Стюарт Вудс - Indecent Exposure

“Those are kind words, sir.”

“Ever wish you’d stuck with it?”

“I didn’t have that opportunity. They elbowed me out at the first opportunity.”

“I remember that,” the mayor said. “I was chief of detectives at the time, but they had that medical report, and there was nothing I could do.”

“Well, I guess I landed on my feet,” Stone said. “I’ve no complaints.”

“I should think not!” the mayor snorted.

Holly appeared. “Okay, I’m stuffed. We can go.”

“Mr. Mayor, may I introduce the secretary of state, Holly Barker? Madam Secretary, His Honor, the mayor of New York City.”

“We met a long time ago,” she said, “when you were a deputy chief of police and I was running the CIA station in the city.”

“Ah, yes,” the mayor said. “I remember when it blew up.”

“There was that,” Holly replied ruefully.

“That was the nastiest explosion we’ve ever had in this town,” he said. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt. Tell me, Madam Secretary, have you ever considered running for President?”

Holly put the back of a hand to her forehead and feigned a swoon. “God forbid,” she said.

“You keep thinking about it,” the mayor said. “I’ll announce my support the first day, for what that’s worth.”

“It would be worth a great deal,” Holly said, “and if the day should ever dawn, I’ll come looking for you.”

Stone, sensing she was uncomfortable, rose and made leaving noises. They said good night to the mayor and to their hosts and lined up for the elevator again.

Gloria Parsons made her way to the powder room, locked herself in, set her bag down by the loo, pulled everything down, and sat. As she did, she spotted her cell phone in her bag, which she had neglected for some days. There were two phone messages, and she pressed the button. The first was from Al Teppi, and she listened in horror. “That stupid shit! Doesn’t he know from sarcasm?”

Someone knocked on the door. “Anyone in there?”

“Occupied!” Gloria yelled, pressing the other button. It was Danny. He and Al were both insane, and Danny was asking for another four thousand dollars. Another four thousand? She threw the phone at the bag, pulled up her thong, and wrestled with the door lock, finally getting it open and startling the woman waiting outside.

She ran into the living room, looking around, then spotted Stone Barrington and Holly Barker getting onto the elevator. She yelled his name as the doors closed and the dozen people waiting for the next ride all turned and looked at her.

Benton Blake appeared at her side. “What’s going on?” he asked.

She grabbed his hand and towed him toward the stairs. “Come on!” she hissed.

“What’s going on?”

“I’ve got to stop them,” she said.

“Stop who?”

She slammed the fire door behind her, took off her heels, and bolted down the stairs, with Benton in pursuit.

“Gloria, what the hell?”

“Shut up and follow me!” she shouted, and kept running.

Crank Jackson loitered behind a large mailbox, which gave him good cover, and watched the door of the apartment building. He took the pistol from his inside pocket and the silencer from his outer pocket and began screwing one into the other. Finally he worked the action, feeding a round into the chamber, and flicked off the safety.

Stone and Holly filed out of the elevator with the others, and as they entered the lobby, a blast of cold air blew in.

“It’s going to be freezing out there,” Holly said.

“Don’t worry, I spoke to Fred, and he’s parked just around the corner to the right with the heat on, so you won’t be cold for long.”

Fred got out of the car, dressed only in his suit, and shivered in the night air, watching the corner for his passengers’ approach. As he did he saw a man in a black coat with a hood standing behind a mailbox, staring at the building with interest, with something long and black in his hand.

Gloria burst through the downstairs door and into the lobby, her bare feet freezing on the cold marble floor. “Stone!” she yelled, as he disappeared out the front door. She began fighting her way through the crowd of revelers and cops in the lobby.

Crank Jackson spotted them coming and raised the pistol, resting it on top of the mailbox. He sighted on Barrington’s forehead and waited for him to reach the corner of the building. As he did, he began squeezing the trigger very slowly.

Stone took Holly’s hand and pulled her across his body to the right, to give her some shelter from the side of the building. As he did, he heard two noises almost simultaneously: one, a plip , the other, a very loud bang.

Holly flinched, took a step back, and said, “Ow, goddamnit!”

“Did you break a heel?” Stone asked, looking down at the sidewalk for the object in question.

“No,” Holly said angrily, “I’ve been shot, and I’m getting blood on this fucking dress.”

Stone turned her around and surveyed her; there was blood soaking through her gauzy stole.

“Mr. Barrington!” It was Fred, calling from the direction of the car.

“We’re coming, Fred.”

“I’ve just shot someone,” Fred said. He was gripping his pistol with both hands, pointing downward behind a mailbox.

Stone looked down and saw a bald head with its back missing and brains coming out. “Holy shit,” he said, thrusting Holly at Fred. “Get her into the car, we’re going to the hospital. I’ll be right back.”

Stone ran back to the entrance, shoved the door open, and yelled at a room full of cops and people in evening dress. “Gunshot, man down behind the mailbox. I’m going to Lenox Hill Hospital, meet me there.” He ran back around the corner and jumped into the car. “Go, Fred!” He looked back as they drove away and saw a stream of cops pouring into the street.

“U-turn, then right on East Seventy-seventh Street!” he said to Fred, more quietly now. He pulled a fresh linen handkerchief from his inside pocket and pressed it against Holly’s wound. “Hold this right there,” he said, as the red traffic signals blew by and the sound of horns followed them. “And a happy new year to you, too,” Stone muttered.

Fred made the turn on Seventy-seventh and screeched to a halt in front of the ER awning.

“You stay here for a second, and I’ll be right back,” Stone said to Holly. He leaped out of the car, ran around it, and barged into the building, where a pair of gurneys were in the hallway, and he grabbed one of them. “Gunshot wound in the street!” he yelled at a pair of nurses locked in conversation, then he rammed a gurney through the swinging doors and pushed it outside, where Holly was on the sidewalk, leaning against the car, supported by Fred.

“I can walk,” she said.

Stone picked her up bodily and laid her gently on the cart. “Entering on a gurney impresses them with the urgency,” he said.

The two nurses got to the doors in time to open them, and Stone trotted the gurney into the building and headed for a door marked “Exam One.” “A little help over here,” he shouted at a young doctor stretched out on one of the two tables in the room.

The man vaulted off the table as Stone lifted Holly onto the other table.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” she said, “it’s not all that bad.”

The doctor, who wore a badge saying “Dr. Battle,” peeled back the stole, pulled down one side of her dress, revealing a handsome breast, then pulled it back up and ran his hand over her shoulder. “She’s right,” he said. “Small caliber, bullet still lodged. I can feel it in her back.”

A nurse came into the room. “Disposition, Doctor?”