Stuart Woods - Unnatural acts

“Yeah? What’s the alternative?”

“Use your imagination, Carlo. Imagine the NYPD, the FBI, and the IRS crawling over your life like an army of ants, while Dink’s old man files a civil suit against you that will take ten years and ten million in legal fees to settle. All these things can happen within twenty-four hours.”

Carlo took a deep breath and let it out. “I’m not an unreasonable man,” he said, placing a hand on the briefcase.

Herbie pulled the briefcase a little out of his reach, then produced a one-page document and pushed it across the table. “Sign this, and we’re done,” Herbie said.

“I don’t sign stuff,” Carlo said.

Herbie pulled the briefcase a little farther away.

“What’s it say?” Carlo asked, taking a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket. He began to read to himself while moving his lips.

“It says that you are accepting two hundred thousand dollars in payment of all gambling or any other debt owed you by Dink Brennan, and that you agree never to accept another bet from him or contact him ever again.”

“You expect me to admit to gambling in writing?”

“It’s the way people like Mr. Brennan do business, Carlo. Since the two of you are not acquainted, Mr. Brennan won’t take your word. Come on, what’s the harm? The paper will reside in his safe and will never see the light of day.” Herbie pushed the case back to where Carlo could reach it but did not let go of the handle.

Carlo sighed and signed the document, and Herbie released the briefcase, which vanished under the table.

“Never see the light of day, unless you violate the terms of the agreement,” Herbie said, standing. “Take care of yourself, Carlo.” Herbie turned and walked out, trailed by the Leahys, one of whom left La Boheme walking backward.

Herbie situated himself in the backseat of the Maybach. “Drop me at the Seagram Building, Willie,” he said, “and put the car back in the garage, if you will.”

“Sure, Herbie,” Willie said. “And by the way, nicely done.”

“Thank you, Willie, and the same to you and Jimmy.” Herbie picked up the rear-seat phone and pressed a speed dial button.

“Woodman and Weld,” Joan said, “Stone Barrington’s office.”

“Hey, Joan.”

“Hey, Herbie, how you doing?”

“Couldn’t be better. Is he available?”

“Sure.” There was a click.

“Herbie?”

“Hey, Stone.”

“How’d it go?”

“It went like this: Dink is now housed in the funny farm, having committed himself and signed a durable power of attorney, naming me, and Carlo Contini is a happy man. I have his signature on a well-worded receipt that will keep him forever away from Dink.”

“Well done,” Stone said.

“Will you convey that to Bill Eggers?”

“No, I think you should convey it to him yourself, and bask in the warmth of his gratitude.”

“I like the sound of that,” Herbie said. “See ya.” He hung up as the Maybach glided to the curb at the Seagram Building.

Three minutes later, Herbie was entering Bill Eggers’s corner office. “Good afternoon, Bill.”

“Is it?” Eggers replied.

“Dink Brennan now resides at Winwood Farm,” Herbie said, taking documents from his pocket and handing them to Eggers, “and Carlo Contini has accepted our offer. It’s all there.”

Eggers tossed the documents on his desk without looking at them. “I just had a call, Herbie,” he said. “Dink Brennan escaped from the vehicle transporting him to Winwood Farm and is abroad in the land.”

Herbie felt as if he had been struck in the chest. “Well, Bill, I did as I was asked. I’m not in the escaped lunatic business.”

“You are now, Herbert,” Eggers replied.

Stone looked up from his desk to find Herbie Fisher standing in his doorway, breathing hard.

“Good afternoon, Herbie,” Stone said. “Have you taken up jogging?”

“I walked over here.”

“Sit down and catch your breath.”

The look on Herbie’s face made Stone wonder if the young man was going to explode or just cry.

“I got it all done, Stone, I told you that.”

“You did. Did you tell Bill?”

“Yes. He is unhappy.”

“Why?”

“Because Dink escaped from the funny farm van and is loose. I told Eggers I wasn’t in charge of escaped lunatics, and he told me I am now.”

“So you have a new assignment,” Stone said. “Be optimistic-it gives you another opportunity to impress Eggers and Marshall Brennan.”

“I don’t want to impress them anymore,” Herbie said. “They have no gratitude.”

“Herbie, you were asked to deliver Dink to Winwood Farm, and you failed.”

“I didn’t fail-his keepers failed!”

“You entrusted him to them, and they failed you. But you failed Eggers.”

“That’s warped,” Herbie said.

“Tell me something, Herbie, did you enjoy your tasks?”

“Well, yeah, but then everything went to hell.”

“Find a way to enjoy tracking down Dink. You’ll feel better.”

“I have no experience in the field of missing persons,” Herbie wailed. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Herbie, imagine that Dink owes you two hundred grand and that he is trying to avoid you.”

“I wouldn’t let him get away with that,” Herbie said.

“Exactly. What Dink actually owes you is his carcass at Winwood Farm. Find him and make him pay.”

“Where do I start?”

“Ask yourself, ‘If I were Dink Brennan and I wanted to avoid Herbie Fisher, where would I go?’”

Herbie regarded his well-buffed shoes morosely. “I don’t know where he would go.”

“Well, you know that he would probably not go back to the one place you already know about: his dorm room. Right?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Who are his friends? Who is his girlfriend? Where does he drink? Those are all pertinent questions. Start finding out the answers.”

“Can I hire a PI? Those guys know how this is done.”

Stone sighed. “All right, I will authorize you to hire a skip tracer for three days at the expense of Woodman and Weld.”

“Eggers would go nuts if I spent that money.”

“No, Eggers would simply bill Marshall Brennan.”

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Suck it up, Herbie. Get it in gear, move your ass.”

Herbie got up and slouched toward the door.

“Herbie?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you know a skip tracer?”

Herbie thought for a minute. “No,” he admitted.

“Sit down. I’m going to help you out.”

Stone pressed a button on his phone. “Joan, please get me Mike Freeman at Strategic Services.” He waited a moment.

“Mr. Freeman on one.”

Stone picked up the phone. “Mike?”

“Hello, Stone, welcome back from our nation’s capital. I read of your exploits in some of our worst newspapers.”

“Put it out of your mind, Mike. I have.”

“If you say so.”

“Mike, you’ve met a Woodman and Weld associate named Herbie Fisher, have you not?”

“I have. Nice young fellow.”

“And you know Marshall Brennan?”

“I do. I invest with him.”

“Good. Herbie was sent up to Yale to assist Marshall’s son, Dink, into a bucolic establishment in Connecticut where he was to receive attention for his gambling and drug problem.”

“Sounds like Winwood Farm.”

“One and the same. Unfortunately, in spite of Herbie’s stellar work, young Dink managed to extricate himself from the transportation provided and is now wild in the country.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Herbie is a bright fellow, but he has no experience in the tracing of missing persons. I thought, perhaps, that you might provide him with some assistance.”