Стюарт Вудс - Standup Guy

“The trunk opened, and I was hustled into the house, untied, and the blindfold came off. There were groceries brought from the car, and I was told to cook.”

“What were the sleeping arrangements?” Stone asked.

“I know you saw the double bed—that’s where we slept. I know the guy well, I knew what he wanted, and I decided to give it to him. It made life more bearable, if it wasn’t hostile all the time. If I hadn’t give in to him, I would have been tied up and blindfolded again, and I didn’t want that.”

“Did anyone else visit the house?”

“No, there were just the two of us. He got some phone calls, and I talked to you twice.”

“What did you do with your time?”

“There was a TV, with a satellite dish, and some magazines. We fucked a lot.”

Stone winced. “Were you ever left alone there?”

“Not until today. I thought about running, but I had no idea where we were. I don’t know now , come to that. I never saw a soul, not even on the lake. It was starting to get late in the day, and I didn’t want to try the woods or the road in the dark. I thought he’d be back any minute.”

“You’re in the lower left-hand corner of Connecticut,” Dino said.

At the store in New Fairfield, Stone and Dino got out of the car and went to Sparks. “Buono is gone,” he said. “He probably saw your vehicles before we got here, then took off.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“You could issue an APB on the silver Mercedes,” Dino said. “But Buono is either halfway to New York by now, or to someplace else.”

“Okay,” Sparks said. “You got the girl?”

“We’ll take her back with us,” Stone said.

“I wouldn’t let her go home without a police detail on her.”

“We’ll go to my place,” Stone said.

Everyone was quiet on the drive back to the city. Dino sat up front, and Stone and Hank were in the backseat. She put her head on his shoulder and seemed to sleep, so he didn’t question her further.

As they approached Stone’s house, Dino asked, “Do you want some cops here?”

“I don’t think so,” Stone replied. “He’ll probably think we have them anyway, and he can’t get into the house.”

Hank stirred. “Where are we?”

“Almost to my house,” Stone said. “You’re staying with me.”

“I need some clothes,” Hank said. “All I’ve got is what I’m wearing. He had bathrobes in the house, so I was able to wash things.”

“You’re about Joan’s size,” Stone said. “Taller, but she’ll have something you can wear.”

“All right.”

“Dino, you want to come in? Helene can fix us some dinner.”

“Nah, I’d better get home to Viv.”

Dino’s driver had a look around before Stone and Hank got out of the car. Stone opened the door to a darkened house and closed the door behind them. Then he tripped over something soft and fell. Hank found a light switch, and Stone was sitting on the floor in the foyer, next to two fat leaf bags.

“What’s that?” Hank asked.

“Five million dollars,” Stone replied.

“Onofrio seemed to be expecting seven or eight.”

“Five million was all I was willing to pay for you.”

Then they began to laugh.

40

John Fratelli was dressing for dinner when his cell phone rang.

“Yeah?”

“It’s Stone Barrington.”

“How’d it go?”

“We got the girl back. Buono got lucky—he went to the grocery store and saw the police there and took off.”

“Did he hurt her?”

“No, not so’s you’d notice.”

“I’m glad of that.”

“I appreciate the tip-off about the cabin. It made all the difference.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You sound different since you got to wherever you are,” Stone said.

“I am different: new name, new house, new girl.”

“What more could any man ask for?”

“You’re right about that. Call me if Bats acts up again. I’ll help if I can.”

“Thanks.” They hung up.

Fratelli met Hillary downstairs, and the Bentley was waiting for them. They drove to Café L’Europe for dinner, and the valet drove the car away. Fratelli thought to himself: You’d better not scratch it.

They were seated immediately, and Fratelli ordered them martinis. After looking at the menus and chatting quietly, they ordered, and Fratelli cleared his throat.

Hillary looked at him askance.

“There are some things I have to tell you about me.”

“I had a feeling something like that was coming,” she said. “Shoot.”

“I told you some lies about my background—in fact, everything I told you was a lie.”

“You didn’t tell me much, and I had the feeling I shouldn’t ask.”

“I grew up in Brooklyn. My father worked as a shoemaker for a place that made custom shoes. He paid the rent, put food on the table, gave me an allowance. My last year in high school I . . . fell among thieves.”

“Did they steal from you?”

“No, together we stole from others—financial institutions. We made some money, I bought some clothes and a car. We did about two jobs a year. Nobody ever got hurt. I was the driver, I never went inside, never carried a weapon. Then, when I was in my mid-twenties, something went wrong inside. I heard shooting. I wanted to drive away, but I was a standup guy, and I didn’t. I sat there and waited until my three partners stumbled out of the bank. Two of them had been shot by a guard.

“I drove them to a doctor we knew, then left the car on the street and went home. That night, the police came. The partner who didn’t get shot told the police everything. The two wounded partners died in the doctor’s office. I went to prison. My tattletale partner walked, as we say.

“I served twenty-five years. Inside, I met a man named Eduardo Buono, who was from Brooklyn, too, but he was smarter than I, better educated, better read. We made a bargain: I protected him from . . . assaults by other prisoners, he gave me what amounted to a university education. We both got jobs in the library, and I spent most of my time reading.”

“What did you read?”

“Everything. I started with the Harvard Classics—that’s supposed to give you a liberal education. I read the Durants’ Civilization . I read other histories, especially American history, and biographies. Pretty soon I was educating myself.

“I never applied for parole because of Eddie, who needed me to survive in there. Then he died, and I completed my sentence and went free.”

“So you have no . . . what is it they say—debt to society?”

“None.”

“So where did the money come from?”

“From Eddie. He was inside because he had masterminded the robbery of a cash transfer business at JFK airport. They stole fifteen million dollars. Half went to Eddie, half to his crew. All the crew spent money and got noticed. When they started getting arrested, Eddie knew he was next. He hid his money and went to prison. He thought he could buy a pardon, but that didn’t work. Before he died he told me where the money was, and the statute of limitations on the robbery had expired. When I got out, I collected it and left New York. Came here, changed my name, invested the money offshore, bought an apartment, and met you.” Fratelli shrugged. “I think that brings us up to date.”

“Well,” she said, “that was a much more interesting story than I had anticipated.”

“I’m sorry I deceived you.”

“I’m glad you did,” she said. “I would have been put off. But now I’ve gotten to know you, and I’m glad you told me.”

“I would understand if you didn’t want to see me again.”

She took his big hand in hers. “That, my dear, is not the case.”