Stuart Woods: Dirty Work

"I'll see what I can do," she said. It may take a few days."

"As few as possible, please." Stone reached into his pocket and handed her the four photographs.

Carpenter looked at the first one, of Fortescue lying on his back, the woman hovering over him. "Oh, Lawrence," she murmured.

"Huh?" Stone said.

She looked at the other three photographs, then her mouth dropped open. "Jesus!" she said. She got up, found her handbag, took out a cell phone and dialed a number.

"It's Carpenter," she said into the phone. "I've got a photograph of her." She looked at the bedside clock. "Half an hour," she said, and punched off.

"What's going on?" Stone asked.

"Get out of here. I've got to get dressed," she said, rummaging through the closet for clothes.

"Are you going to be free for dinner?" he asked.

"I'll call you when I know," she replied, then she went into the bathroom and shut the door, taking the photographs with her.

He opened the door a little. "It's not even that good a photograph," he called out.

"It's the only one in existence," she called back.

Stone stayed at home the early part of the evening, waiting for Carpenter to call, until hunger got the better of him. What the hell, she had his cell phone number, so why wait?

He arrived at Elaine's only moments before she would have given away his table. It was a very busy night, and even regulars were waiting at the bar. They shot him evil glances as he sat down.

Elaine came over. "You know how much I could have gotten for your table?" she asked, nodding at the bar.

"Let them eat… cake," Stone replied. "You'll overcharge them anyway."

"You could get a fork in the chest, talking like that," she replied equably.

"I just want one in my hand, and something to eat." He grabbed a waiter and ordered a spinach salad and osso buco. "Tell Barry I want it with polenta instead of pasta," he said. "And I need a Wild Turkey on the rocks, and bad."

"Tough day?" Elaine asked.

"I had to face Elena Marks today," he replied.

"You mean, explain how you killed her husband?"

"I didn't kill her husband, and neither did the guy I sent. You been talking to Dino?"

"I'll never tell."

"Just between you and me and the nearest gossip columnist in this joint, Larry had already bought it when the kid took his dive."

"The cops don't seem to know that."

"They will soon," Stone said. "I've seen to it."

"So where's Felicity, the English doll?"

"Working. I was hoping she'd make it to dinner."

"What does she do?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

"If I did, she'd have to kill me, and believe me, she would."

"I don't think she would enjoy it," Elaine observed.

"Maybe not, but she'd do it just the same. She's already pointed a gun at me once today."

"I didn't know you were that bad in the sack."

Stone's cell phone vibrated. "Hello?"

"It's me," Carpenter said.

"Who's this?"

"Don't give me a hard time. I'm in a car on the way to Elaine's; that's where you are, isn't it?"

"Maybe."

"I'll be there shortly." She punched off.

"Was that Felicity?" Elaine asked.

"It was Carpenter," he replied.

"Her last name is Devonshire," Elaine said. "Why do you call her Carpenter?"

"It was how she introduced herself at our first encounter," Stone said.

"I don't get it."

"She had an associate named Mason and another named Plumber."

"What is she, an English cop?"

"Elaine, if I told you any more, she'd have to kill you."

"Enough said," Elaine said, throwing up her hands. "And here she is," she said, looking toward the door.

Carpenter walked in and came to the table. "Dino will be here in a minute," she said, pecking him on the cheek.

"How do you know that?" Stone asked.

"Because we came here in his car."

Dino came in, a newspaper tucked under his arm, and sat down. "Evening, all," he said.

Elaine reached over and patted his cheek affectionately.

"Wait a minute," Stone said. "What were you and Dino doing in the same car?"

Carpenter smiled. "You're beautiful when you're jealous."

"I'm not jealous."

"No?" she said, frowning.

After his session with Elena Marks, Stone was glad she could still frown. "I'm just curious."

"Should we tell him, Dino?" Carpenter asked.

"Nah," Dino said. "Let him sweat."

"I'm not sweating," Stone said.

"Sure you are," Dino replied.

"He's sweating," Carpenter agreed.

"Yeah," Elaine said.

"Okay, don't tell me," he said to Carpenter. "You want a drink and some dinner?"

"Yes, please. I'll start with one of those bourbon whiskies."

Stone flagged down a waiter. "Bring her what I'm having," he said.

"And what are you having?" Carpenter asked.

"Unborn calf," Stone replied. "With a very nice sauce."

"Sounds yummy," she replied. "Okay, Dino and I were in the same meeting."

"About what?" Stone asked, puzzled.

"If we told you, we'd have to kill you," Dino said.

Elaine roared with laughter, then she got up and hopped to another table.

"You know," Carpenter said, "your Herbie Fisher character wasn't entirely useless."

"That's right," Dino said, flipping idly through the Post.

"You mean, because of the picture he took?"

"Can you think of any other way he wasn't entirely useless?" Dino asked.

"Now that you mention it, no." He turned to Carpenter. "You said it was the only one in existence. What did you mean by that?"

"I meant it's the only one in existence."

"Thank you for the clarification. Why is it the only one in existence?"

"Because she has scrupulously avoided ever being photographed."

"In her entire life?"

"Since she was about twelve, in school."

"Why?"

"Because she doesn't want anybody to know what she looks like."

"All right," Stone said. "Who is she?"

"She's a woman who goes around assassinating people," Carpenter said. "And the luckiest thing in your life is that she doesn't know you're responsible for the only photograph ever taken of her."

"I wouldn't say that," Dino said, handing Carpenter the Post and tapping an item on Page Six.

Carpenter read aloud. " 'Rumor has it that the strange death of Lawrence Fortescue (Mr. Elena Marks), caused by a peeper photographer who fell through a skylight while taking candid snaps of Mr. M. and a certain young lady doing disgusting things to each other, was organized by a fairly sleazy Gotham "lawyer," with a very "hard" name, who hired the falling photog. Any guesses? We'll bet he's supping tonight at Elaine's." '

Carpenter put the paper down. "Oh, shit," she said.

"Oh, yeah," Dino agreed.

Stone looked at Dino and Carpenter narrowly. "I hope this is some kind of joke."

"I'm afraid not," Carpenter said seriously. "My people are very interested in finding her, and they asked me to liaise with the NYPD. That's why Dino and I were in the same meeting. Since we were already acquainted, I picked him to liaise with."

"Who is this woman?" Stone asked.

"I'll tell you all we know about her, and believe me, it won't take long. She was born Marie-Therese du Bois, in Zurich, of a Swiss father and an Egyptian mother, but she doesn't use that name anymore, because if she did, she might get caught."

"Tell me all of it."

"Little Marie-Therese grew up in Switzerland and in Egypt, and she was something of a whiz with languages, being exposed to four – the usual Swiss three, plus her mother's Arabic – while growing up. Even as a girl, her hobby was studying languages. In addition to her native tongues, she picked up Farsi, Urdu, and some Hindi. Her father imported Middle Eastern products to Switzerland – rugs, olive oil, dates, pottery – whatever he could turn a profit on, and he was very prosperous, ended up rich, in fact. She traveled with him often around the Mediterranean basin, picking up Spanish and Greek along the way. She'd sit in hotel rooms, watching local television and conjugating verbs."