Swimming to Catalina (16 page)
S
tone followed Barbara Tierney down the ramp and out the pontoons to
Paloma.
He found himself aboard a very handsomely furnished motor yacht, quite new, he thought, and judging from the instrument panel on the bridge, very well equipped. “Who owns her?” he asked.
“My friend.”
“And who is he?”
“He doesn’t like his name bandied about,” she replied coolly. “He’s married.”
“Oh. Then I feel even fewer scruples about him.”
“Look,” she said, “I’d offer you a drink, but I feel very uncomfortable having you on the boat. My friend comes and goes at odd hours, and you never can tell…”
“Sure, I understand. How about if we had dinner ashore tonight?”
“I’d like that better,” she said. “Where are you staying?”
“At the Bel-Air Hotel,” he lied.
“I hear it’s very nice; why don’t we have dinner there?”
“Perfect; I’ll book a table. Do you have a car?”
She shook her head. “I use my friend’s when he’s in town, but…”
“Then I’ll pick you up here at seven.”
“Fine; I’ll meet you up by the chandlery, then.”
Stone offered his hand, and she took it, but then she pecked him lightly on the lips. “I’ll look forward to it,” she said.
“Me, too.” He hopped back onto the pontoon and walked toward his car. Once behind the wheel he called Rick Grant. “Hear anything on the prints yet?” he asked.
“I was just about to call you,” Grant said. “The prints belong to a Vincent Mancuso—three arrests, one in a bookmaking operation and two for loan-sharking, the last one eight years ago, no convictions. Those are typically mob crimes, even though he wasn’t in our organized crime index. I’ve started a file on him, though.”
“Have you got a description?”
“He’s forty-six years old, six-one, two-twenty-five, dark hair.”
“Sounds like a lot of guys.”
“I’ll bring you his mug shot the next time we meet.”
“Got a place of employment?”
“He owns—or did, this is a couple of years old—a delicatessen in Hollywood, call Vinnie’s. It’s on the Sunset Strip.” He gave Stone the address.
“Got it. I have another request.”
“Shoot.”
“Can you check on the registration of a boat for me?”
“Yeah, but it’ll probably take a day or two. We don’t have access to that database from here; I’ll have to go through the Coast Guard.”
“The boat’s name is
Paloma,
out of Avalon; she’s a motor vessel of about forty feet. I’d appreciate it if you’d ask them to put a rush on it. Right now, I don’t know if I’m chasing a wild goose.”
“I’ll do the best I can.”
“I guess I’ll change hotels, too, given that Vincent Mancuso is hanging around my room at Le Parc.”
“Where you going?”
“The Bel-Air, if they’ve got a room. I’ll register under Jack Smithwick.”
“You’re moving up in the world.”
“Well, at least I’m doing it with somebody else’s money!”
“That’s the best way. I’ll call you on the portable number.”
Stone hung up, started the car, and drove up to Sunset Boulevard. He found Vinnie’s Delicatessen, parked, went in, and looked around. It was still lunchtime, but the place wasn’t very busy, and he could see why. It seemed pretty greasy and not very inviting. He ordered a diet Coke to take away, and as he was paying, two hoodish-looking men walked in and, without slowing down, went behind the counter and through a door marked
EMPLOYEES ONLY.
Vinnie was probably running a book back there, Stone thought.
He left, tossed the soda into a wastebasket, got back into his car, and drove to his hotel. On the way, he called the Bel-Air and booked a small suite. Back at Le Parc he went to the front desk and laid a thousand dollars on the desk. “I want to extend for a few nights,” he said to the desk clerk.
“Of course, Mr. Smith,” the man said, making the money disappear.
“I’m going to be in and out, so tell the maid not to worry if my luggage isn’t there.”
“No problem. Oh, a Miss Betty Southard called.”
Stone went back to his suite and called Betty.
“Dinner tonight?” she asked.
“Can’t. How about tomorrow?”
“Okay.”
“Anything happen I should know about?”
“No. Vance didn’t come into the office. He sometimes stays home if he’s not shooting, so it’s been very quiet.”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, then.” He hung up, packed his bags, and carried them down to the garage. Fifteen minutes later, he was checking into the Bel-Air.
