Стюарт Вудс - Indecent Exposure

“But not in Cuba — no shots from there.”

“No, no shots from there. They got one of the yacht’s name being changed, though.” It was written under the pseudonym Laurentia Scott-Peebles. He scanned the piece quickly. She seemed to know everything they had done on their cruise, including the voyage to Cuba. She had to have been aboard the smaller yacht Ciao , but it almost sounded as if she’d been aboard Breeze.

“Well,” Dino said, “you got away with it until tomorrow.

Alphonse Teppi and Danny Blaine took a table at a place on the West Side, near Danny’s office. Shortly, a friend of Danny’s joined them.

“Al,” Danny said, “this is Crank Jackson. We went to graduate school together.”

“Oh?” Al asked. “Where?”

“Fishkill.”

Crank Jackson was short, with a shaved head, but he managed to be imposing. Al spotted part of a prison-style tattoo on his neck, under his shirt collar. “What did you guys study?” Al asked, smirking.

“I majored in science — breaking limbs,” Crank replied, returning the smirk. “Danny studied the fine arts — pickpocketing.”

“I got pretty good at it, too.”

“Where’s the can?” Crank asked.

“Over there, behind the cash register,” Al replied, and watched Crank pick his way through the tables with considerable grace of movement.

“Crank is your general all-round criminal,” Danny said, “he just specializes in leg-breaking — he used to work for a shylock who didn’t like people who missed payments.”

“Yeah? What’s he doing these days?”

“Whatever he’s asked to do — you name it. For five grand, his standard fee, Crank will remove a person’s head from his torso, or anything else you’d like done.”

“Well, then,” Al said, “Crank could come in very useful.”

“How so?”

“I spoke to Gloria, she’s back from her trip, and she’s still mad at Barrington. She’d like him to have a serious accident — fatal.”

“Great!” Danny replied with enthusiasm. “I’m so sick of following the guy I’d be glad to see him go.”

“Up to you how, pal,” Al said.

“You think she means it?”

“Yes, and sooner rather than later.”

They saw Crank returning from the men’s room.

“The means are at hand,” Danny said, “and we don’t have to get our hands dirty.”

Crank fell back into his chair. “What are you guys looking so smug about?”

“We were just talking about you, Crank,” Danny said. “And what you do so well.”

Crank grinned. “Lay it on me.”

Joan came into Stone’s office the following morning. “It seems you have won the favor of the media again,” she said.

“Oh, no.”

“I have five requests for a TV interview — including Charlie Rose and the Today show. I told the other three, politely, to get lost.”

“Well, you can tell the Today show, politely, and Charlie, very politely, that my lips are sealed on the subject of the cruise, and I do not confirm nor deny anything, including whether I have an interest in Breeze , which is owned by a Delaware corporation, if they try to trace her.”

“Gotcha, boss. Same with the print people?”

“Nothing to say, and I decline to say it.”

“It only makes you more interesting to them, you know.”

“Remember what happened when you advised me to talk to one of them, and the others would go away?”

“I seem to recall that,” she replied. “It didn’t end well, did it?”

“Well, it finally seems to have been straightened out, or at least it seemed so until that came out.” He pointed at the copy of Just Folks on his desk.

“I’ve already read it,” Joan said. “Oops, your phone.” She picked up the one on his desk. “The Barrington Group at Woodman & Weld,” she said, then listened and covered the phone. “Will you speak to the President of the United States?” she asked archly.

Stone took the phone from her. “This is Stone Barrington.”

“Just one moment, Mr. Barrington,” the operator said.

There was a click, then: “Good morning, Stone,” Kate Lee said.

He was relieved that she sounded cheerful.

“Well, I guess we couldn’t keep it a secret forever, but at least we weren’t found out until it was over.”

“I’ve no idea how they caught on,” Stone said.

“I do. Word got around Key West that some British dignitary was aboard — maybe the prime minister or a rock star. I don’t think they knew I was there until I was back in Georgia for the night.”

“How’s Billy?”

“He loved seeing his pony. He wants me to build a stable on the White House lawn.”

“The Republicans in Congress would just love that.”

“Wouldn’t they? I just wanted you to know that, with your help, we accomplished our purpose, and I’m not in the least sorry that they found us out when it was over.”

“Thank you, Kate.”

She wished him a happy new year and hung up.

Joan Buzzed him. “The secretary of state on line one.”

He picked up. “Good morning.”

“Same to you. I’m getting into a chopper now, I’ll be there in time for lunch.”

“Want me to meet you at the heliport?”

“Nope. The State Department doesn’t regard you as having any security benefit attached. The guys with the guns will deposit me on your doorstep, then flee.”

“See you then.” Stone hung up and buzzed Joan.

“Yessir?”

“Ask Helene to whip up something for lunch for Holly and me.”

“Sure thing.”

Danny Blaine and Crank Jackson were riding uptown in an Uber. They got out on Stone’s corner. “Tell me, Crank,” Danny said, “where’d you get your nickname?”

“From a prison guard,” Crank replied. “He liked my action when I broke a guy’s neck in the yard, once.”

“Ah. Okay, we’re going to walk quickly down the south side of the street. When I tell you to, take a good look at the house on your left, the one with the garage door, but don’t slow down. We don’t want to be noticed by anyone inside.”

“Gotcha,” Crank replied.

They walked down the block, and Crank swiveled his head left for a long moment. “Got it,” he said.

“The guy works at home but goes out for lunch occasionally, sometimes in a Bentley that looks armored, so it’s no good shooting him through a window. Sometimes he walks to a restaurant though.”

“I need a motorcycle,” Crank said.

“Steal one.”

“Can do. I need a .22 with a silencer. We don’t want to have the whole neighborhood calling nine-one-one at the same time.”

“It’s a straight five grand, Crank.” Danny handed him an envelope. “Here’s a grand, the rest on delivery. Anything you need comes out of your end.”

“Fair enough.”

Crank visited a pawnshop on the Lower East Side and selected a .22 semiautomatic pistol and a nicely crafted silencer from the owner’s private stock in the cellar. He was allowed to test fire it once for noise. It made a plip sound. “Very nice,” he replied, and negotiated the price from a thousand down to seven hundred.

“I’ll buy it back for two hundred when you’re done,” his supplier said. “I can change the ballistics.”

“I need a set of bolt cutters, too,” Crank said.

“The hardware store is three doors down, on your right.”

Crank stuffed the pistol into the inside pocket of his parka and the silencer in another, then visited the hardware store and bought a short-handled bolt cutter and a screwdriver.

The motorcycle theft took a little longer: he wanted something on the light side, but with enough power to speed through traffic, and conventionally muffled. No Harley noise for this job. He found a nice little Honda, conveniently stuffed between two parked cars, which hid his actions. He removed the license plate and exchanged it for one on another cycle down the block, then he went back to the Honda, cut the chain anchoring it to a street sign, and did a little magic to get it started. The helmet on board was, not surprisingly, too small, so he put up the hood on his parka. Shortly, he was on his way uptown for a little more reconnoitering.