Naked Greed (30 page)

Stone sat between Viv and Hank. Viv leaned over and said, “The next time Dino describes a woman as a camel, I’ll know what he means.”

Stone laughed. He turned to Hank. “We were talking about you—don’t worry, it was nice.”

“Are you married?” Hank asked.

“Widowed. What about you?”

“Divorced. I’m sorry for your loss. Was your wife ill for long?”

“She died from a gunshot wound—a repelled suitor.”

“Any children?”

“A grown son, but he was raised mostly by his mother and stepfather. We didn’t become close until after the gentleman’s death and my reacquaintance with his mother.”

“Sounds complicated.”

“It is. I’ll explain it to you when we have more time.”

“What does your son do?”

“He’s a film director and producer.”

“Not Peter Barrington.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve seen a couple of his films. He’s very talented.”

“He and Dino’s son, Ben, are partners in a production company based at Centurion Studios, in L.A.”

“I’d like to meet him sometime. I’m interested in film—or rather, film people—as an investment opportunity.”

“Then Peter would be a waste of your time. His stepfather was the actor Vance Calder, and as a result, Peter has a large inheritance and is a major stockholder in Centurion. He’s probably a freer agent than anybody in Hollywood.”

“Then perhaps I should meet him as a prospective investment client.”

“I’m afraid that wouldn’t be a good use of your time, either. Peter is very well advised on all fronts, and he doesn’t have much personal interest in finance, except with regard to film.”

“It sounds as if the Barrington men are impervious.”

“This Barrington certainly isn’t.”

She smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind. Where do you suggest I look for an apartment?”

“If you’re into hip or cool or whatever the latest thing is these days, go downtown. If not, the Upper East Side might be more comfortable for you. How much space do you need?”

“Well, as a single girl, not so much, but as a businesswoman, quite a lot. I expect to do some entertaining.”

“I’ll give you the names of a couple of brokers when we meet again.”

“And when would that be?”

“It can’t come soon enough for me. How about tomorrow night?”

“Love to.”

“Come to dinner at my house, then. I’ll cook something for us.”

“Are you a good cook?”

“I am. I have a repertoire of three or four dishes, and I do those well. Beyond that I’m just a diner and a chooser of wines.” He slipped a card into her hand. “Seven o’clock?”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

“As will I.”

“You’re an interesting man, Stone.”

“How would you know that? We’ve just met—you know only that I’m widowed, have a son, and cook a few dishes.”

“I’m not without my sources. I also know that you’re a retired policeman, that you fly your own airplane, and that your mother was a well-known painter. I expect you know a good deal less about me.”

“You’re quite right. Until this afternoon I didn’t know you existed, and then I had to deal with some misinformation.”

“Misinformation?”

“From Dino, but I’m accustomed to that. However, what I’ve seen and heard impresses me and makes me want to know more.”

“Are you interested in investments, then?”

“Not very much.”

“Then what does interest you?”

“That remains to be seen, starting tomorrow evening.”

“How shall I dress?”

“Comfortably.”

The dinner came to an end, and Stone thanked his host and hostess. He had met Helen Hasker only in passing, but he liked her.

“May I give you a lift somewhere?” Stone asked Hank.

“I’m at the Waldorf,” she said.

“That’s on my way.”

They followed the Bacchettis down the hall to the elevators.

When the car came, the Bacchettis got on, then Dino raised a hand and said, “Take the next one,” and the door closed.

“Does he think we want to be alone?” Hank asked.

“I don’t think so. Something is going on that we’re not privy to.” The next car came, and they got on.

“Well, what will we do on the ride down?” she asked.

Stone kissed her. “Not as much as I’d like to do.”

Then the elevator reached the ground floor, and all hell broke loose.

Ryan was getting nervous. He had now spotted a second likely cop at the dining room door.

“What’s the matter?” Sylvia asked.

“I’m not sure,” Ryan replied, “but if anything happens, get the hell out of here and don’t look back.”

“Gotcha,” she said.

The check came, and Ryan counted out the hundreds and a generous tip. He checked the doorway again and didn’t like the people he saw. “This might be a good time for you to go to the ladies’,” he said to Sylvia. “It’s down the hallway to your left. So is the kitchen door.”

“Good luck,” she said. “If you make it, give a girl a call.”

“Don’t go back to the suite.”

“There’s nothing there that I can’t walk away from.”

