Stuart Woods - Dirt

Amanda rode up Madison Avenue in the back of the Mercedes. “Paul,” she said, “we’re going to pick up a gentle man at Madison and Seventy-second, left-hand side, near the corner.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Paul replied.

“I’m going to want to go someplace nearby, park for a few minutes and have a private chat with him. Can you think of a good place?”

“There’s a place in the park,” Paul said.

“That will be fine; better get in the left-hand lane.” Amanda put the armrest down to separate her from her unwanted guest, pressed a switch that put up the sunscreen on the rear window, for privacy, and eyed the corner ahead. “That must be him,” she said. “The one in the raincoat.” She had no idea what Allan Peebles looked like, but this was the only lone man on the corner. The car rolled to a stop, and Amanda pressed the window button.

The man leaned over and looked into the car. “Amanda?”

“Get in,” she replied. The car turned left on 72nd and headed for Central Park.

“I’m Allan Peebles,” he said, extending his hand.

She shook it perfunctorily, then held a finger to her lips for silence.

Halfway through the park, Paul pulled off the road into a small lot for maintenance vehicles and stopped.

“Give us a few minutes, Paul,” Amanda said.

Paul got out of the car and walked twenty yards to a bench and sat down, still in view of the car.

“Now,” said Amanda, “what do we have to talk about?”

“I’ve always been an admirer of your column,” Peebles said.

“I wish I could say the same.” She glanced at her watch.

“All right, I’ll get to the point: Why do you suppose you and I have been targeted by this scandal sheet?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea,” she said. “After all, Richard Hickock has been targeted, too, and Stone Barrington has been mentioned more than once, as well as Vance Calder.”

“With the possible exception of Calder, who was probably an innocent bystander, everybody is connected.”

“Connected? How could I possibly be connected with you ?”

“We’re both published by the same people, in a manner of speaking.”

“What on earth are you talking about? I’m published and syndicated by Dick Hickock’s company. Stone isn’t published by anybody.”

“Barrington doesn’t really come into it, except as your surrogate.”

“What was that you were saying about ‘the same people’?”

Peebles smiled slightly. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“Know what ?” Amanda demanded, irritably.

“About Hickock and us.”

“Who is ‘us’?”

“The Infiltrator. ”

“What does Hickock have to do with the Infiltrator ?”

“My father-in-law owns sixty-five percent of the paper, I own ten, and Hickock owns the other twenty-five percent.”

Against her will, Amanda’s jaw dropped.

“Surprised, aren’t you?” Peebles asked, smiling.

“You are out of your mind,” Amanda said. “Dick Hickock is a legitimate publisher with half a dozen companies – newspapers, magazines, book publishing, the whole gamut.”

“It’s a broader gamut than you know,” Peebles said. “Hickock has a corporate entity called Window Seat, Limited; the stock is in the name of his wife’s half-brother, Martin Wynne.”

“I didn’t even know she had a half-brother,” Amanda said, interested now.

“Neither does just about anybody else. I doubt if he’ll show up in Dickie’s obituary. Wynne is British, a friend of my father-in-law. The stock is in his name, but believe me, the money is Hickock’s, and Wynne doesn’t make a move without his permission.”

“How very odd.”

“It gets odder; Window Seat owns Personality. ”

“That dreadful rag?”

“Dreadful it may be, but it hauls in the bucks, just as the Infiltrator does. There’s more: through two other corporations, Window Seat controls three gay porno magazines.”

“This is incredible; I don’t believe a word of it.”

“I’d say ask Hickock, but I don’t think he’d appreciate it. Window Seat is an offshore corporation, and the profits go straight into Cayman Island accounts, all tax-free. Hickock spends it in Europe; he never brings a dime into the U.S., unless it’s in cash.”

“He does spend a lot of time in Europe,” Amanda admitted. “So does Glynnis.”

“It’s profitable for them to do so.”

“They spend a lot of time at a friend’s château in France.”

“Owned by Window Seat, or an offshoot.”

“What you’re talking about would be a major scandal, if it were known,” Amanda said. “Why haven’t you printed this? After all, scandal is your business.”

“I told you, we’re in bed with Hickock. So are you.”

“Well, I don’t really care about any of this; it’s nothing to do with me.”

“It will be if it ever gets out, and I think that’s what this DIRT business is about.”

“What if it does get out?”

“There would be a major federal investigation, and the IRS would be all over Hickock. Can you imagine what that sort of investigation – not to mention a trial – would do to Hickock’s other interests? The stock in his various companies? He’d be ruined, and he’d take a lot of people down with him. Like you and me.”

Amanda was horrified.

“You’ve just done a new deal with him, haven’t you?”

Amanda said nothing; she stared into the middle distance and thought about what a Hickock collapse could do to her.

“I think you can see why it’s in our mutual interests to cooperate with each other,” Peebles said. “The first crack in the dike has already appeared.”

“Crack?”

“Glynnis Hickock’s divorce action.”

“You think Glynnis knows about this?”

“Do you think Hickock could be involved with her half-brother in something as complex as this and Glynnis not know about it?”

“Surely she wouldn’t jeopardize Dick’s fortune by some intemperate action,” Amanda said. “That wouldn’t be in her own best interests.”

“A woman scorned doesn’t always act in her own best interests,” Peebles said. “Anyway, Glynnis is a wealthy woman in her own right. If Hickock sank it wouldn’t cause more than a ripple in her lifestyle. And if she’s mad enough, she could sink him very deep. The odds would heavily favor a prison term, and she could plausibly deny all knowledge.”

Amanda stared at a squirrel outside the car, her mind racing.

“I think you can see why this DIRT thing has to be stopped,” Peebles said.

Amanda snapped back to attention. “Yes,” she said. “But so far, I don’t have a clue who’s involved. Stone Barrington is still investigating, but he’s been in the hospital.”

“Hospital?”

“Someone… this goes no further.”

“Of course not.”

“Someone broke into his house, and when he investigated, he got hit over the head.”

“I must say, I’m not surprised.”

“What do you know that I don’t know?” Amanda asked.

“You must understand, I’m in a very difficult position. The… allegations about me in the scandal sheet are very, very dangerous to my interests. I’m already persona non grata in London, with my wife and my father-in-law, and if the old man were sufficiently riled, he could, quite literally, destroy me. I’d never hold a job again, anywhere in the world.”

“Why is your position any worse than anybody else’s in this wretched business?” Amanda asked.

“Because I suspect – although I can’t prove it – that one of the people, perhaps the only person, behind DIRT may be someone I was once… involved with.”