“Welcome back, Mr. Barrington,” the woman behind the desk said.
“Ah, for personal reasons, I’d like to be known as Jack Smithwick while I’m here.”
“Of course, if you like.”
“Would you let the telephone operators know about that?”
“Surely.”
“And if anyone calls and asks for Barrington, deny all knowledge.”
“I understand,” she said. “Many of our guests travel incognito at one time or another.”
Stone followed the bellman to his suite and sent his clothes out to be pressed. He checked in with his secretary and gave her his new name and address.
“What if Vance Calder calls again?” she asked.
“Tell him I went out to the Hamptons for a few days,
but you expect to hear from me. You just love talking to Vance Calder, don’t you?”
“Well…” She suppressed a giggle.
He hung up and reflected on why he was playing that game with Vance. If some goombah was searching his hotel suite, then
somebody
knew he was still in L.A., and that somebody might tell Vance. The hotel change was probably a good idea, as long as he kept the suite at Le Parc. He was tired of people he didn’t know knowing where he was; it was becoming extremely irritating.
He was at the Marina Del Rey chandlery at seven sharp, and Barbara Tierney was only ten minutes late.
“I’m sorry you had to drive all the way down here to get me,” she said. “I’d have been glad to drive, if my friend’s car had been here.”
“What does your friend drive?”
“A Porsche.”
A Porsche? Shit. Was this the wrong girl? “Well, if your friend were here we wouldn’t be having dinner, would we?”
“Not necessarily,” she said. “I’m pretty much a free woman.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“I try to avoid men who make demands; I get irritable when they do that.”
“I’ll do my best not to irritate you,” Stone said. He turned into Stone Canyon.
“Do you always stay at the Bel-Air?”
“Always; it’s my home away from home.”
They pulled into the hotel parking lot, gave the attendant the car, and walked over the bridge leading to the hotel. Below them swans dozed in a pretty stream.
“You certainly have good taste in hotels,” Barbara said.
Stone took her hand. “I have good taste in dinner companions, too.”
“Oooh, you should have been an actor,” she said.
“You’re not the first to tell me that,” Stone replied.
T
hey were shown to a banquette in a corner of the large dining room, and their drink order was taken. Stone was hungry, and he began looking at the menu.
“May I take your order, Mr. Smithwick?” a waiter asked.
It took Stone a moment to react. “Give us a minute, will you? And may I have a wine list?”
“The smoked salmon sounds good,” Barbara said, then she made a little noise.
Stone turned toward her. “What?”
“My God,” she half-whispered, “look who just came in.”
Stone followed her gaze to the center of the dining room. Vance Calder and a party of six were being seated at a round table.
“I’ve never seen him in person, have you?”
Stone raised the wine list to cover his face. “Well, he doesn’t turn me on as much as he does you.” He
lowered the list enough to allow him to see Vance’s party, and things got worse. Betty Southard was sitting next to him. “Oh, Jesus,” he murmured under his breath.
“What?”
“Nothing; I was just trying to pronounce the name of this wine. I think I’ve read about it somewhere.” He was trapped, within plain view of both Vance and Betty. He did not need this.
“I think I’ll go and say hello to him,” Barbara said.
“What? Who?”
“Vance Calder.”
“I don’t think you should do that, Barbara.”
“Why not?”
“The hotel has a lot of celebrity customers, and they’re very protective of them.”
“Oh, it’ll be all right,” she said, pushing the table away. “We have a mutual friend.” She got up and started toward Vance’s table before Stone could stop her.
Stone watched as Barbara made her way between the tables and came to rest at Vance’s elbow. Vance looked up at her. The headwaiter began to move. Barbara spoke. Then, to Stone’s amazement, Vance stood up, shook her hand, and started to introduce her to the rest of his party. All eyes were riveted on the beautiful brunette. It was now or never, Stone thought. He pushed away the table, rose, and walked quickly through the dining room, staying as far away as possible from Vance’s table, hoping to God that no one there looked away from Barbara. Once in the entrance hall between the bar and the restaurant, he chanced a look back into the dining room. Barbara still held their attention.
Stone signaled to the headwaiter. “I’m not feeling very well,” he said. “Would you please ask my dinner companion, Miss Tierney, to phone me in my suite?”
