Stuart Woods - Dirt

“Dick, darling,” Amanda said, “I’m afraid that, through no fault of your own, you have been placed in a very dangerous position.” She did not mention the danger to herself.

“Oh?” he said, not particularly alarmed, “How so?”

She gave him a brief rundown on what Stone Barrington had learned about the DIRT business.

“Well, at least he’s making progress,” Hickock said, taking a sip of his huge martini.

“Dick, my dearest, he may be making too much progress.”

Hickock frowned. “Too much progress?”

“Yes. You see, while Stone has been conducting his investigation, I have been conducting one of my own, and, as is my wont, I have been looking into more than who is doing this; I have been learning why. ”

“And just why have this Dryer and Power, or whatever their names are, been doing this?”

“It seems, my darling, that they harbor some grudge against you.”

“Me? You mean only me?”

Amanda nodded gravely. “Apparently they’ve gone after me only because of my connection with you.”

“What did I ever do to these guys? I don’t even know who they are.”

“Who knows? What’s important is, they seem to know a very great deal about you and your business affairs.”

Hickock put down his martini. “Just what the hell is that supposed to mean, Amanda?”

“It means, Dick, that they seem to have unearthed information about your connection with an entity called Window Seat.”

All expression left Hickock’s face. “That’s impossible,” he said. “I mean, I never heard of anything like that.”

“Dick, my dear, you don’t have to worry about me; I’m on your side.”

“Amanda, how did you find out about this?”

“About what, darling?”

“About Window Seat, goddamnit!”

“Dick, keep your voice down,” she said, looking around them. “You know that I have a great many sources for all sorts of information.”

“Yeah, well, how the hell did you hear about Window Seat? And don’t you think for a moment you can plead the confidentiality of a journalist’s sources. I want to know now. ”

“Well, your Glynnis is in possession of this knowledge, and she’s a pretty unhappy woman at the moment, isn’t she?”

“Don’t try that with me, Amanda; Glynnis and I have reconciled our differences, and she would never mention this to anybody. ”

Amanda had misjudged Hickock; she was not going to be able to play him quite as she had imagined. Inwardly, she shrugged; well, that little vermin Peebles would just have to be sacrificed. “From Allan Peebles,” she said.

“He told you about Window Seat?” Hickock asked, unbelieving.

“Everything. About the Infiltrator and the porno magazines. The gay porno magazines.”

Hickock blanched. “I’ll have his balls by close of business,” he said.

“Well, now, Dick, that might not be the wisest move; not just yet, anyway.”

“Why not?”

“Well, these two little creeps Dryer and Power are still out there. If you do something so public as sacking Peebles, it’s bound to cause a new round of faxing, reporting the whole business, and I don’t think you want that to happen, do you?”

“I see your point,” Hickock said, returning to his martini. “I’ll have to be more subtle.”

“Oh, Dick, I’m sure you can deal with Allan Peebles at any moment you wish, after this DIRT thing has blown over.”

“Yes, I can certainly do that, but when is this going to blow over?”

“Well, clearly it won’t blow over if we leave Stone Barrington to his devices. Eventually he’ll unearth the whole thing.”

“Yes, I suppose he will,” Hickock agreed.

“I think it might be best if we terminated his investigation and turned to, shall we say, other means.”

Hickock turned and looked her in the eye. “Just what means did you have in mind, Amanda?”

“Consider this, Dick: More than the DIRT business is involved. Dryer, or perhaps Power, or both, may have caused the death of a police officer-a retired one, but nevertheless…”

“Jesus Christ.”

“So far the police are not officially involved in the investigation of these two men, but if Stone – or anyone else, for that matter – should come up with evidence linking the two to the murder, then the whole can of worms – DIRT, Window Seat, everything – will be opened up.”

“Yes, I see that. So Dryer and Power are the immediate problem.”

“Yes. Surely you have connections with people who make a business of solving troublesome problems by more direct means.”

“Such as who?”

“Well, you did have some help in solving your labor problems last year, didn’t you? A consultant, so to speak?”

Hickock looked around him. “I think we’ve talked enough about this, Amanda.”

“Probably.”

“I understand the parameters of the problem now. Will you call off Stone Barrington?”

“Of course, darling, if you think that’s best.”

“I do.”

Amanda looked up. “Oh, here comes your steak, darling.” She watched as the perfectly grilled slab of meat was set down before him. “Why ever haven’t you already had a coronary?” She tested her salmon with a fork.

“I give other people coronaries,” Hickock replied, sawing off a hunk of beef and stuffing it into his mouth.

Amanda tucked into her salmon, secure in the knowledge that, while she had probably solved the DIRT problem, she had also ingratiated herself with Richard Hickock, at the same time letting him know that she knew. That knowledge would certainly be useful at some later date. The salmon was delicious.

Richard Hickock got out of his car and tapped on the driver’s window. “I’m going to take a little walk,” he said. “You wait here.”

“Around here, Mr. Hickock?” the driver asked, surprised. They were in a desolate area of the Long Island City section of Queens, amid empty, rundown industrial buildings.

“I’ll be back soon,” Hickock said. He trudged off into a misty rain, down an empty street. Following the directions that had been faxed to him that afternoon, he turned left and crossed the street. The number “ 19” had been spray-painted on the door of a building, but it looked locked. He tried it, and it wasn’t. Inside, he went to a huge freight elevator, pulled a cord that closed the doors from the top and bottom, and pressed the number for the fourth floor. The thing actually worked.

When it stopped he pushed open the door and walked out of the elevator into a large, empty factory area. Daylight was waning, and the low light threw into relief holes in the floor where machinery had once been bolted down. There was no place to sit, so he walked slowly around the floor, wondering at what he was about to do. Suddenly he heard an electric motor running, and a moment later another freight elevator at the opposite end of the floor stopped, and Enrico Bianchi stepped out.

The two men walked from their opposite ends to the middle of the huge floor and embraced.

“Hello, Ricky,” Hickock said. “Thank you so much for coming.” Bianchi was, as always, tanned and slim, and his finely barbered hair had gone snow white.

“Dickie,” Bianchi said, holding him at arm’s length and looking at him. “You lost some weight.”

“Yeah, well, Glynnis made me buy a treadmill.”

Bianchi laughed heartily. “My wife will never get me on one of those.”

“How is she? And your daughter?”

“The wife is the same, maybe a little fatter. Mary Ann is married to the law, you will remember.”