send these to the nearest hospital or old folks’ home?” Stone said.

“I thought so,” Joan said. “I saw her across the street yesterday afternoon, looking as if she was trying to decide whether to come over here.”

Stone was further alarmed. “Was she alone?”

“There was a large man with her.”

“Her keeper,” Stone said. “Eduardo is allowing her out of the house for shopping trips.”

“Oh, then she must be a lot better,” Joan said.

“Don’t you believe it,” Stone replied. “I saw the look in her eyes: She’s still mad dog crazy.”

Joan looked worried. “Oh, God, what should I do if I see her out there again?”

Stone thought about that. “I don’t know.”

“Well, thanks, that’s very helpful. Should I call the cops or just shoot her?”

“Neither of those options works for me,” Stone said. “Are you on friendly terms with Eduardo’s secretary?”

“Well, I imagine her as some sort of Sicilian bat, hanging upside down in his house, but she’s civil, in an abrupt sort of way.”

“Call her and tell her you didn’t want to mention this to me, but Dolce is hanging around my house.”

“That’s taking yourself out of it very nicely,” she said.

“Look, I do
not
want to call Eduardo and tell him his lunatic daughter is stalking me.”

“No, you want me to do it.”

“No, just mention it to his secretary in the terms I outlined, and I’m sure word will get to Eduardo in the proper manner.”

“You know I have a .45 in my desk drawer, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course I know it. Have I ever mentioned to you the amount of paperwork and the number of court appearances required to deal with charges of murder and possessing an illegal weapon?”

“It’s not illegal; you got me a license, remember? I can even carry it around.”

“Getting you that license the way I got it is almost as difficult to deal with as a murder charge,” Stone said. “So for God’s sake, don’t shoot Dolce—or anybody else.”

“I’ll try not to,” Joan said, and flounced out.

“And don’t flounce!” Stone called after her.

Joan buzzed again. “Bob Cantor on one.”

“Hello, Bob, what’s up?”

“I’ll tell you what’s down,” Bob said, “the spirits of the Leahy boys.”

“What’s the problem?”

“They’re bored stiff. They’re saying I promised they could shoot somebody, but there’s nobody there.”

“Gee, I’m sorry they’re not being entertained by shooting people. You’d think they would be happy they’re not being shot
at
.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“All right, tell them to drop the surveillance on Carrie, and tell them to explain carefully to her that they think there’s no longer any danger.”

“Oh, thank you!” Bob said with a faked sob. “Bye-bye.” He hung up.

Stone tried to think of something to do.

42

STONE WAS HAVING A SANDWICH
in the kitchen when the phone rang. Joan was at lunch, so he picked it up. “Stone Barrington.”

“It’s Tiffany Baldwin, Stone,” said the U.S. Attorney for the Southern District of New York.

“Hello, Tiff,” he said warily. “I didn’t know you were speaking to me.”

“Well, you made up for everything by sending me this very nice fax this morning.”

How the hell did she know it came from him? “Which fax was that?”

“The one about this character, Sig Larsen.”

“Oh, that one.”

“I know you sent it to the NYPD first, but when I got it, it still had your imprint at the top from your fax machine.”

“Oh.”

“This is a very interesting situation,” she said.

“Is it?”

“Yes, it’s the first I’ve heard of it.”

“I thought the NYPD had mentioned Larsen’s name to you.”

“Maybe to a minion, but it didn’t float up to my desk until your fax came in.”

“I’m happy to be of help.”

“Have you actually met this Larsen?”

“Yes, I have.”

“What did you think of him?”

“A very slick con man, I thought.”

“And he’s trying to fleece your client?”

Stone didn’t want to pour out everything about Mitzi’s undercover work; he didn’t know if she had heard about that. “In a manner of speaking,” he said.

“I assume it’s a she.”

“I don’t know why you assume that, but she is a she.”

“It’s always a she with you, isn’t it, Stone?”

“Sig Larsen isn’t a she.”

“And how did you happen across Mr. Larsen?”

“I was looking into an associate of his for a client, when he turned up.”

“And who is his associate?”

“A so-called artist named Derek Sharpe.”

“I’ve heard of him. Is he complicit in this scam?”

“He introduced me to Larsen, and he was present when Larsen first mentioned this investment.”

“You think Sharpe knows it’s a scam?”

“Based on what I’ve seen and heard of him, I’m prepared to believe the worst about Mr. Sharpe.”

“So, I should investigate them both?”

“Tiff, I can’t tell you what to investigate; if you like Larsen and Sharpe, go get ’em. I’d be happy to see them both off the street for an extended period.”

“You mean your client would be happy?”

“Him, too.”

“I thought it was a she.”

“There’s a he and a she; I don’t believe they’ve met.”

“Tell me about the she.”

“She’s from the south, new in the city, wealthy, and Larsen and Sharpe must think she’s vulnerable.”

“Is she?”

“Not really.”

“Then you’re giving her good advice.”

“I try.”

“What is her name?”

“I can’t divulge that without her permission.”

“Then get her permission.”

“Next time I speak to her I’ll ask her if she’d like to be an undercover agent for the federal government.”

“You can be smoother than that, Stone.”

“I find that when someone wants to embroil my client in what might be a dangerous situation it’s better to be blunt about what’s wanted of her.”

“All right, be blunt with her, but do it quick, all right?”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Dinner sometime, Stone? Without the cameras, I mean.”

“Tiff, I tried to explain that the presence of cameras in my bedroom was unknown to me, but you wouldn’t listen.”

“My investigation of the event confirmed your claim of innocence, if not
total
innocence.”

“I’m relieved to hear it.”

“We had some good times,” she said. “It might be fun to revisit them.”

“Right now, Tiff, I’m embroiled in a number of things that are creating great pressures on my time. Maybe in a few weeks.” She might forget about it in a few weeks.

“I’ll look forward to it,” Tiffany said. “Good-bye.”

Stone hung up and dialed Mitzi’s cell phone.

“Hello?”

“I’ve just had a phone call from the U.S. Attorney,” he said.

“Oh?”

“Don’t play innocent with me. You failed to remove my name from that prospectus before you faxed it to her.”

“I asked Brian to do that,” she said. “I’m sorry, if he didn’t.”

“I might have known,” Stone said. “Ms. Baldwin would like you to be an undercover agent for her in the pursuit of Sig Larsen. What shall I tell her?”

“Does she know I’m a cop?”

“No.”

“I’d better speak to Brian about this, then.”

“Do it now; Tiffany is an impatient woman.”

“You should know,” Mitzi said, with a vocal leer. “I’ll get back to you.” She hung up.

Stone went back to his sandwich, which had grown cold. He nuked it for a few seconds, then started to eat again. The phone rang.

“Stone Barrington.”

“It’s Brian Doyle, your commanding officer.”

“Go fuck yourself, commander.”

“I hear you’ve got the U.S. Attorney trying to poach one of my people.”

“You sent her the fucking prospectus without taking my name off it, as requested. That’s why she called me.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Nothing. I refused her to give her my client’s—Mitzi’s—name. She wants to use her to get at Larsen.”

“I’m using her to get at Sharpe.”

“Look, if you’d shown some interest in busting Larsen, this wouldn’t have happened. Trust me, Tiffany Baldwin is going to gnaw away at this case until she knows everything, so my advice to you is to call her right now and offer to share the fruits of your investigation and the use of your undercover officer in making a federal case against Larsen. Maybe Sharpe, too. It’s an easier way for you to get him off the street.”

“But without the credit.”