Стюарт Вудс - Contraband

“In what city?”

“Key West,” Dino said.

“I had a call from her to tell me her aunt died and left her, among other things, a 1953 Mercedes 300S, fully restored.”

“Listen,” Dino said. “If you play your cards right, you could buy it for a song. She won’t have any idea what it’s worth.”

“That’s a shitty thing to say, Dino. Why would I take advantage of her?”

“To save yourself a couple hundred grand?”

“Goodbye, Dino.” Stone hung up and counted to ten slowly.

Joan buzzed. “Dino again.”

Stone picked up. “What? And make it quick.”

“I talked to a guy who talked to a guy who told me that the wrecked airplane out at Fort Jefferson was salvaged by the FBI and hauled up to Opa Locka Airport, where the Bureau has a hangar. Was that quick enough?”

“What would the FBI want with it?”

“You’re sure I’m not taking up too much of your time?”

“Come on, Dino, cough it up.”

“Apparently, they think it may have been involved in the commission of a crime. They’re looking for the pilot, too.”

“Does your guy who knows a guy have any idea what crime the feds think was committed?”

“If he does, he’s not talking. Neither is the other guy.”

“Anything else to impart?”

“Nah, I just thought this would give you an excuse to call Max.”

“That’s what I’m going to do just as soon as I hang up on you.”

Stone hung up and called Max on her cell.

“This is Max.”

“Hey, it’s Stone.”

“Good morning.”

“Good morning. Are you interested in a rumor about what happened to your airplane wreck?”

“Listen, a rumor would outweigh anything I’ve got by a factor of about ten. Shoot.”

“Dino called. A friend of a friend of his — that’s what he says when he suspects I’d know who he’s talking about — says that the FBI hauled the wreckage of the airplane up to Opa Locka Airport, where they have a hangar.”

“Well, now,” Max said. “That’s a very interesting rumor. In fact, I’m acquainted with that hangar; it’s where they put stuff they don’t want anybody to see. Did Dino’s friend of a friend know why they wanted it?”

“Because they suspect it may have been used in the commission of a crime.”

“Oh, that one. I’ve been looking for an excuse to grab it myself, but they were too quick for me. It departed a hangar at Key West International yesterday, in the dark of night.”

“You know anybody in the FBI down there?”

“A few people,” she said. “The AIC in Key West has been trying to get me in the sack ever since he got posted here.”

“Any luck?”

“Not yet.”

“Would it be a risk to your virtue if you tried to get something out of him?”

“Not if I stick to phone calls. Thanks for the tip. I’ll let you know if it bears fruit.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.” Max hung up and told Tommy what Stone said.

“Would you rather I called Burt Sams?”

“Why, Tommy? Does he want to fuck you?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because that’s the only reason I can think of why he would take your call, let alone tell you anything.”

“You’re just saying that because it’s the only reason he would take your call,” Tommy riposted.

“You have a point,” she said, dialing the number. “Max Crowley for Burt Sams,” she told the woman who answered.

“State your business,” the woman replied.

She knew very well who she was, Max thought. “None of your fucking business, Sheila. It’s police business.”

The line seemed to go dead, then was picked up. “Hi, Max,” Sams said brightly. “Change your mind about dinner?”

“Not yet, Burt. I understand your organization is in possession of an important piece of evidence in an attempted murder investigation of mine.”

“And what would that be, darlin’?”

“An entire airplane. In pieces.”

“Oh, that piece of evidence. I can neither confirm nor deny that.”

“I’d like to run up there and have a look at it.”

“Up where?”

“Up to that hangar the Bureau has at Opa Locka.”

“Hangar? What hangar?”

“All I want is the serial number of the airplane and the engine. I don’t want to take away your toy.”

“Well, I might be able to get that information for you,” Sams said, “and pass it on over a thick steak.”

“This is an official request from the local law enforcement agency in whose jurisdiction that airplane lay, before it was removed from its position without benefit of a court order.”

“Who would we serve such an order on? A passing grouper? Also Fort Jefferson is at least fifty miles outside your jurisdiction, and did I mention that Fort Jeff is part of a national seashore, established by the federal government?”

“Okay, I’ll work my way up your chain of command until I get to the assistant director who deals with local law enforcement and ask him if he can lay his hands on that information.”

“Knock yourself out, kiddo.”

“And I’ll quote you, along with the unsolicited invitation to dinner.” Max hung up.

“I guess he wasn’t helpful,” Tommy said.

“You’re very perceptive, Tommy.”

Stone arrived at La Goulue simultaneously with Roberta Calder. Kissy, kissy. They were seated.

“Have you been here before?” she asked.

“A lot, before they closed down for a long time, then reopened here.”

They each ordered the steak frites, which was a favorite from the old menu.

“I come here a lot,” Robbie said. “My house is just around the corner.”

“House, not apartment?”

“Vance gave me a big check, and I spent most of it on a rundown townhouse and fixing it up. Now I have a workshop in my basement, a duplex above for me, and three rental apartments on top. Gives me a nice little income.”

“What happens in the workshop?”

“I design clothing for men and women, then my tailors and seamstresses run it up. That’s why I can make you a Doug Hayward suit, if you need one.”

“Right now, between Vance’s wardrobe and mine, I’m up to my ass in Doug Hayward clothes.”

“I’m just saying.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Their food arrived, and they talked around bites.

When they were on coffee, Robbie spoke up. “Listen, I’ve done a little research on you, and—”

“What kind of research?” Stone asked warily.

“Career, etcetera.”

“I thought I gave you all of that last night.”

“Listen, do you do business with people you know nothing — all right, next to nothing — about?”

“I suppose not. What did you learn?”

“It appears that you are good at solving problems that are, shall we say, outside the range of normal attorneys.”

“You think I’m an abnormal attorney?”

“I’m sorry, I should have said better than run-of-the-mill attorneys.”

“I like that better. What problem do you have?”

“A husband.”

“Thank you for mentioning that before I tried to get you in the sack.”

“If you wanted to get me in the sack, why would my husband be a problem?”

“They get angry when their wives sleep around. Some of them hold grudges and own firearms and other deadly weapons.”

“No moral qualms, then, just self-defense?”

“I make it a rule not to commit adultery — on purpose.”

“But accidentally is okay? What’s accidental adultery?”

“When she doesn’t tell me she has a husband.”

“So now I’m off-limits?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“What if I haven’t slept in the same bed with my husband for the past two years?”