Stuart Woods - Quick & Dirty

Stone Barrington departed the Carlyle Hotel on Madison Avenue at Seventy-sixth Street and slipped from under the Seventy-sixth Street awning into his waiting car. He had had a business lunch after departing the United Nations, where his close friend Secretary of State Holly Barker had given a well-received speech. A heavy rain was falling, and he could hardly see across the street.

“Can you see to drive, Fred?” he asked his factotum, Fred Flicker.

“Only just, sir,” Fred replied. “I’ll go slowly.”

“As you wish.” Stone found his unfinished New York Times crossword on the seat next to him. It was quite dark outside, and he switched on the reading light and started to work.

Traffic was slow. He saw a figure in black jogging toward Park Avenue with something in his hand, Stone couldn’t tell what, and he went back to his puzzle.

They had reached Park Avenue, but just as they did the light turned red, and since there is no right turn on red in New York City, Fred waited for it to change.

A dark blur appeared to his right in Stone’s peripheral vision, but before he could turn to look at it, something struck the side window of the car with a heavy blow, and the vehicle shook slightly. As he turned he saw the figure in black seeming to bounce off his car and fall into the street. He peered out the window at the figure, who was scrambling to his feet, and noted that he carried a sledgehammer.

Then, from behind him, came another blow to the car, then one to the left rear window. Finally, the figure on Stone’s side had another go, with similar results. This time a star appeared in the window glass.

Fred was turning to look at him. “What’s happening?” he asked.

“Never mind the light, Fred, take a right quickly.”

Fred did so, just as the light changed, and he was able to drive the length of the block before encountering another red light on Park. Stone looked over his shoulder and saw three dark figures bearing sledgehammers trotting toward the car. “Never mind the light, Fred, GO!” Stone shouted for emphasis.

Fred went and got lucky, sailing through the empty intersection. All the lights on Park turned green, and he made it to Fifty-seventh Street before they turned red again.

“What the hell?” Fred asked.

“Beats me,” Stone said. “Drop me at the house, then take this over to the Strategic Services garage on Twelfth Avenue and ask them to replace my window. The other two seem to have survived intact.” Stone had bought the car, already armored, from Strategic Services, the second-largest security company in the United States.

Fred pulled into the garage in Turtle Bay so Stone wouldn’t get wet. “Shall I wait for the car, sir, while they repair it?”

“Yes, if they have the window in stock and can do it immediately. If not, just wait until the rain stops, then leave the car and take a cab back.”

“Yes, sir.” Fred pulled out of the garage and turned west as the door closed behind him.

Stone took the crossword with him into his adjacent office, where his phone was ringing. His secretary was nowhere to be seen, so he picked it up. “Stone Barrington.”

“It’s Dino.” Dino Bacchetti had been Stone’s detective partner many years before when they were both on the NYPD; by now, he had risen to the heights of commissioner of police. “Dinner tonight? Patroon at seven-thirty?”

“Sure. Funny you should ring — I need a policeman.”

“Somebody take a shot at you?”

“No, but three men with sledgehammers attacked my car at Park and Seventy-sixth.”

“Did you say ‘sledgehammers’?”

“I did.”

“Did you have anything to drink at lunch?”

“They were sledgehammers, Dino.”

“Any damage?”

“One cracked window. Fred is having it replaced at the Strategic Services shop.”

“That’s right, you’ve got armored glass, haven’t you? Nice to know it works.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Do you think they were after you?”

“I think I could be forgiven for believing that, but I’ve no idea why anyone would want to beat me or my car to death with sledgehammers.”

“Maybe it’s not you they were after, maybe it’s the Bentley.”

“I’m not aware of any organized hatred of Bentleys in New York, are you?”

“Give me some time, I’ll see if there were any other attacks on English luxury cars today.”

“Take all the time you like,” Stone said.

“Oh, where were you coming from?”

“The Carlyle. I had lunch there with Bill Eggers and a client.”

“Didn’t you go to the UN this morning?”

“Yes, the lunch was after Holly had departed for Washington. I drove her to the heliport.”

“What does Bill drive?”

“A black Lincoln from a car service, I think.”

“How about the client?”

“No idea. I met him in the dining room.”

“Talk to you later.” Dino hung up.

Joan, his secretary, returned from somewhere with a shopping bag. “Sorry I wasn’t in when you got back. I needed some office supplies. Did anyone call?”

“Just Dino.”

Stone turned up at Patroon on time and found Dino’s black SUV parked outside with a policeman asleep at the wheel.

Dino had already ordered drinks for the two of them, and Stone slid into the booth. The drinks came, and glasses were raised.

“Well, you’re not crazy,” Dino said.

“I’m relieved to hear it.”

“Two other Bentleys and a Rolls were attacked within six blocks and inside of an hour of your run-in.”

“Anybody hurt?”

“Yours was the only one with armoring. The others ended up with a backseat full of glass, but the only passenger was in the Rolls, and he suffered some scratches from flying glass.”

“Anybody I know?”

“Some guy from the Argentinian UN Consulate.”

“So it’s an attack on expensive English cars?” Stone asked.

“More likely an attack on just expensive.”

“Any Mercedes or BMWs get the treatment?”

“Nothing reported.”

“Then, on the available evidence...”

“Did you get a description?” Dino asked.

“A Ninja with a sledgehammer.”

“That’s it?”

“It was raining heavily, and all three men — I guess they were men — were dressed entirely in black.”

“Leather?”

“Might have been something waterproof, given the weather. Did you check the hardware stores to see if anybody had bought three sledgehammers?”

“We didn’t think of that,” Dino replied.

“Well, New York’s finest can’t think of everything, can you?”

“Almost everything.”

“I guess that’s almost enough,” Stone replied.

Dino called the following morning the moment Stone sat down at his desk. “Did you see the Times coverage of Holly’s speech this morning?”

“I did — overwhelmingly positive, I’d say.”

“Me, too. Did you see Gloria Parsons’s op-ed piece?”

“I haven’t gotten that far yet. What the hell is Gloria doing on the Times op-ed page?”

“Her boyfriend the ex-governor’s influence, I expect. Also, the woman is a good writer.”

“What did she have to say?”

“Read it for yourself. By the way, your guess was inspired,” Dino said.

“Guess?”

“About the sledgehammers. A woman visited a hardware store on Third Avenue in the Twenties and bought three sledgehammers.”

“They had to get them somewhere.”

“She was about five-eight, a hundred and forty pounds, fairly short, dark hair, age thirty to forty, wearing a trench coat over black pants.”