Stuart Woods - Reckless Abandon

She got some gear out of her car, then waited in the garage for another twenty minutes, until headlights appeared outside. She walked out and held up a hand for the truck to stop.

Two men got out. “Hey, how you doin’?” the passenger said.

“I’m good. You got my package?”

“Sure. You got my package?”

She handed him the duffel. “It’s in stacks of one hundred hundreds. Count it.”

He counted it carefully. “It’s good,” he said, and he led the way to the rear of the vehicle.

Holly watched as the two men removed a dozen boxes from the back of the truck. Then one man climbed in and walked forward a few steps. He knocked on something. “Hey, man, we’re here,” he called. “You ready to come out?”

Holly switched on her flashlight, illuminated the inside of the truck, and pulled out her gun.

“Here we go,” the man said, opening the door.

Trini Rodriguez stepped out into the bright glare of the tactical light, holding up a hand to spare his eyes. He would be effectively blind for a minute or two. He followed the other man forward, then hopped down from the truck. “Hey, what’s with the light?” he said.

Holly held the light so that it illuminated her gun, which was pointed at his head. “Lie down on the ground,” she said.

“What?”

“You see the gun? Lie down on the ground, or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

Trini prostrated himself.

“Is he clean?” Holly asked the men.

“Oh, yeah. We didn’t let him have a piece.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Trini asked.

Holly handed the belt to one of the men. “Put this on him,” she said, “buckle to the rear.” She watched as they buckled the belt on him and rolled him over. Then she handed them the cuffs. “Run these through the ring and handcuff him, hands in front,” she said, and they did. “Now get him on his feet.”

They stood him up, then stepped back.

“Guard, Daisy,” she said, pointing at Trini.

Daisy took up a position in front of him and bared her teeth, making a low growling noise.

“You keep that dog away from me!” Trini hollered.

“Behave yourself, or I’ll show you how she’s been trained to eat genitals,” Holly said. She turned to the two men. “Gentlemen, our business is concluded. Please thank Vito for me, and give him my very best.”

They bade her good night, got into the truck, and drove away.

“Now,” she said to Trini, “you’re under arrest. We’re going to pretend that I read you your rights, and I hope that, between here and the cell that’s waiting for you, you’ll give me an excuse to set the dog on you and shoot you in the head. Now turn around and march.”

Trini turned around and marched.

Ten minutes later, Trini was secured and logged in. “He’s being arraigned tomorrow morning,” she said to the duty officer who had helped her. “The paperwork is all done. Put him down for some breakfast.”

Trini looked at her sullenly through the bars. “I’m gonna get you,” he said.

“Trini,” she replied, “you’re all through getting people, and you’ve just spent your last day on earth as a free man. All the rest of your days, which are numbered, you’ll be looking at the world through bars, right up until the moment they put the needle in your arm.”

On the way home, Holly stopped at a FedEx box and dropped her package into it.

“Now let’s go home and get some dinner,” she said to Daisy.

Daisy made a little noise in anticipation. She knew what “dinner” meant.

Holly drove home with a wonderful sense of satisfaction. Now her only worry was what to do about Lance Cabot’s offer of work. In her head, just for fun, she began composing a letter of resignation to the city council of Orchid Beach.

STONE WAS SITTING at his desk when Joan came in with a Federal Express package.

“This just came for you,” she said. “You want me to open it?”

“I’ll do it,” Stone said, glancing at the return address on the label. He ripped open the package and dumped the contents onto his desk as his secretary watched.

“Holy shit,” Joan said, uncharacteristically.

Stone picked up the note among the bundles of cash. “ ‘For services rendered,’ ” he read aloud.

“Those must have been some services,” Joan said.

Stone laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“I never thought she’d use the cash,” he said.

“Who?”

“Holly Barker. Log this in, put it in the safe, and include the taxes in the next quarterly payment to the IRS.”

“Yes, boss,” Joan said, sweeping the money back into the envelope. She left his office.

Stone took out a sheet of his stationery and began writing.

Payment received. I don’t know what you’ve decided to do about Lance’s offer of work (and of assistance with foreign banking), but I hope your decision brings you back this way soon. It would be fun to know you without the burden of chasing somebody else. Best to Ham, Ginny, and Daisy.

Fondly,

Stone

He addressed and sealed the envelope, got his jacket, and dropped the envelope on Joan’s desk on his way out.

“Where you going?” she asked.

“To look at Porsches,” he said, closing the door behind him.

I want to express my gratitude to my editor, David Highfill, and all the people at Putnam who work so hard to get my work to its readers.

I’d also like to thank my literary agents, Morton Janklow and Anne Sibbald, and all the people at Janklow amp; Nesbit for their fine representation over the past twenty-two years. Their fine work is much appreciated.

I am happy to hear from readers, but you should know that if you write to me in care of my publisher, three to six months will pass before I receive your letter, and when it finally arrives it will be one among many, and I will not be able to reply.

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