“Of course, Mr. Smithwick,” the man said. “I hope you feel better.”
“Thank you,” Stone said and got out of the restaurant, taking care not to pass the window on the way to his suite. The phone was ringing as he walked in. “Hello?”
“Jack? Are you all right?”
“Oh, yes, Barbara; I’m so sorry I had to leave. It must have been something I ate at lunch.”
“We had the same thing for lunch, and I’m all right,” she said.
“I’ve been this way a couple of days. Look, would you mind if we had dinner in my suite? If you’re uncomfortable with that I’d be glad to order a car to take you back to the marina, but I do think I should stick close to home this evening.”
“All right,” she said. “How do I find it?”
Stone gave her directions, then hung up, took off his jacket, left the door ajar, and went into the bathroom.
“Jack?” she called from the door.
“Come on in; I won’t be a minute.” He threw some water on his face, then grabbed a towel and walked out, mopping his face dry. “I’m so sorry; I’m all right now, I think.” He motioned to the sofa. “Have a seat.” He handed her a menu. “Would you like a drink?”
“Scotch on the rocks, please,” she replied, and started to look at the menu.
Stone poured her a drink and fixed himself a bourbon.
“Maybe you shouldn’t drink,” she said.
“It’ll be all right.” he replied.
“I’ll have the smoked salmon and the chicken breast,” she said.
Stone phoned in their order and sat down beside her. “So, did Vance Calder remember you?”
“He remembered my friend,” she said. “They do some business together.”
“What business is he in?”
“Finance.”
“What sort of finance?”
“I’m not sure exactly, but he deals in large sums of money. He’s in Mexico right now.”
“Ah.”
“Have you ever been to Mexico?”
“No, and with the state of my innards, I’m not sure I should.”
She laughed and gave him a little kiss. “You know, I think I prefer having dinner here instead of in the restaurant.”
Stone kissed her back. “So do I.”
Sometime after midnight, Stone crept from the bed and tiptoed into the sitting room, leaving Barbara sound asleep. He found her handbag, opened it, and extracted her wallet. Standing next to the window, he used an outside light to illuminate the contents. Her name was really Barbara Tierney, an Illinois driver’s license testified to that, and she really was an actress, according to her Screen Actors Guild card. He replaced the wallet and rummaged around in the bag for a moment longer, but found nothing else of interest, just the usual female detritus. He put the bag back where he’d found it and crept back into bed. Barbara rolled over and reached for him.
“More,” she said.
“Absolutely,” he replied.
* * *
Stone was awakened by the doorbell, and Barbara called out that she’d get it. He fell back into bed. A moment later, she pushed a rolling table into the room.
“I ordered you a big breakfast,” she said.
“Thanks,” he replied, sitting up and arranging pillows. He tucked into bacon and eggs, a luxury he rarely allowed himself “First bacon cheeseburgers, now bacon and eggs,” he said. “If I hang around you long enough I’ll have a coronary.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, eating her own breakfast. “You seem in pretty good shape to me.”
“That’s because I lead an abstemious life, when I’m not with you.”
She threw back her head and hooted. “I love it!” she cried. “You were a virgin before I came along, right?”
“Absolutely. You’ve taught me everything I know.”
She set down her plate and took his away. “Well, I must be one hell of a teacher,” she giggled.
“You certainly are.”
“Now, let’s see, what shall we learn this morning, class?”
“Entirely up to you, ma’am.”
“Well, we’ve already tried positions one, two, and three.”
“I don’t think I remember position three,” he said.
“I can see that you learn only by repetition.”
“That’s always the best way, isn’t it?”
“Well, it’s
one
way.”
“Not the best way?”
“Sometimes, my dear, you have to improvise.”
“Improvise? How does one do that?”
“Like this,” she said, “for starters.”
“That’s a very nice starter. What’s the main course.”
“You’re not ready for the main course.”
“I think I’m getting there.”
“I think you are, too!” she cried. “What a good student!”
“I do my best,” he said.
“You’d better, or you’ll have to repeat the course.”
“Oh, God,” Stone moaned, “I don’t think I could repeat the course.”
“We’ll see,” she said.
