Stuart Woods - Swimming To Catalina

“You are bold, miss.”

“By this time tomorrow, any woman on the Centurion lot can be yours; I figure I’d better hurry.”

“I live near here.”

“Show me.”

Stone signed the check, and they left the bar and walked through the cool evening toward his suite. She put her hand in his, but neither of them said anything. Along with the scent of frangipani, there was anticipation in the air.

The suite was softly lighted, and she went straight to the bedroom, dropping articles of clothing along the way. A message envelope had been pushed under the door; Stone couldn’t think about that now. He dropped it on the bedside table and started working on his own buttons.

She was naked first. “Leave the lights on,” she said, stripping the bedcover and top sheet off the bed.

He followed instructions.

She stretched out on the bare bed and clasped her hands behind her neck. Her tan ran from top to bottom without interruption, something he wasn’t accustomed to seeing in New York.

“Me first,” she said.

He started with her breasts and worked his way down. She kept her hands clasped behind her neck until he hit bottom, then her fingers were in his hair, pulling, while she made little noises.

After a while, it was his turn. It was worth the wait.

Stone woke slowly, at first disoriented in the strange room. The bed was a wreck, with covers everywhere, and he was alone. He stretched and thought about the night before, which was indeed a pleasant memory, then jumped as the phone rang. The bedside clock said six-thirty. He grabbed the phone.

“Hello?”

“It’s Bill Eggers; why didn’t you call me last night? I was up half the night waiting.”

“Why, Bill, I didn’t know you cared.”

“Didn’t you get my message?”

“Oh,” Stone said, ripping open the little envelope. It read:CALL ME TONIGHT, NO MATTER HOW LATE. “Sorry, Bill, I was preoccupied, I guess, and I didn’t even read it.”

“How the hell did you get to know David Sturmack?”

“I met him at a dinner party last night, at Vance Calder’s house.”

“Only last night? He called me about you yesterday afternoon; that was before you even met him?”

“That’s right.”

“Jesus, what are you doing in Hollywood, having dinner with movie stars and fixers?”

“Fixers?”

“Don’t you even know who David Sturmack is?”

“I know he has a lot of influence in the movie business; that’s about it. Who else is he?”

“Stone, if it doesn’t happen on the Upper East Side between Forty-second and Eighty-sixth Street, you don’t have a clue, do you?”

“Am Isupposed to know who Sturmack is?”

“Well, maybe not. Only a handful of people really know, and I happen to be one of them.”

“Why is he so little known for such a powerful fellow?”

“Because he wants it that way. Things usually get to be the way Sturmack wants them.”

“Oh.”

“You bet your ass. That was some conversation I had with him yesterday; he called me right out of the blue. I’m glad I was in.”

“Bill, you were telling me who Sturmack is.”

“He’s the prince of fucking darkness, that’s who he is.”

“You copped that line from a movie.”

“That doesn’t make it any less true,” Eggers said defensively.

“I guess not; now explain yourself.”

“It started like this: Sturmack’s old man, whose name was Morris, or Moe, was Meyer Lansky’s right-hand man for thirty years.”

“No kidding?”

“Absolutely no fucking kidding. Word is, he sent son David to law school both to make him respectable and to make him useful.”

“And he was useful?”

“You better believe he was. His specialty was the mob connection to the unions; he was very tight with Hoffa and Tony Scotto and a dozen other big-time labor guys. In the late fifties he went west and became a conduit between the Hollywood unions and the mob. He was always very discreet; he didn’t even practice law out there, so nobody could go running to the bar association if they didn’t like his methods. Over the years, he’s sunk more and more out of sight until he’s practically invisible, but at the same time he’s gotten a better and better grip on the town.”

“How do you know all this, Bill?”

“I know everything about everybody; didn’t you know that?”

“Come on, tell me how you know.”

“I once had a client who was in business with him, who murmured a word about him from time to time. He enjoyed telling stories about the old days. The guy died earlier this year, but apparently he had mentioned me to Sturmack. That’s how he knew who to call about you. Now I’ve got a question for you.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“How the hell did you impress Sturmack so much in so short a time? I mean, I know you a lot better than he does, andI’m not all that impressed.”

“Thanks. The whole thing is a mystery to me. The only person Sturmack and I have in common is Vance Calder, and Calder and I have never had any dealings.”

“Maybe not, but Calder probably heard a lot about you on the pillow.”

“He did say that Arrington had told him a lot about me, but still…”

“Well, I think you ought to grab the opportunity, pal, and we’ll back you up over here, but the name of Woodman and Weld is never going to appear on any piece of paper that goes from here to you to Sturmack. Do we understand each other?”

“Yeah, but I haven’t taken him on yet. He seems like the kind of guy who might tend to monopolize my time; right now I have a lot of independence, but if I find myself working full time for him, then I’m no longer self-employed.”

“I get your drift, and you’re smart to think that way.”

“Something else that bothers me: he says he does some, not a lot, of business in New York-some real estate, a couple of restaurants-but he also says his present lawyers billed over a million a year from him. That doesn’t quite add up, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t; if he’s spending a million a year on lawyers, he’s either doing alot of business in the city, or he’s in a lot of trouble here. I’d raise the question, if I were you.”

“I will. He also says that I’ll have investment opportunities in my dealings with him.”

“I’d be real careful about that, boy; you’re liable to end up in front of a grand jury or a congressional committee. Whatever the investment is, makesure it’s squeaky clean.”

“Well, I don’t know yet if I’m even going to take him on. What kind of name is Sturmack, anyway?”

“He’s a Swedish Jew, if you can believe that.”

“I guess there are Jews everywhere. Why not Swedish?”

“Why not indeed. The way I hear it, Sturmack’s grandfather was a big wholesale fish dealer in Stockholm, and his son, Moe, got into big trouble, maybe even killed somebody, and had to flee the country. He ended up in New York, and through some family connection met Meyer Lansky; it was apparently love at first sight.”

“By the way, there was another guy at dinner who struck me as a little odd, name of Onofrio Ippolito. That ring any bells?”

“He’s a banker, that’s all I know; straight arrow, I’m told.”

“Funny, he looked more like a mob guy.”

“Stone, you were a cop too long. Not everybody with an Italian name is mobbed up.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Now tell me, what are you doing in L.A.?”

“Oh, I’m doing a part in a movie.”

“You’rewhat? ”

“I had a screen test yesterday, and I passed. I’m apparently the town’s hottest new discovery.”

“Okay, you’re obviously not going to tell me what’s going on, so I’ll go now.”