Stuart Woods - Unnatural acts

Elaine’s, late.

It was as late as it was ever going to get at Elaine’s. Elaine had died nearly six months earlier, and the restaurant couldn’t make it without her. This was its last night.

“You know,” Dino said, gazing at the mob jammed into the place, “if half these people had had dinner here once a week after she died, this joint would still be thriving.”

“You’re right,” Stone said, “but I guess the place could never be the same without Elaine to hold it together.”

“I feel sorry for the writers,” Dino said. “There isn’t another joint in town that gives the best tables to writers. They’ll be wandering up and down Second Avenue, looking for someplace to eat.”

“And think of all the book deals that won’t get made here,” Stone said. “Where else do writers and publishers mingle?”

All the tables had temporary tops that seated ten people, and Stone and Dino were jammed against the wall, so close to the next table that if they wanted to get to the men’s room, they would have to stand on their chairs and walk across the table. There were two hundred people lined up on Second Avenue, waiting to get in.

Bill Eggers, the managing partner of Stone’s law firm, Woodman amp; Weld, spoke up from across the table. “Never mind the writers,” he said, “where are you two guys going to eat?”

“I have no idea,” Stone said. “There just isn’t another place in the city that has what Elaine’s had. Forty-eight years she was here.”

Somebody with a video cam elbowed his way up to the table and panned around the group. Herbie Fisher and his girl and Bob Cantor and his wife were there. Holly Barker had flown up from Washington for the occasion and was staying with Stone. The cameraman moved on. Stone looked around and saw plenty of regulars: Gay Talese, Frederic Morton, David Black, Nick Taylor, Carol Higgins Clark-all writers; photographers Harry Benson and Jessica Burstein were taking pictures; Alec Baldwin, with shaggy hair and a full beard, had found a video cam somewhere and was using it; Josh Gaspero, retired publisher, and his Thursday-night regulars were at their regular table. Gianni and Frank, the headwaiters, and all the waiters, were still there; none had left for another job before the end.

It was just like every other night at Elaine’s, except for the three hundred extra people.

Stone had ordered the most expensive wines, because he knew Elaine would have loved that. She had liked nothing better than flogging a few bottles of Dom Perignon of an evening.

Holly hugged Stone’s arm. “I’m sorry, Stone, I know how you loved Elaine and her joint.”

“That’s what she always called it,” Stone said, “her joint.”

Dino poured himself another Johnnie Walker Black from the bottle on the table.

“Can I get you a straw for that?” Stone asked.

Dino handed him a bottle of Knob Creek. “And for this?”

A good-looking redhead Stone didn’t recognize struggled past his table, heading for either the bar or the front door. Stone was still watching her a moment later when she was stopped by a man who had planted himself in her path. He leaned over and shouted above the din into her ear. She drew back her right hand and punched him squarely in the face. He fell, scattering drinkers, and Stone could have sworn she stepped on him as she continued out the door.

The man was helped to his feet, swearing, his nose bloody, shouting unpleasant descriptions of the redhead to anyone who would listen.

“Did you see that?” Holly asked.

“I did.”

“She looked familiar. Do you know her?”

Stone shook his head. “Nope, I don’t know any redheads.”

“Maybe she wasn’t always a redhead,” Holly said.

“Who knows? I don’t know three-quarters of the people in here.”

“I didn’t get a look at her face,” Dino said, “but I know the guy she knocked down, name of Billy Gaston, ex-cop, now a PI. Nasty piece of work.”

“Never heard of him,” Stone said.

“He was a street cop, made detective after you left. He was on the take from all sorts of people. The brass couldn’t prove it, but everybody knew it. He was told he might be happier in civilian life, and he took the hint.”

“She really slugged him, didn’t she?” Stone laughed.

“And I really enjoyed it,” Dino said.

Stone and Holly staggered into his house in Turtle Bay and took the elevator upstairs, necking all the way. Leaving a trail of clothing, they made their way into the bedroom to be greeted by a persistently ringing telephone. Stone looked at the instrument. His third line was ringing, the one that the answering machine didn’t pick up. Stone pressed the speaker button and fell into bed beside Holly.

“Yeah?”

“It’s Dino.”

“You son of a bitch,” Stone said, “you knew I’d have to pick up line three.”

“Of course,” Dino said. “I want you to listen to something. It’s important.”

“ Listen to something? What are you talking about?”

“Just shut up and listen.” There were noises, then Stone could clearly hear a female voice.

“Hey, Dino,” she said, “it’s Shelley. Well, not anymore, but you wouldn’t recognize my new name. I saw you at Elaine’s tonight. Sad, isn’t it? The first time I was ever in the place, and it was the last night. You and Stone and Holly seemed to be having a good time, but I could tell you were a little depressed. Who were all the other people at your table? Regulars, I guess. Well, it’s late, and I’d better let you get to bed. I may be in town for a little while, so I’ll call again. Maybe we can actually talk.” There was a click.

“That’s it,” Dino said.

Stone, Dino, and Holly had spent a lot of time in Washington, D.C., the previous summer while Dino and Stone investigated a year-old murder and a suicide, which turned into a string of five murders, all women. Turned out, the murderer had been in their midst all along.

“Holy shit!” Holly said. “Shelley is in New York?”

“What are you going to do about it, Dino?” Stone asked.

“What the hell can I do about it?” Dino asked.

“The woman is a serial killer,” Stone reminded him. “You can’t ignore this.”

“What do you suggest?”

“You might keep that recording for later,” Stone said.

“Okay, I’ll do that. What else?”

“You’re right, I’m stumped, too. If I were you, I’d give Kerry Smith at the FBI a call tomorrow morning and tell him about this.”

“Okay, I’ll do that, then I’ll forget about it.”

“Sleep tight,” Stone said, then pushed the speaker button again to disconnect.

“So she’s still out there?”

“Shhhhh,” Stone said, kissing her, then he moved on to other things.

Stone woke at his usual seven a.m., but worse than usual for the wear. “Groan,” he said.

Holly stirred beside him. “Groan here, too. What were we drinking last night?”

“Bourbon and Dom Perignon,” Stone said, “and I think there was some red wine in between.”

“My head remembers them all,” Holly said. “Aspirin?”

“In your medicine cabinet,” he replied, and Holly padded across the bedroom to her bathroom. “Bring me three,” Stone called out. “And some water.”

Holly returned with the aspirin bottle and a glass of water, and they both partook.

“A good breakfast will chase away the hangover,” Stone said, picking up the phone and buzzing Helene, his housekeeper. He ordered eggs scrambled with cheese, bacon, English muffins, orange juice, and coffee, then hung up.

“Thank God we don’t have to fix breakfast,” Holly said.