Stuart Woods - Kisser

“I don’t trust any booze that has to take a boat here,” Mitzi said. “Also, my daddy once told me he’d disinherit me if I drank un-American.”

Dino looked at Stone, then at Mitzi. “What’s the matter with him?” he asked her.

“He’s worried about the bust,” she replied.

“What have you got to be worried about?” he asked Stone. “Let the cops take care of it.”

“By ‘the cops’ you mean Brian Doyle?”

“Oh,” Dino said. “I get your point.”

Mitzi looked at both of them askance. “What is it with you guys? Brian’s not so bad.”

“We’ve known him longer than you have,” Dino said. “He’s the kind of guy who’ll take credit for your work.”

“It isn’t enough for Brian to take the credit,” Stone explained. “For him to feel good about himself, he has to make everybody else look bad.”

“Oh, really!” Mitzi laughed. “Why don’t you two get him in here, then put ’em on the table and we’ll measure.”

Dino looked at Stone and shrugged.

“Mitzi,” Stone said, “has Brian ever complimented you on your work?”

“Many times,” she replied.

“Has he ever said anything good about you to your captain?”

“Well,” she said, “I assume he passed it up the line; he said he would.”

“Have you ever read your file after a performance review?” Dino asked.

“Yes, I have.”

“Has he ever given you a positive review that didn’t make it sound like he was responsible for your success?”

Mitzi thought that over.

“Let me guess what he had to say,” Dino said. “He said something like, ‘This officer has responded well to the training and advice of her commander.’ ”

Mitzi’s brow furrowed, a strange sight. “I think I see what you mean,” she said softly.

“Who’s your rabbi?” Stone asked. “Not Brian, I trust.”

“Not exactly,” Mitzi said.

“You don’t have a rabbi, do you?” Dino asked.

“Not exactly.”

“All you’ve got is Brian.”

“I have other friends in the department,” she said uncertainly.

“I’m really glad to hear that,” Dino said, as if he didn’t entirely believe her.

Nobody spoke again until a waiter came to take their orders.

THEY STARTED FOOLING around in the cab on the way home, and by the time they had made it upstairs they were leaving a trail of clothing across the bedroom.

Mitzi undid her bra and threw it as far as she could. “Free at last!” she half-shouted. She tackled Stone, and they fell onto the bed, writhing in the mutual pleasure of their naked bodies. In a moment they were conjoined.

“I think this is what they mean by ‘one flesh,’ ” Stone said.

“I like it,” Mitzi said, sticking her tongue in his ear.

It was, perhaps, her tongue that kept him from properly hearing the first outburst.

“What?” Stone asked.

Mitzi froze. “That wasn’t me,” she whispered.

“What was it?”

“Lying scum!” a female voice said.

“You promised not to bring your roommate,” Stone said to Mitzi.

“I didn’t.”

Stone sat up and looked around the darkened room, lit only by a few shafts of moonlight cutting through the venetian blinds. As he squinted, a naked female stepped out of his dressing room.

“Miserable son of a bitch,” Carrie Cox said. “And with her.” She pointed at Mitzi.

“Oh, come on, Carrie,” Mitzi said, sitting up on one elbow. “You’ve got to get over high school.”

“Carrie,” Stone said. “What are you doing here?” He realized that sounded hollow, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“What am I doing here? What is she doing here?” Carrie pointed again.

“You want to join us, Carrie?” Mitzi asked.

“What?”

“Stone’s pretty good at threesomes,” Mitzi said. “Come to think of it, so am I. And I like your dancer’s body.”

“Mitzi, please,” Stone said. “Let me handle this.”

“Okay, handle it,” Mitzi replied. “I’ll wait here.”

“Carrie,” Stone said, getting to his feet, “let me get you a cab home.”

“Why should I leave?” she demanded.

“Carrie,” Mitzi said, “I’m trying to make the best of this. Either get into bed or get out of here.”

Carrie seemed to be thinking it over, and Stone found himself speechless. Then Carrie disappeared into his dressing room, and a moment later she came out, holding her clothes in her arms.

“I’ll get my own cab,” she said, stalking out of the room.

Stone made to follow her but found his wrist locked in Mitzi’s iron grip.

“She’s an actress,” Mitzi said. “Don’t spoil her exit.”

Stone sat down on the bed, and a moment later he heard the front door slam. “I hope she got her clothes on before going outside,” he said.

Mitzi knelt on the bed behind him and put her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts into his back. “How did she get in?”

“I seem to remember giving her a key a while back,” Stone replied.

“Oh.”

“She was in trouble and needed a place to stay.”

“She seems to have taken a proprietary interest in the house. And in you.”

Stone sighed. “I guess this is my fault.”

“Let’s talk about it in the morning,” Mitzi said, pulling him back onto the bed. “Carrie was always a little crazy, even when she was fourteen.” She fondled his penis. “Oh, she frightened it. Poor baby.”

Stone did his best to turn his attention to Mitzi again, and his best was pretty good.

VERY EARLY in the morning the bedside phone rang. Stone opened an eye and checked the clock. Half past five. He closed his eyes and let the machine pick up on the third ring.

After a short delay it rang again, and the machine picked up again.

“Maybe you’d better get that,” Mitzi said, pulling a sheet over her head. “Somebody really wants to talk to you.”

When it rang again, Stone picked up the phone. “What?”

“Stone, it’s Bob Cantor. Carrie has been shot; she’s in the Lenox Hill Hospital ER.”

“I’m coming,” Stone said, then hung up. He went to his dressing room and started pulling on clothes, noticing that a lacy pair of Carrie’s panties still hung from a hook there.

“What’s going on?” Mitzi asked, sitting up.

“I’m sorry,” Stone said, “a bit of an emergency has come up, and I have to go out.”

“At five thirty in the morning?” she asked. “What kind of emergency comes up at this hour?”

“Gotta run,” Stone said, grabbing a jacket. “Go back to sleep, and when you wake up, Helene will fix you some breakfast.” He trotted down the stairs and out the front door just as, miraculously, a cab drove by. He stopped it in its tracks with a loud whistle.

AT SIX in the morning the Lenox Hill ER was already getting busy. As Stone strode toward the admitting desk he was intercepted by Willie Leahy.

“Hang on, Stone. They said we can see her in a few minutes.” Willie dragged him toward a chair and sat him down.

“What happened?” Stone asked.

“Last night, Carrie left the house and went to your house, walked right past me, and I didn’t have time to stop her before she got in the cab. I got the next one and followed her.”

“Well, I didn’t shoot her. How badly is she hurt?”

“I know you didn’t shoot her. I got her into my cab after she came out of the house, half naked, and took her home. She was running up her front steps when I heard the shot and saw the guy running away. I didn’t even have time to get off a round.”

“Willie, tell me: How badly is she hurt?”

“Flesh wound at the top of the shoulder. Went in and out, bled a lot. I got her here as fast as I could.”