Stuart Woods - Naked Greed

Ryan’s math failed him. He wanted to get out his iPhone and use the calculator but restrained himself.

They had a good dinner, and Ryan got out his wallet and paid cash, spilling hundreds all over the table.

“I’d love an after-dinner drink,” she said, “but they’re looking like they want their table.”

“I don’t think there’s a bar car. I’d invite you back to my suite, but I don’t have anything to drink.”

She held up her handbag. “There’s a flask of some very good cognac in here.”

They walked back to his cabin, and he let them in. As they entered, the train lurched, and the top berth opened, revealing his suitcase. He quickly closed it.

“My, carrying valuables, are we?” she said.

“Just a couple of Rolexes,” he replied. He found some glasses and she poured them generous drinks.

“It’s warm in here,” she said. “Feel free to take off your jacket and tie.” He did so, hanging them on a hook on the door. As he sat down, the train lurched again, and he spilled brandy on his trousers.

“You should take a damp cloth to that,” she said, “or it’ll stain.”

“Excuse me.” He went into the little john, wet a facecloth and dabbed at it, then returned. She had refilled his glass, and he noticed that the top button of her blouse had come undone.

She came closer as he sat down and wrapped her arm around his. “This is how we should toast,” she said, and they drank, then kissed lightly. “I must be careful not to let you get me drunk,” she said. “I might do something unforgivable.”

“Nothing could be unforgivable,” he said.

She rested a hand on his thigh and raised her glass again. “To the forgivable,” she said, squeezing his thigh.

He kissed her, then had an overwhelming urge to belch. “Excuse me!” he said. “Steak doesn’t normally do that to me.”

Her hand moved up his thigh, and he ran a finger down her cleavage. “Mmm,” she said, and he reached for a nipple. He had just found it when a wave of nausea swept over him. He stood up. “Excuse me for a minute.” He went into the john and threw up into the toilet. In a moment, he was on his knees, retching again.

“You all right in there?” she called.

“Just give me a minute,” he said. He needed more than a minute before he could stand. The train was slowing as it came into a station, and he bounced off the walls. Finally, he got hold of the doorknob and turned it, but the door wouldn’t open. “Hey,” he called, “can you open the door from that side? It’s stuck.”

No reply. It was getting hot in the tiny room and he began to sweat heavily. He put his shoulder against the door, and it gave a little. He put more weight behind it and it burst open, spilling him into the little cabin. The door had been tied with his necktie. She was gone. “Goddamnit!” he muttered. “Just when I was about to get lucky.” He mopped his forehead with his sleeve and reached for his jacket to get a handkerchief. He dropped the jacket, and as he picked it up, his wallet fell onto the floor. It was empty.

“Shit!” he yelled. Then he looked out the window and saw Sylvia Mays walk quickly past on the platform in the company of a porter, who was carrying Ryan’s suitcase. He couldn’t believe it. He reached up and unlatched the upper berth, and as it fell open he saw that it was empty. He grabbed the doorknob and pushed, but the door wouldn’t open. He turned and tried to open the window, but it opened only about ten inches.

“Conductor!” he yelled, over and over. Then the door behind him opened.

“Mr. Ryan,” the conductor said, “someone jammed your door with a wedge. Are you all right?” The train began moving again, gaining speed quickly.

Ryan started to tell him, then stopped. What if they caught her? How could he explain what was in the suitcase?

“What station was that?” he asked.

“Charleston, South Carolina,” the conductor replied.

“What’s the next stop?”

“Norfolk, Virginia.”

“Thank you, I’m fine.” As soon as the conductor was gone, he went into the john and vomited again.

Stone got a call from Dino on Wednesday morning.

“Hey,” Dino said.

“You sound better.”

“I’m fine, pal, and the best part is that Viv never knew I wasn’t.”

“Are you at home?”

“No, I’m at the office — I told you I’m fine.”

“Not tired anymore?”

“I’m just fine, trust me!”

“Okay, you’re fine. Any news on Ryan?”

“Yeah, Harrigan finally figured out that he has a cell phone. We checked his calls, but he hasn’t made any for a while.”

“What’s the billing address?”

“His old place, in Queens.”

“I don’t know why it’s so hard to find a guy who doesn’t seem to be hiding.”

“Neither do I, believe me.”

“What’s his cell phone number?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I just want to know, okay? Maybe I’ll call him, and we’ll chat.”

Dino gave him the number. “Don’t call it,” he said, “you’ll just fuck things up, and Harrigan would love to have somebody to blame.”

Stone ignored that. “When are you going to feel like having dinner?”

“I feel like it right now!” Dino yelled. “Can’t you get it into your head that I’m fine?”

“Great, then call Viv, and let’s go to Patroon tonight.”

“Viv’s back in Chicago, this time overnight.”

“See you there at seven-thirty.”

“Right.” Dino hung up and so did Stone.

Stone called Bob Cantor, his general all-around tech guy.

“How you doing?” Bob asked.

“Just fine,” Stone replied. “I’ve got a little thing for you.”

“What do you need?”

Stone gave him Ryan’s cell number. “I need to find the owner of that cell number. His name is Gene Ryan. It’s still listed under his old address, but he’s moved to New Jersey.”

“I’ll see what I can do. You want to know about his calls?”

“Sure, anything you can learn about the guy.”

“I’ll get back to you.”

The Silver Meteor pulled into Pennsylvania Station on time. Ryan, out of an abundance of caution, didn’t get off until there were a lot of people on the platform. He’d managed to keep some soup down at lunch, and he was getting hungry, which he regarded as a good sign. What had that bitch put in his drink?

He joined the crowd on the platform, burdened only by his small suitcase. He was about to look for a cab when he realized he had no money. He found an ATM and got five hundred, then he succumbed to hunger and went into a fast-food restaurant and got a burger. He was standing at a tall table, taking his first bite, when he noticed two men walking quickly toward his train. They were clearly looking for somebody, and they didn’t act like cops. They were burly, wearing suits but no ties, and one of them had a bulge under his left armpit. They walked on toward the train.

Ryan began to wonder if he’d waited too long to throw away the throwaway cell phone. They’d have found Charlie’s, and his number would have been in that, and they might have traced it to the moving train before he pulled the SIM card and dumped it.

He reluctantly left the burger and began walking toward the exit where the cab stand was, still chewing. He was unarmed, not having taken anything to Florida, and he had dumped the bank guard’s Glock. He felt vulnerable.

There was a line at the cab stand, and he waited impatiently. He was almost at the front when the two men emerged from the station and began looking around. He turned his back to them and moved up one more place. He was almost into a cab when he heard somebody shout, “Hey, you!” A cab pulled up, and he dived into it. “Lincoln Tunnel!” he said to the cabbie. “I’ll direct you from there.” He looked over his shoulder and saw the two men standing in the road. One of them was writing down something, probably the cab’s plate number.