Stuart Woods - Bel-Air dead

“Yes.”

“Here’s my advice: cash the check, get it cleared as quickly as possible, and give Prince the agreement as soon as you see him.”

“Why are you giving me that advice?” Stone asked.

Dino shrugged. “Suffice it to say that it’s my best advice, and I don’t think you would regret taking it.” Stone started to respond, but Dino held up a hand. “That’s all I have to say on the subject.”

“All right, I won’t press you. I’ll call Eggers when New York opens for business and get it done.”

Dino smiled happily. “This is going to be a good day,” he said. “I can feel it coming.”

“I wish I could share your optimism,” Stone said.

“What’s the song say? ‘Don’t worry, be happy!’ ”

“That’s mindless optimism,” Stone said.

“No, it’s not. I told you, I have a feeling.”

“You get these feelings all the time, do you?”

“No, just once in a while, but they’re always right.”

“How about the Centurion business? You have a feeling about that?”

“Nope, just about the day in general. I think we should have a celebratory dinner.”

“Even if you don’t know what we’ll be celebrating?”

“I didn’t say I didn’t know anything,” Dino said. “I just don’t know how the Centurion thing is going to play out.”

“You’re making me crazy,” Stone said. “I’ve never seen you like this. Did you take some weird kind of sleeping pill that hasn’t worn off yet?”

“Nope, I never need sleeping pills. I sleep like a Labrador retriever.”

“Why do you say that? You don’t have a Labrador retriever.”

“No, but I met one, once, and I was impressed with the way he slept.”

Stone’s cell buzzed, and he picked it up. “Hello?”

“Good morning, it’s Eggers. This is your big day, isn’t it?”

“That’s what Dino says, but I’m not too sure. Things haven’t gone well here the past couple of days.”

“So why is Dino so up?”

“Who knows? He says he has a feeling.”

“He’s Italian; I wouldn’t discount it.”

“Why did you call, Bill?”

“Just to wish you luck at your stockholders’ meeting today.”

“Well, I was going to call you at nine, New York time, so I’m glad you called.”

“What can I do for you, Stone?”

“I have a check from Terry Prince made out to Arrington in the amount of twenty-five million dollars. How can I cash it before he changes his mind?”

“Jesus, what’s it for?”

“It’s a non-refundable deposit on the sale of her Bel-Air property to him.”

“What bank is it drawn on?”

Stone got out the check and looked at it. “Wells Fargo,” he said.

“What branch?”

“It’s on Wilshire, near Prince’s offices.”

“Here’s what you do: you be at the branch when it opens and ask for the manager. You show him the sales contract-has Prince signed it?”

“Yes, it came already signed.”

“Has Arrington signed it?”

“Yes.”

“Get her to endorse the check, too. Then you tell the manager you want the funds wired to our trust account immediately. Got a pen?”

Stone got out his pen and jotter pad. “Ready.”

Eggers dictated the account number. “He’ll feel better about wiring it to our account, instead of a private account. Tell him to make the wire to my attention.”

“What, so you won’t get it mixed up with all the other wires for twenty-five million dollars?”

“Yeah. I’ll have somebody call you when the funds are in our account, and we’ll transfer the money to Arrington’s account at Chase this morning.”

“Okay, I’ll follow your instructions.”

“Good. By the way, I sent you a little gift package; you’ll get it by FedEx, early delivery.”

“Is it a fruit basket, Bill?”

“Not exactly, but you could look at it that way.”

“Chocolates?”

“Again, not exactly.”

“Well, I just can’t wait! I’m on pins and needles!”

“Oh, shut up. I have to go to work, now; they get up early at Boeing.” He hung up.

Stone turned to Dino. “I have to be at Prince’s bank, on Wilshire, when it opens.”

“You do that,” Dino said.

Arrington came out to the patio in pajamas and a dressing gown, glowing, in spite of no makeup. “Good morning, all,” she said. “I think this is going to be a wonderful day!”

“Talk to Dino,” Stone said, handing her Prince’s check. “In the meantime I need you to endorse this check.”

“Of course,” she said, signing it with a flourish.

Manolo appeared to take their breakfast order, and he was holding a FedEx box. “This just came for you, Mr. Stone,” he said, handing it to him.

Stone looked at the waybill. “It’s a gift from Bill Eggers,” he said. He ripped open the box and shook another, more elegant box from it. He opened the box and removed some tissue paper. Underneath was a stack of Woodman amp; Weld stationery and envelopes and a smaller box. Stone shook that open, and it was filled with cards. He held one up and read it: it proclaimed him a partner of Woodman amp; Weld. He handed one each to Arrington and Dino. “My card,” he said, then he looked at the letterhead and found his name among those of the partners listed there. “Congratulations!” Arrington and Dino said simultaneously. Stone glowed.

Stone left the house at eight-thirty and drove down to Wilshire. He was right, the Wells Fargo branch was near Prince’s building: it was in his building. He parked in the underground garage and took the escalator to the ground floor. He was ten minutes early, so he strolled over to the building’s directory and looked at the list of occupants. There were two: Wells Fargo Bank and Prince Properties. Management occupied the two top floors, and all the others seemed to be Prince subsidiaries, since they all had his name in their titles.

A man came to the bank door from the inside and unlocked two deadbolts in the glass doors. Open for business. Stone walked inside and approached the first desk, where a middle-aged woman in a business suit sat. “Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning, how may I help you?”

Stone handed her one of his new cards. “I’d like to speak to the manager, please. It’s a matter of some urgency.”

“One moment, Mr. Barrington,” she said, reading his name from the card. She got up, walked a few yards to a mahogany door, rapped on it, and then went inside.

Stone looked around. Seemed to be a normal banking day. People made deposits; people cashed checks; people filled out loan applications.

The woman returned. “Mr. Woolich will see you,” she said. “Right through that door.” She pointed.

Stone followed her finger to the mahogany door, knocked twice, and entered. A plump, balding man in his fifties sat behind a mahogany desk. He rose and offered his hand.

“Good morning, Mr. Barrington. Please be seated.”

Stone sat himself in a leather armchair.

“How may I be of service?” Woolich asked.

“I’d like to cash a check,” Stone replied. He handed it to Woolich.

Woolich took a look at it, apparently thought he’d read it incorrectly, then took another look at it. He gulped. “You wish to cash this check?”

Stone handed him a copy of the sales agreement. “Pursuant to this agreement with Mr. Prince.”

Woolich read the document carefully. “Well, this certainly seems to be in order, Mr. Barrington, but we don’t have that much cash in the branch’s vault, and I’m not sure we have that much in the city of Los Angeles.”

“Forgive me,” Stone said. “I didn’t make myself clear. I wish to wire the funds to the trust account of the law firm of Woodman amp; Weld, in New York.” He handed Woolich another of his cards upon which he had written the account number.