Stuart Woods - Unnatural acts

“Perhaps it’s best if I don’t use anyone from the original cast,” Marla said. “They’re all students, and what you’ve just said about Peter probably applies to them, too.”

“I can’t argue with that reasoning.”

“Then I’ll tell them I’m interested, and if the offer is right, I’ll do it.”

“That’s great! Do you want me to tell Peter?”

“No, let him hear about it through channels, then he can have the thrill of telling you. There’ll be time enough later to tell him about us.”

“Peter’s girlfriend wrote the incidental music, and it’s very good.”

“I’ll hear it, and if I like it, I’ll use it.”

“That would make your playwright very happy. In fact, I think you should expect him to insist.”

“Then I’ll try very hard to like the music.” She took a sip of her drink and sat back.

“Everything all right, now?” Stone asked.

“Everything seems just about perfect,” she said. “Ed Abney got what he deserved, I’m not out of work anymore, and, best of all, I’m here with you.”

“Pilots have an expression,” Stone said. “‘Severe clear.’”

“What does it mean?”

“It means that the way ahead is clear of foul weather and even clouds, the air is smooth, and visibility is unlimited.”

“Severe clear,” she repeated. “I like it.” She squeezed his hand. “I feel it.”

HERBIE FISHER was clearing his desk at the end of the day when Cookie came in with a package.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“A packet of invitations came for the grand opening of High Cotton Ideas’ new building, and a housewarming for Mark Hayes’s new apartment. It’s a week from Friday. There was a note suggesting that you invite some of your clients.”

“What a good idea,” Herbie said. “Mark knows most of my clients, anyway. Invite them all. And Bill Eggers, Stone Barrington, and Dino Bacchetti. And invite RoseAnn.”

“Dink Brennan, too?”

“Yes. Would you like a drink?” Herbie asked.

“Sure.”

“Pour us both one and sit.”

Cookie poured the drinks and took a chair. “Cheers.” She raised her glass.

“Cheers.”

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“No, but I need to talk to you about something.”

“All right.”

“I know you find Dink Brennan attractive. He’s young, handsome, charming, and rich.”

“What a nice combination!” Cookie said, smiling.

“Normally, yes. The trouble is, I don’t think there’s anything normal about Dink.”

“You mean, because he was at the funny farm?”

“No, I mean because he needed to be at the funny farm for a lot longer, and he didn’t get the treatment he needed. He short-circuited the process.”

“You think Dink is crazy?”

“I think, from what the director at the farm told me about him, that he might be a psychopath. At the very least, he’s a sociopath. You know the difference?”

“A psychopath is crazy,” Cookie said. “A sociopath has no conscience.”

“Either one of them can appear to be a perfectly normal person,” Herbie said. “Handsome, charming, and rich.”

“Which do you think Dink is?”

“I think that he’s both. The psychiatrist thought Dink had violent tendencies.”

Cookie gave a little shudder. “Eeww,” she said.

“My thought exactly. I don’t buy his reformed act, and I suspect his father doesn’t, either. I think it would be a good idea if you treat him politely, but not warmly, and that you avoid seeing him outside this office.”

“Herb,” she said, tossing off her drink, “you talked me into it.”

Stone and Dino were having dinner at P.J. Clarke’s.

“Good job on the Abney guy,” Stone said.

“You can thank Viv DeCarlo for that one,” Dino said. “I nearly got her killed doing it.” He told Stone about Viv’s struggle with Abney in the restaurant. “She would have died in that dumpster if she hadn’t been able to use the last of her strength to set off an alarm in her wristwatch.”

“How is she now?”

“I saw her this afternoon at the hospital. She’s walking and talking. She’ll be discharged tomorrow.”

“Is she going to be scarred?”

“A cosmetic surgeon closed her incision, and they tell me it won’t show after it’s healed.”

“That’s good.” Stone looked up and saw Herbie Fisher come into the dining room and waved him over.

Herbie took a chair. “How are you guys?”

“Never better,” Dino said.

“Same here,” Stone echoed. “Got your invitation for the High Cotton event. I’ll be there with my girl.”

“Me too,” Dino said.

“Why don’t you invite Viv?” Stone said. “It’s the least you can do.”

Dino squirmed a little. “I don’t know.”

“There won’t be anyone from the department there,” Stone pointed out.

Dino shrugged. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

“What have you been up to, Herb?” Stone asked.

“I’ve got a new client I’m nervous about,” Herbie said.

“Who’s that, and why are you nervous?”

“Dink Brennan.”

Dino put down his wineglass. “I thought we put him away for at least a year.”

“He got himself out and convinced his father that he’s a reformed character,” Herbie said. “He didn’t convince me.”

“Then why is he your new client?”

“Because of his father. If there’s any chance that the kid has turned a new leaf, I want to help him, for Marshall.”

“How screwed up is he?” Dino asked.

“How about psychopathic sociopath with violent tendencies? Or diseases to that effect.”

“Is that your diagnosis?”

“It’s what his shrink thinks.”

“Herb,” Stone said, “he’s already tried to ruin you once. Why don’t you just stay away from him? Marshall would understand your wanting to do that.”

“I guess he would,” Herbie said.

“Where are those two friends of his, Parker and Carson?” Dino asked.

“At a place called The Refuge, up in Westchester. Dink doesn’t know where they are.”

“Is he back in New Haven?” Stone asked.

“No, his father gave him the keys to a company apartment on the East Side. He says he’s going back to Yale in the fall, then to law school after graduation.”

“Well, he needs his father’s goodwill to live, doesn’t he?”

“Not really. A trust his mother left him became available to him last week, when he turned twenty-one. He’s got the money to do whatever he wants without Marshall’s help.”

Dino shook his head. “If there’s anything I hate worse than a violent psycho, it’s a violent psycho with money.”

“I know how you feel,” Herbie said. “I think the kid is a walking time bomb.”

“How big is he?” Dino asked.

Herbie shrugged. “I don’t know, six-three, two-twenty, maybe.”

“And you’re what? Five-seven, a hundred and sixty?”

“Good guess.”

“Do you own a firearm?” Stone asked.

“No, but I got a carry permit from the city in today’s mail, courtesy of Strategic Defense. And a very nice certificate that qualifies me to take a bullet for somebody else.”

“There’s a gun shop downtown, near headquarters,” Dino said. “All the cops shop there. Now that you’ve got your permit, why don’t you amble down there tomorrow and pick out something for yourself?”

“What do you recommend?”

“Nine millimeter, at least-something that won’t make a bulge under that beautiful suit.”

“That’s not the worst idea I ever heard,” Herbie said.

“You’re the second person this week to say that to me,” Dino replied. “I must give good advice.”