Стюарт Вудс - Standup Guy

“Good. I should be home around six. Did you bring a dinner jacket, as requested?”

“I did.”

“Then we’ll be having dinner at the home of friends at eight. Try and get a nap in this afternoon, so you can stay on your feet.”

“I’ll do that.”

They both hung up.

• • •

Throckmorton was already seated at a table in the small dining room of the Grenadier when Stone arrived. They shook hands, and Stone ordered half a pint of bitter ale.

“You drink our stuff, do you?” the ex-cop asked.

“Helps me acclimate,” Stone replied.

“I want to thank you for recommending me to Mrs. Tweed.”

“You’re very welcome, and thank you for solving her problem so swiftly.”

“It was our Russian friends, in Paris, stealing her designs,” Throckmorton said. “I understand you’ve had some dealings with them in the States.”

“I’m afraid that’s correct,” Stone said. “And I hope I’ve heard the last of them.”

“One can hope. From what I hear, you have new friends to play with, in New York.”

“What do you hear?”

“Some fellow named Buono?”

“You have excellent hearing.”

“I had occasion to speak to your friend Dino. Good job, his getting the big promotion to chief of detectives.”

“Yes. I believe he’s enjoying it. Did he call you?”

“T’other way ’round. I called him to get your number. When I called your office, your secretary wouldn’t give it to me.”

“I’m sorry about that, Evelyn. Joan is a tough gatekeeper.”

They ordered lunch from a short menu.

“How long will you be in London?”

“A few days.”

“Dino wanted you out of town, it seems.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not sure you’re much better off over here,” Throckmorton said.

“And why would that be?” Stone asked.

“During my investigation of Mrs. Tweed’s problem, I had occasion to spend a day in Paris, and I visited a well-placed acquaintance in the Prefect of Police. Your name came up.”

“I’m surprised to hear that,” Stone said.

“You were there last year and had some dealings with them, I believe.”

“That’s true.”

“My acquaintance there is leading an investigation of Russian Mob elements operating in Paris, and as a result, did some wiretapping. Your name was being bandied about as being connected to the death of a man named Majorov, one of their own.”

“I’m extremely sorry to hear that,” Stone said. “My name being bandied about, I mean. Do you have any further information?”

“Just that these fellows seem to blame you, somehow. There were no further details.”

“Majorov was in Los Angeles, trying to force me to let him into the hotel business that I’m involved with out there. I read of his death in the New York Times . A heart attack aboard his private jet, I believe, Moscow. How could they possibly think I was involved?”

“Apparently, they believe his heart attack was instigated.”

“And they believe I instigated it?”

“Apparently. Or that you instigated the instigator.”

“Good God!” Never mind that it was true; the Russians weren’t supposed to expect it.

“Well, yes. I think you should be on your guard while you’re on this side of the Pond.”

“I’m unarmed on this side of the Pond,” Stone said.

“And you will have to remain so. See those two gentlemen in the bar? Blue suits, white socks?”

Stone looked over his shoulder. “Yes.”

“They are not unarmed, and one or more of their number will be around while you’re here. They are the first staffers of my new investigative service, which I have started with the proceeds of my work for Mrs. Tweed. They are here with my compliments.”

“Thank you, Evelyn. I hope they won’t turn out to be necessary.”

“In my experience, the Russians have long memories, extending over generations. Once crossed, they remain crossed.”

“What an uplifting thought,” Stone said, glancing at his watch. “I’ve got to run.”

“My men, Derek and Charles, will drive you. Good day, Stone.”

32

The car belonging to Derek and Charles was an old London taxicab with the taxi sign removed. “Is this a legal vehicle?” Stone asked.

“Perfectly legal,” Derek replied. “Why do you ask? Are you uncomfortable?”

“No. In fact, I’m more comfortable than I would be in most cars. You seem to have rebuilt the seats.”

“We’ve re-engined it, too,” Charles said. “It’s now wearing a lightweight, twin-turbocharged V8, from an old Porsche 928 wreck, that puts out about 425 British horsepower.” He floored the cab for emphasis, and Stone was snapped back into his seat. He fumbled for the seat belt and fastened it.

“Zero to sixty in about five-point-six seconds,” Derek said. “In time we’ll trim another second off that, then we’ll be in Ferrari territory.”

“I hope you’ve redone the suspension as well,” Stone said. “These things have a high center of gravity, don’t they?”

“Fully independent, roll bars, the works,” Charles said. “And the COG is much lower than you’d think.” They took a corner faster than Stone would have believed possible without tipping over the big black thing, and shortly, they arrived back at the Holland Park house.

“One of us will keep an eye outside, the other will come in with you, if that’s all right.”

“Perfectly all right with me,” Stone said. He used the key Emma had given him to let himself in.

“Hello, down there?” Emma called from upstairs.

“You’ll be all right down here,” Stone said to Derek, then he went upstairs, to find Emma at her dressing table, her hair pinned back, applying her makeup. She was dressed only in a bra and panties.

“How was your lunch with Throckmorton?” she asked, as he kissed her on the back of the neck.

“Charming,” Stone said. “The DCI has concerns about the Russians who were stealing your designs.”

“He thinks they have designs on me?”

“No, designs on me, and not fashionable ones. He’s supplied us with a pair of his former police colleagues to watch over us, and they’ve brought along a very comfortable refurbished taxi.”

“Well, at least we’ll blend in with the traffic.”

“You’re taking this better than I thought you would,” Stone said.

“Oh, Throckmorton explained the facts of life to me—about the Russians—when I hired him. I’ve no problem with armed guards, have you?”

“My only problem is with the necessity of having them,” Stone replied. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll change.” He got into his dinner clothes, tied his black bow tie, filled his pockets with the usual detritus, and started downstairs. “I’ll wait for you in the study,” he said.

“Righto. Down in half an hour.”

He went into the study, found the ice machine, and poured himself a Knob Creek, which Emma had thoughtfully provided. He had just eased into a soft chair when his cell phone rang.

“Hello?”

“It’s Dino.”

“Hey, pal, how are you?”

“I’m okay. How’s Hank?”

“She’s in New York, remember? I’m in London.”

“Then where is she? My people showed up at eight yesterday morning to drive her to work, but she wasn’t there.”

“That’s because I put her into the car at seven-thirty. Then I was on the way to the airport with Joan.”

“That would explain why there was nobody home when my guys arrived at eight.”

“You keep saying eight, but they were there early, and I put Hank into their car.”

“What kind of car?”

“The usual, a dark Crown Vic.”

“Stone, the department got rid of the last Crown Vic a couple of years ago. Everything is new since then.”