Stuart Woods - Dirt

“You called Arrington, remember?”

“No. Yes. She’s mad at me.”

“No, I’m not, darling,” she said, bending over him and kissing him on the forehead.

“She called nine-one-one, and an ambulance and a cop showed up. The cop recognized you and called me.”

“That’s it,” the doctor said. “We need to get him to bed now.”

“Good idea,” Stone said, closing his eyes.

Amanda looked into the mirror and was horrified at what she saw. God knew she had been under a lot of stress lately, if anger caused stress, but this was the absolute end! High on her left cheek was an irate, fiery-red pimple. A pimple! She had not had a pimple since high school!

She covered the protuberance with makeup as well as she could, then finished dressing and went to her office. Her staff of three was already hard at work as she entered. “Messages,” she said to Martha without so much as a good morning.

“Good morning, Amanda,” Martha said, handing her a stack of pink slips.

Amanda went into her office without a word and closed the door, tossing the messages onto her desk. Lately she had been operating at a high level of irritation, and at times she had had a very hard time to keep from losing her temper, something she never did. This DIRT business had gotten under her skin, and nearly two weeks had passed since she had hired Stone Barrington to get to the bottom of it, with no visible results. She picked up the phone and dialed his office number. His secretary answered.

“Good morning, Ms. Dart, how are you?”

“Terrible, thank you. Let me speak to Stone.”

“I’m afraid Stone won’t be at work today,” the woman said, “and possibly not tomorrow.”

“He’s taking a vacation ?” Amanda spat. “On my time?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Amanda got hold of herself. “What I mean is, is Stone taking some time off?”

“He is ill at the moment.”

“I’ll? Then I’ll call his home number.”

“He’s not at home, Ms. Dart.”

“Where, then, is he? I want to speak to him immediately.”

“He’s in Lenox Hill Hospital.”

“ What? ” She hoped to God he hadn’t had a heart attack on her.

“He’s at Lenox Hill, but he can take phone calls. I’ll give you the direct number for his room.”

Amanda scribbled down the number. “Thank you,” she said, and hung up. She dialed the other number, and it was answered on the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Stone? It’s Amanda. You sound terrible.”

“Thanks, Amanda.”

“What on earth is wrong?”

“Concussion, they tell me. They want to keep me here and observe me for another day.”

“Concussion? How the hell did you get a concussion?” she demanded, as if a concussion were a personal affront to her.

“Amanda, are you quite all right?”

“We’re talking about you, Stone.”

“I surprised a prowler in my house, right before he surprised me.”

“A burglar?”

“Maybe. He took my wristwatch and the cash in my wallet.”

“Maybe a burglar?”

“Maybe not.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think he may have been bugging my house and phones again.”

“Does that mean he’ll try to do my place again?”

“Possibly, although being caught at it might give him pause. I wouldn’t count on it, though.”

“How can I stop him?”

“Hire a security guard, I suppose. Do you want me to find somebody for you? I might be able to get an off-duty cop to sit on your apartment and offices.”

“Oh. Yes, I would like you to find somebody for me.”

“I’ll make a call or two.”

“Stone, does this business mean this person is getting violent?”

“Not necessarily, unless he’s caught in the act.”

“I do not want to catch him in the act.”

“That’s what the cop will be for. I don’t think you have to worry about violence, Amanda; he hasn’t attacked anyone else but me, and I did get in his way.”

“I’m relieved to hear it, but I’d still like your policeman to come. How soon can you get somebody?”

“Right after my nap,” Stone said. “They want me to take lots of naps.”

“Oh, of course, I don’t want to interfere with your recovery.”

“Don’t worry about it; I can still use a phone.”

“What kind of watch was it?”

“What?”

“Your wristwatch that was stolen; what kind?”

“A Rolex. It had my name engraved on the back.”

“What kind of Rolex?”

“The quartz one; I don’t remember what they call it. Why are you worried about my watch?”

“I was just curious. You go back to sleep, and call me when you’ve found a guard for me.”

“I’ll do that,” Stone said, and hung up.

This was not going well, Amanda thought. She called Richard Hickock and was put through immediately.

“Have you heard?”

“Heard what?” Hickock asked, as if he weren’t sure he wanted to know.

“Stone Barrington’s in the hospital. Somebody broke into his house and hit him over the head.”

“Jesus Christ. Does this have anything to do with our problem?”

“He disconnected the bugging in his house, and he thinks they came back to put it in again. Has he checked your office?”

“I had it done; both the office and the apartment are clean.”

“What about… that little friend of yours?”

“That was bugged. Stone’s guy figured it out.”

“I’m hiring a security guard,” Amanda said. “I don’t want my place bugged again.”

“I don’t blame you,” Hickock replied. “I’m having my premises checked daily, and I’m not using my cell phone when it counts.”

“Good God, can they bug a cellular phone?”

“A cell phone is a radio; people can listen in if they have the right equipment. I know a guy who’s got a scanner thing in his car; he listens to other people’s phone conversations for entertainment while he’s being driven around town.”

“That’s disgusting!” Amanda jotted a quick note to herself to ask Stone how to get a scanner.

“Well, that’s life these days.”

“I suppose it is. Do you have anything to report?”

“Nothing. Is Stone okay?”

“Yes, he’ll be out of the hospital by tomorrow at the latest, or I’m having a word with his doctors.”

“Good, we need him on the job.”

“Good-bye, Dickie.”

“Bye.”

She hung up just as Martha buzzed her. “Yes?”

“Allan Peebles is on line two.”

“Peebles? That awful man who edits the Infiltrator ?”

“That’s him; he’s called twice this morning already. His message is on top of your stack.”

“What could he possibly want to talk to me about?”

“I’ve no idea. Do you want me to get rid of him?”

No need to court trouble, she thought. “No, I’ll speak to him.” She pressed the button. “This is Amanda Dart.”

“Amanda, this is Allan Peebles.”

“Yes?”

“We don’t know each other – not really, I mean, but I thought we should talk.”

“Talk? About what?”

“Well, Amanda, you and I are the principal targets of this DIRT scandal sheet, aren’t we?”

“So?”

“So, I thought perhaps we should compare notes.”

“I don’t have any notes, I’m afraid,” she said. And if I did have any, she thought, you’re the last person on Earth I’d share them with .

“Tell me, have your telephones been bugged?”

She paused. “Why do you ask?”

“I thought so. Where can we meet?”

“I suppose you could come to my office.” She certainly was not going to be seen in public with this man.