“Take care of yourself, Sylvia. It was fun.”

“It sure was.” She patted her lips with a napkin, got up, picked up her purse from the floor between them, and made her way unhurriedly toward the restrooms. As she stepped out of sight of the dining room door she detoured through a door marked
KITCHEN EMPLOYEES ONLY
.

Inside, she stopped a waiter. “Which way out?”

“Either back the way you came, or if you want Fifty-sixth Street, go to the end of the room and take your first left.”

“Thanks, sweetie,” she said, patting his cheek.

“Rough evening?” he asked.

“Not yet,” she replied, and went on her way.

—

R
yan gave her a couple of minutes’ head start, then he reached across his body under his coat and yanked the 9mm from its holster. As he stood up he put the weapon into his front right pocket but kept his hand on it. He walked unhurriedly toward the door, and as he approached he could see into the lobby. An elevator door opened, and Dino Bacchetti stepped out, his hand holding his jacket back to reveal a firearm.

The sight of Bacchetti caused a wave of anger to rise in Ryan’s body. He raised his arm, took aim for a tiny moment, and fired.

—

A
s Stone’s elevator door opened he saw Dino with his back to him, his right arm sweeping back his jacket to free up his weapon. As he did, a gunshot split the air, and Dino’s left shoulder jerked back. Simultaneously, he raised his hand and fired back. Stone pushed Hank to the rear wall of the elevator car and pressed her there with his body.

“This is the first time I’ve done this to gunfire,” she said.

“Don’t move.”

“Who’s moving? I’m enjoying myself.”

—

A
t the sound of the first shot, Sylvia began running flat-out toward the rear exit from the kitchen. It was at least a hundred feet and she brushed past a waiter, dumping a tray of dirty dishes onto the floor with a crash. “Out of my way!” she yelled to a busboy with a tray of glasses, and he obeyed just in time to save his burden.

Sylvia hit the door running and burst out of the building onto East Fifty-sixth Street, a block uptown from the hotel’s entrance. A few yards ahead a couple were hailing a cab, and as the man opened the door for his companion, Sylvia dived into the rear seat and slammed the door behind her.

“Hey!” the man outside the door yelled.

She retrieved a fifty from her bra and thrust it at the driver. “The Waldorf-Astoria,” she said.

The driver took the fifty. “Yes, ma’am!” Then he stepped on it.

—

S
tone pressed his body against Hank. “Not yet,” he said. He waited for more gunfire, and when all he heard was yelling, he released her and they moved out of the elevator. Dino was standing, his gun in his hand, watching as half a dozen detectives poured into the dining room.

Stone put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right, buddy?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Dino said, “but Ryan isn’t.” He looked at his left shoulder, where the padding from his jacket had been exposed. “He fucked up a brand-new suit, though.”

“As long as you’re okay.”

“Get Hank out of here, will you? She doesn’t need to be questioned. Viv will be all right with me.”

Stone turned to see Viv, still in the elevator, holding the door open. “He’s okay,” he said. Then he turned to Hank. “Let’s go, and right now.” He took her arm and steered her toward the front door of the hotel. As they emerged, the doorman signaled for the first in a line of cabs to move up. They got in, and Stone said, “The Waldorf-Astoria.” The driver made a U-turn and then a right on Park Avenue.

“What happened back there?” Hank asked.

“Somebody who had it in for both Dino and me apparently took a shot at Dino, and that was not to the perpetrator’s benefit. Are you all right?”

“I think so,” she replied, “but I don’t think I want to be alone for the next few hours.”

“Then we mustn’t let that happen,” Stone said.

The taxi came to a halt in front of the Waldorf, and as Stone and Hank got out, a buxom woman showing a good deal of cleavage took their place in the cab.

—

L
aGuardia,” Sylvia said to the driver. “Delta.” She looked at her watch: she had an hour and forty minutes to make the last flight to Charleston, and she didn’t have any luggage to check, so she would have some time to kill at the airport.

She rummaged in her purse for some money to pay the driver when they arrived, and she felt something that hadn’t been there before. She removed a jotter—a small leather pad that held a few sheets of writing paper—and read what was written there.

Baby, I don’t think I’m going to make it. Here’s my address and the combination to my safe. Clean it out for me.

She looked at the address. “Driver,” she said, “change of plan: we’re going to New Jersey first, then to the airport.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE

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