Стюарт Вудс - Indecent Exposure

“Gotcha.”

Crank was back in Turtle Bay by 9:30 and watched as the Bentley left the garage. More traffic, more stops. Finally, in a bust of glee, Crank gunned the Honda and zipped uptown between lanes of traffic. After all, he knew where the car was going, and he was there, waiting, when the Bentley pulled up to the line of limos in front of the door. Eventually, Barrington and the woman came outside and found the car, then Crank was in for another round of stop-and-go traffic.

They went up Madison Avenue and took a right on East Sixty-third Street, and looking down the block, Crank thought he had come upon the policeman’s ball. He counted four police cars and SUVs double-parked, two of them with lights flashing, and at least a dozen cops outside the building on the corner, standing around and waiting for something terrible to happen.

Crank made his way down the street slowly, legs out, skimming the ground, and because of the clot of traffic he was able to get a really good look at what was going on. He reckoned everyone would pour into the place and then start trickling out after the midnight toast.

“What the hell,” he said aloud to himself, “I may as well take in a movie and catch ’em coming out.”

Stone and Holly had to wait until two elevator loads had gone upstairs before them. Finally, they stepped into the vestibule of the Bacchetti apartment, where a helper was taking coats. Stone was glad they had left theirs in the car, and Holly wore a stole over her shoulders.

They worked their way across the living room, shaking a hand here and there. Stone noticed he got a lot more attention because Holly was his date; most of them had never met a secretary of state.

They finally reached Dino and Viv and embraced both.

“Wow,” Dino commented on Holly’s dress.

“You never gain a pound, do you?” Viv asked.

“I have to watch my weight like a hawk,” Holly replied with a groan for emphasis.

Shortly, Benton Blake and Gloria Parsons entered the room, and the former governor was rushed by nearly everybody there. Gloria clung to his arm, to keep the crowd from coming between them. And then they were face-to-face with Stone Barrington and Holly Barker.

Gloria shrank from them, but Benton pushed her forward and Stone introduced them both to Holly. Gloria wondered if one curtsied to a secretary of state.

“Loved your piece in that magazine,” Holly said, without a trace of a smile.

“Sorry,” Gloria said, “it’s the nature of the beast.”

“Stone loved it, too,” Holly said, rubbing it in. “It did wonders for his reputation.”

“Which is well earned,” Benton said, stepping in to rescue her. He and Stone shook hands warmly. Fortunately, a waiter appeared with champagne, which gave the ex-governor an opportunity to change the subject. “I haven’t seen you around the office,” he said to Stone.

“I come in a couple of times a week, if there’s a meeting I can’t handle on the computer,” Stone replied. “I like working at home.”

“All alone?” Benton asked.

“The company is good.”

Everybody laughed, easing the tension.

A man in a tuxedo that was a little too tight for him approached and shook Stone’s hand.

“Have you met Holly Barker, Chief?” Stone asked. “Holly, this is Deputy Chief Mallory.”

“How do you do, Madam Secretary? I’ll be supervising your security detail for your UN speech this week.”

“Thank you for your concern, Chief,” Holly replied. “Tell me, how many officers will the department be wasting on that detail? Nobody is interested in killing me.”

“A couple of dozen officers will have that privilege, but I assure you, they will not be wasted. We would not want anything untoward to happen to such a charming lady.”

“I’m overwhelmed,” Holly said, smiling, trying to set the man at ease. Someone tugged at his sleeve and he wandered gratefully off into the next room.

Holly tugged at Stone’s sleeve. “I’m hungry,” she said.

Well, that wasn’t as bad as it could have been,” Gloria said, “though she did find a way to tell me off without yelling.”

“People in your business should have to meet their quarry face-to-face more often,” Benton said. “It would be character-building.”

“You think my character needs building?” she asked.

“More character, less journalist could be a good idea.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Crank Jackson got out of his movie at half past eleven and found another parking ticket on his motorcycle. This one will be good, he thought; it will place me more than a mile from the scene of the crime. He got it started and drove back to East Sixty-third Street. Traffic was much improved; he drove slowly past the building and saw that the cops were now mostly in the lobby, keeping warm. He drove around the block once more and noticed that there was only one police car parked out front, now, and the driver was apparently inside with the rest of his colleagues.

Crank turned downtown on Park Avenue and backed the cycle between two limos, whose drivers had sought warmth and companionship somewhere else. Now he was only a few yards from the building’s entrance, around the corner, and Park Avenue would be a good escape route downtown when he had to run for it.

He checked his watch: a quarter to twelve. Then, as he watched, Barrington’s green Bentley came around the corner and doubled-parked on the avenue, one car down from where Crank had settled in. Now Barrington and his lady would have to come to him, making his work much easier and his escape surer.

Everybody counted backward from ten while watching the big ball on TV fall in Times Square, then they sang “Auld Lang Syne,” even if nobody understood the words.

“Whew!” Stone said. “We made it through another one. You ready to go home?”

“I just want to have a look at dessert,” Holly said, leading him through the waning crowd toward the groaning board. “You want some?”

“Maybe half a slice of mince pie,” Stone said, following her.

“The bread pudding looks wonderful,” Holly said, adding some caramel sauce and a scoop of ice cream to hers. She took a big bite of everything. “It is wonderful!”

Stone returned most of his pie to a passing waiter, then went into Dino’s study and collapsed into a comfortable leather chair. The mayor was sitting opposite him.

“Happy new year, Barrington,” the man said. He tended to use last names only when speaking to men: fewer names to remember.

“Yer Honor, the same to you,” Stone replied. “How’ve you been?”

“Tolerable, I guess you could say. I’m trying to sober up enough to get myself out of this armchair.”

“Don’t fight it,” Stone said, “just sit back and enjoy. Can I get you another drink?” While hizzoner was thinking about that, Stone flagged down a waiter and snagged two loaded brandy snifters, handing one to the mayor.

“Better times,” Stone said, raising his glass.

“I’ll sure as hell drink to that,” the mayor replied.

“Tell me, which is more fun — police commissioner or mayor?” The man had held both jobs.

“Fun?” the man exploded. “I don’t think I’ve had a day’s fun in either one. They’re both like a slog through deep snow — or more likely, deep shit.”

“What was your worst day?”

“Every single police funeral I attended,” he replied, “and I attended them all, as commissioner or mayor, most of them shootings, but if somebody’s dog bit him on the ankle and he fell down the stairs, I attended that, too.”

“A sad duty. I’ve attended a few, myself.”

“I hear you were a much better detective than anybody gave you credit for,” the mayor said.