Stuart Woods: Reckless Abandon

“You’ll remember that Hedger’s people beat up one of them very badly, so badly that he later expired.”

“Go on.”

“Well, his mate took exception to that and held Hedger accountable. He knifed him in a mews a short walk from the Connaught, while you were still in London.”

“I didn’t know,” Stone said.

“Scotland Yard hushed it up, the knifer having been one of their own. Had an exemplary military record, too, killing people in the Special Air Services. That detective inspector, Throckmorton-unlikely name, isn’t it?-didn’t think a shady American spook’s life was worth a blip in the happy retirement of one of their former officers.”

“And what did the Agency have to say about that?”

“Almost nothing. Somebody gave Throckmorton a good lunch and received the details. They shook hands and went their separate ways. Hedger is now a star on the memorial in the lobby of the headquarters building at Langley.”

“The more I learn about your business, the less I want to learn about it.”

“You shouldn’t feel badly about Hedger. He was a bad apple; been using his position for years to enrich himself in various underhanded ways, and the Agency was sick of him. Good riddance and no trial or publicity. His death didn’t even make the tabloids, let alone the Times . His alumni newsletter ran a nice obit, though, most of it lies.”

“An ignominious end,” Stone mused.

“In Hedger’s case, deservedly so.”

“What is this legal work you want done? It isn’t illegal work, is it?”

“Oh, no, no, nothing like that. It’s pretty simple, really: A fellow we hired for some contract work got himself into a scrape with the local law, and-”

” The local law where?”

“Right here in Gotham, actually.”

“Go on.”

“There’s a DUI and some other minor stuff involved. He needs a lawyer, and we feel honor bound to provide him with one. We’ll pay five hundred an hour.”

Stone’s normal fee for that sort of thing was three hundred an hour. “That is not ungenerous.”

“We don’t want it to go to trial, you see; could be embarrassing and might even reveal information detrimental to national security.”

“You mean, detrimental to the Central Intelligence Agency.”

“Same thing. Do we have a deal?” Lance held out his hand to shake.

“Oh, all right,” Stone said, shaking the hand. He picked up a pen and pad. “What’s your client’s name?”

“Herbert Fisher, a professional photographer by trade.”

Stone nearly choked. “Oh, no, no, no, no,” he said, holding out his hands as if to ward off evil.

“You know Mr. Fisher?” Lance asked, looking surprised.

“I know him far better than I want to,” Stone said.

“Well, come to think of it, he did ask for you. I’m glad you’ve agreed.”

“Wait a minute, Lance. I’m not doing this. The guy is trouble from beginning to end-he won’t take legal advice, won’t do anything he’s told.”

“Stone, Stone, it’s a simple matter, really. We just want you to negotiate something for him-get him off, if possible, sure, but we can’t let it go to trial.”

“Lance, sometimes these things go to trial, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Stone, we can do something about it, if necessary, but we’d rather let you handle it in the normal way.”

“I don’t like the sound of that, Lance.”

Lance held up a placating hand. “Now don’t go reading a subtext into my words.”

“Do you know Herbie Fisher?” Stone asked.

“We’ve met.”

“Well, let me tell you about him. Last year, I hired him-on the recommendation of a guy who does a lot of good work for me-to take some photographs. A domestic matter. Herbie fell through the skylight while taking the pictures, got himself arrested, then, when I got him out, jumped bail and ran for the Virgin Islands. I had to go down there and get him back to make his court appearance and get my bail money back.”

“Well, he does sound lively, doesn’t he? He did come well recommended.”

“Lance, you don’t want anything to do with this guy, and neither do I.”

“Fine with me, Stone. See him through this, and we’ll both kiss him off.”

“You’re not listening, Lance. I won’t represent him.”

“But you’ve already agreed, old sport, and you’re a man of your word.”

“But I didn’t know who we were talking about.”

“Then you should have asked before we shook hands on it, not afterward.”

“Lance…”

“Tell you what: We’ll make it seven-fifty an hour, in cash, and I’ll send you over a retainer of twenty-five thousand. You can bank the unused portion, or stuff it into your mattress.”

That stopped Stone in his tracks just long enough for Lance to place a card on his desk, get up, and walk out of his office.

“Thanks, Stone,” Lance called over his shoulder. “Herbert will be in touch. Let’s have dinner.” He closed the door behind him.

“Oh, God,” Stone moaned.

STONE WAS DRESSING when Holly and Daisy returned from their walk.

“Hi there,” she said.

Stone looked at his watch. “That was a long walk.”

“We went all the way to the north end of the park and back; really had a workout.”

“You’d better grab a shower, then. Dino called and said he has some information for you. We’re meeting him at Elaine’s in an hour.”

“I’ll feed Daisy and change my socks,” Holly said, and headed upstairs.

They settled into their table, and Elaine came over and sat down. “What’s up?”

“This is my friend Holly Barker, who’s visiting from Florida,” Stone said.

The two women shook hands.

“Are you the lady cop?” Elaine asked.

“That’s right. How did you know?”

“I read the papers. Not that Stone would have ever mentioned you.”

“There wasn’t a lot to mention,” Stone said. “We met only once, before this week.”

“Once has always been enough for you,” Elaine said, rising to hop to the next table.

“What was that supposed to mean?” Holly asked.

“Pay no attention to Elaine,” Stone replied. “She likes to needle me.”

“About women?”

“About whatever she can think of.”

Dino came in, hung up his coat, sat down, and ordered a Scotch.

“What would you like, Holly?”

“A three-to-one vodka gimlet, straight up, shaken, very cold,” she said to the waiter.

“Make it two,” Stone said.

“Sounds good. Cancel my Scotch and make it three,” Dino echoed.

“I’m glad to be able to influence opinion,” Holly said. “What information do you have for me, Dino?”

“You’re right. Your guy, Rodriguez, is in town. He’s been hanging out at the La Boheme coffeehouse in Little Italy.”

“Holly’s a little ahead of you, Dino. We had lunch down there, and she spotted Trini and gave chase.”

“No shit? What do you need me for?”

“Well,” Holly said, “I didn’t know about the La Boheme coffeehouse.”

“It’s a mob joint. There’s at least two bookies and a loan shark working out of there.”

“Maybe tomorrow I’ll stop in for a cup of coffee.”

“Not without a SWAT team to back you up,” Dino said. “They don’t cotton to the company of women in that place.”

“Maybe it’s time I brought them up to date.”

“Not unless you enjoy the sound of your bones breaking. They’re not friendly to outsiders of any kind, but especially women.”

“I’m sure there’s a New York City ordinance that prohibits such behavior. Why don’t you come down there with me and enforce it?”

“Because no law enforcement agency, local or federal, wants to disturb the action in the joint. Just between you and me, there’s probably more audio and video equipment installed in the walls there than at the Wiz.”