Stuart Woods - Dirty Work

"All right," Stone said, and hung up. Then he called Dino.

Stone was halfway through his first bourbon when Dino arrived at Elaine's.

Dino gave Elaine a kiss and settled into a chair opposite Stone. "A Laphroaig on the rocks," he said to a waiter.

"You're drinking single malts now?" Stone asked.

"Only when you're buying," Dino replied. "And it's better than that corn whisky you drink."

"Corn liquor aged in oak barrels for ten years," Stone said. "And bourbon is a patriotic American libation."

"Then you ought to get the Medal of Honor. What's going on?"

"I need your help."

"So what else is new?"

"You'll be preventing a killing on the streets of New York, so just think of it as doing your job."

"I'm real anxious to hear what your idea of doing my job is."

"All right, pay attention, this is complicated."

"I'll try to follow," Dino said, "if you'll keep it to words of two syllables or less."

"Actually-"

"That's four syllables."

"Dino, shut up and listen."

"Can I have another Laphroaig on the rocks?" Dino asked a passing waiter.

"You haven't finished the one you're drinking," Stone pointed out.

"Yeah, but you're going to talk for a long time, and I don't want to interrupt you by ordering another drink."

"You just did."

"After this. Go."

"I've arranged a meeting between the head of Carpenter's service and La Biche, and-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Dino nearly shouted. "How the fuck could you do that when you don't know either one of them?"

"We've all met since I saw you last."

"Last I heard, you were upset about their trying to kill her."

"I still am. I'm trying to stop it from happening. That's why I need your help."

"Okay, just a minute, there's something I want to know."

"What?"

"What are four retired NYPD cops doing outside in the street and at the bar right now?"

"They're making sure I'm not being followed."

"Stone, have you come over all paranoid?"

"Dino, if you'll just let me talk uninterrupted for a few minutes, all your questions will be answered, I promise."

"I'm listening."

"No, you're not, you're asking questions."

"No, I'm listening." Dino rested his chin in his hand. "See? This is me listening."

"To begin again, I've arranged a meeting between La Biche and Sir Edward Fieldstone-"

"Where do the Brits get these names?" Dino asked, shaking his head.

"Dino, shut up and listen."

Dino drew an imaginary zipper across his mouth.

"… who is the head of Carpenter's service. He has proposed a truce between his people and La Biche – in short, they stop killing each other."

Dino shook his head in wonder and laughed.

"Dino…"

"I didn't say a word, but that was funny."

"The participants in this situation don't think it's funny."

"Yeah, I'll bet. How many of this Fieldstone guy's people has La Biche got on the scoreboard?"

"Too many, that's why he wants the truce. So I've arranged a meeting between them."

"Is the girl bananas? If she shows up at a meeting, the Brits will waste her."

"That's what I'm trying to prevent, and that's why I need your help."

"You want me to get her some body armor to wear?"

"That's not the worst idea you've ever had, but no, I don't think that will be necessary."

"Well, I don't want to be anywhere nearby when this meeting happens."

"That's exactly where I want you to be."

"Not anywhere nearby?"

"No, nearby. In fact, very nearby."

A look of incredulity spread across Dino's face.

"Just hear me out."

"You want me to take a bullet for this broad?"

"No, but if you're there, nobody will take a bullet."

"And how do we know that?" Dino asked. "Really, I'd like to know why my presence would stop them from pulling her plug."

"Dino, you're a lieutenant in the NYPD. It's not in their interests to kill such a person. That's why they won't shoot if you're close to her and they know it."

"And where is this meeting going to take place?"

"I don't know."

"What?"

"I don't know yet."

"Let's backtrack a minute here," Dino said. "How is it you happen to be in touch with La Biche?"

"I got her number from Bobby, the bartender."

"From Bobby, the bartender here?" Dino pointed down.

"Yes."

"Let me get this straight: If you want to get in touch with an international terrorist and assassin, the guy to see is Bobby, the bartender at Elaine's?"

"In this case, yes. You see-"

"Boy, I've been underestimating Bobby. I thought all he did was pour drinks, but all the time, he's a clearinghouse for spies and assassins."

"You remember the night you arrested her here?"

"I seem to have some recollection of that."

"She was at the bar talking to Bobby. He asked her for her number, and she gave it to him. Her cell phone number."

"Man, I wish I'd thought of that when I had her in custody. It would make it so much easier to get in touch with her the next time she kills somebody."

"Dino, that's how it happened. I called her and met with her-"

"And why the fuck would you want to do a stupid thing like that. After that thing in the Post…"

"That's why I wanted to talk with her, to explain that I had nothing to do with trying to kill her. I didn't want her breathing down my neck."

"And she took your word for that? She's not as smart as I thought she was."

"She is very, very smart, believe me, and I can pull off this meeting and stop this killing, if you'll go along with me."

"Sure, sure, I'll go along. It'll make a nice change. I haven't done anything this crazy in years."

"All right," Stone said, "this is how we're going to do it."

Dino listened, rapt. When Stone had finished, he burst out laughing.

"Jesus, I love it. And what are you going to do if World War Three breaks out in this public place?"

"Trust me, Dino, this is going to work."

"I hope to God you're right," Dino said, "because if you're not, it's going to be my ass."

"And mine."

"Never mind yours," Dino said.

Sir Edward Fieldstone stood in the middle of Rockefeller Center and tried to watch the skaters. He did not like being in the midst of all these… people… these foreigners, these colonials, these Americans with what he assumed were Brooklyn accents. His idea of New York accents had been formed by watching a great many World War II movies, American ones, mostly. His idea of a New Yorker was William Bendix.

He had stood there, increasingly annoyed, for twelve minutes before the cell phone in his hand vibrated. He opened it and put it to an ear. "Yes?"

"Good afternoon, Sir Edward," Marie-Therese said.

"If you say so."

"Now, now, mustn't be unpleasant."

His annoyance, and the thick body armor he wore under his jacket, caused him to begin to perspire. "May we get on with this, please?"

"Of course. You are to walk west on West Fiftieth Street, to your right. When you come to Sixth Avenue, cross and turn left."

"What…" But the connection had been broken.

"I'm to walk west on Fiftieth Street, cross Sixth Avenue, and turn left," he said, lowering his head and hoping the microphone pinned to the back of his lapel was working.

"The van won't be able to follow you," Carpenter replied, "because the traffic on Sixth Avenue moves uptown, and you'll be walking downtown, and I don't think we can take the risk of backup on the ground. But the chopper will keep you in view."

Sir Edward looked up.

"Don't look up," Carpenter said, "and don't lower your head when you speak. The microphone can pick up your voice. Speak as little as possible, and when you do, try not to move your lips."