Стюарт Вудс - Contraband

“That was an awfully generous gift. Tell me, was this gift in the nature of a bribe?”

“Captain, a bribe is when someone offers you money or goods—”

“Or a house.”

“—or a house, in exchange for a reciprocal gift, favor, or action.”

“And what was that for you?”

“Only common gratitude,” Tommy said. “And Max is the only person I know who I would accept such a gift from. I accepted it because we are close friends, and she gave it without the expectation of reciprocity.”

“Perfectly innocent, then?”

“Not just innocent, noble. She knows that if I retired and took my pension we would be hard-pressed to get along and would have to move to a cheaper house. Having a house free of rent makes it possible for us to get along without having to eke out a living.”

“‘Noble,’” the chief repeated tonelessly.

“There are such people in the world,” Tommy replied. “Now, may I ask a question?”

“Sure.”

“What possessed you to even ask me such a question about Max?”

The chief took immediate umbrage. “I have the right, even the obligation, to occasionally question the conduct of my officers.”

“Your question implied misconduct , both on her part and mine. And it is insulting to both of us.”

“You are not entitled to be insulted, Detective.”

“Oh, yes I am,” Tommy replied. “And if you ever question the personal integrity of either Max or me again, I’ll shove my badge and gun so far up your ass that you’ll never see them again.” He got up and left, closing — not quite slamming — the door behind him.

Tommy went to his desk, retrieved his jacket and gun, and walked out of the station toward his patrol car. It seemed like a good time not to be at his desk.

As he got into the car and started it, he reflected that every two years, year in and year out, he was issued a brand-new car, far more frequently than in most departments. He wondered if the dealer who supplied them was perhaps making a contribution to the captain’s welfare fund, and he resolved to open his eyes and ears to other such anomalies in the department.

Max spent half the following day sacking Rodeo Drive, with Viv in tow. They stopped for lunch and a breather at Spago Beverly Hills, where they needed the two empty chairs at their table to hold their shopping bags.

Over glasses of chardonnay, after ordering Cobb salads, they relaxed and became just the girls for a moment.

“Max,” Viv said, “I’m curious: Do you find Stone less attractive since you came into money of your own?”

“That’s an interesting question,” Max said. “Actually, as a single woman, I’ve always put wealth on the part of a man in the ‘neutral’ column of attributes, not either ‘good’ or ‘bad.’ Now that I have my own, any pressure I might have felt about Stone’s wealth has evaporated. I’m not using his credit card today.”

“Good answer,” Viv said. “We came into some money last year, and I did just what you’re doing now. As time passed, all I felt was relief. I mean, we could live well, even if Dino retired now, instead of later, but now we can live rich, in that event.”

“I’m happy for you both,” Max said. “I know how good the feeling of relief is.”

Their salads arrived.

Later that afternoon, Stone and Dino were sitting by the pool, drinking rum punch, when the noises of a truck maneuvering came from the other side of the hedge. Stone sat up straight. “That’s got to be my car,” he said, climbing off his chaise longue.

“This I’ve got to see,” said Dino, rising with him.

“Just a second,” Stone said, cupping a hand to his ear. A moment later there was the grinding of a winch. “Now,” he said.

They got into their robes and walked around the hedge to where the car was. A man with a clipboard approached. “Mr. Barrington?”

“That’s me.”

“Please inspect your car, then sign for it. We cleaned it up from the travel.”

The car sat in the afternoon California sun, glowing, as if lit from within. Stone walked around it slowly, inspecting everything. “Yes,” he said to the man, finally, and signed for the car. The man got into his flatbed truck and drove away.

Stone got in and put the top down. “Feel like a little spin?” he asked.

“I don’t mind if I do,” Dino said, climbing into the passenger seat.

Stone started the car, and it made a low, purring noise. He smiled.

Tommy drove slowly down Duval Street, which was jammed with traffic. A cruise ship had come in, and half the passengers were stuffed into shops, buying expensive junk, while the others had hailed cabs and rickshaws and were fouling up traffic.

Tommy inched forward and mused that, with this bad a tie-up, there must be a cop somewhere directing traffic; that always made things worse. He stopped at a traffic signal, and pedestrians poured across the street: a woman pushing a twin baby carriage, a teenager on a unicycle, somebody in an iguana suit advertising expensive junk. A man crossed on a bicycle, with one arm in a sling, his balance precarious; a man with a cigar sent a cloud of brown smoke his way.

Tommy sat bolt upright. The bicycler with his arm in a sling was Al Dix. He checked his side mirror and saw him navigating his way between traffic and illegally parked cars and turning the wrong way down a side street.

Tommy got out of his seat and stood up on the door opening. He saw the top of Dix’s head disappear. He considered abandoning the police-issued car and sprinting after him. But, he reflected, it had been a long time since he had sprinted; he wasn’t sure that pace was still in his repertoire. He stuck with the traffic.

By the time he had made his way to Simonton Street, which was flowing freely, Dix was nowhere in sight. His phone rang; it was probably the captain firing him. He clawed his iPhone from its holster. “Scully.”

“Tommy, it’s Max. How you doing?”

“Terrible,” Tommy replied. “This morning, I pretty much told the captain to go fuck himself.”

“Why did you go off on the captain?”

“He questioned your and my personal integrity.”

“What?”

Tommy related the conversation to her.

“It sounds like he’s looking for an excuse to fire one or both of us,” she said.

“Then who the fuck would solve the crimes? You and I are the only ones in the squad with any real kind of track record.”

“God knows the captain doesn’t have much of one,” she said.

“I think he’s on the take, and he thinks we’re on to him.”

“On the take how?”

“Have you ever noticed that we get a new car every two years?”

“We do?”

“I just noticed, myself, this morning. I think the dealer is greasing the cap’s wheels.”

“That sounds like something a team of crack detectives should investigate,” Max said.

Tommy laughed. “I’d love to see the captain’s face when we send him the first report.”

“I don’t think either of us should be seen looking into that. Let’s just look and listen and wait for more indications.”

“Well, yeah.”

“Or maybe, look for other ways our management could be on the take. If they’re taking from one place, they’re taking from every place they can.”

“Good idea. Oh, and I just saw Al Dix riding a bicycle across Duval with his arm in a sling.”

“Well, well, well,” Max said. “Dixie lives. I thought he was somewhere out beyond the reef, attached to an anchor.”

“He’s alive, but I lost him in the traffic.”

“Oh, shit, I almost forgot why I called you,” Max said.

“Okay, why?”

“Jocko, the lineman at the airport, called and said there’s activity at the mysterious hangar.”