Stuart Woods - Swimming To Catalina

“Okay, so how did you come up with this place?” Betty asked.

“Arrington called me from here earlier this evening.”

“But she’s still in Virginia,” Betty said. “I made her flight reservations.”

“I’m going to have to trust your discretion.”

“Sure.”

“She’s not in Virginia; she disappeared nearly a week ago.”

“What?”

“Vance called me and asked me to come out here and find her.”

“Disappeared?”

“That’s right; he doesn’t know where she is.”

“I can’t believe this could have happened and I wouldn’t know about it.”

“He’s keeping it very quiet, because he doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“She just ran out on him?”

“He doesn’t know; she hasn’t been in touch with him.”

“And she called you?”

“Arrington must have read the piece in the trade paper; that’s why Vance invited the reporter to the party.”

“Well, I must say, I thought there was something weird about that; it was very unlike Vance. What did Arrington say to you?”

“I was in the shower; the hotel operator got the calling number from caller ID.”

“Well, this is very mysterious, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is.” Stone looked around the restaurant at the other diners. “Wait a minute,” he said, half to himself.

“What?”

“You notice anything about the other customers?”

Betty looked slowly around the restaurant. “I guess a lot of them look Italian. That speaks well of the restaurant, I suppose.”

“It’s a wiseguy joint,” Stone said, keeping his voice low.

“You meanMafia?”

“Not so loud. That’s exactly what I mean. It’s just like a New York wiseguy joint; justlook at these people.”

“Well, the women are a little flashy.”

“Yes, they are.”

“And I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many Italian suits outside of Rome.”

“Right.”

“Does this make me a racist pig or something?”

“No, it just makes you observant. I’ll bet half the faces in this place are in the mug books down at the LAPD.”

“But what could Arrington possibly have to do with the Mafia?”

“I don’t know, but there’s got to be some kind of connection.” As he spoke, Stone looked up and saw four men coming down the stairs into the dining room. “Look who’s here,” he whispered.

She followed his gaze. “You know those guys?”

“One of them,” Stone said. “I met him at Vance’s.”

Stone pretended to consult the wine list, covering his face. “Don’t look at him,” he said. “I don’t want him to see me.”

“Look at who?” Betty asked. “I can’t see a thing.” She leaned back and looked behind him. “One of those backs looks familiar,” she said.

“His name is Ippolito.”

“I remember his name on the invitation list, but he was the only one I didn’t know.”

“Stop craning your neck.”

“It’s okay, he’s sitting at the round corner table with his back to us.”

Stone peeked over the wine list. “Do you know any of the other three?”

“Nope; they don’t even look familiar. A lot of beef on the hoof, though.”

The waiter arrived with their salad, and they tucked into it.

“This is the best Caesar I ever had,” Betty said.

“If the goombahs can’t make a Caesar salad, who can?”

“It isn’t an Italian dish, you know.”

“I thought it was.”

“Nope, it was invented by a Mexican at some famous restaurant in Acapulco, or someplace like that. I can’t remember his name.”

“Caesar, maybe?”

“Nobody likes a smartass, Stone.”

Their main courses came, and Stone tasted the wine. “Absolutely perfect,” he said to the waiter.

“Of course,” the waiter replied, pouring the wine.

Stone tasted the rabbit. “Words fail me,” he said.

“Me, too,” Betty said, tasting her pasta. “Why does nobody know about this place?”

“We like it that way,” the waiter said, then he left them alone.

“I think everybody knows about this place that they want to know about it,” Stone said.

“God, the wine is good!”

Stone made a note of it. “I want some for home,” he said.

“I want the chef for home,” Betty cried, stuffing more pasta into her mouth. “I could make him very happy.”

“Heads up,” Stone said. “One of them is coming this way.” He addressed his rabbit as the man walked past and entered a hallway at the rear of the restaurant. “He was looking right at me; do you think he recognized me?”

“Really, Stone,” she replied, “he was looking atme. ”

“Oh. I wonder what’s in the rear hallway.”

“The men’s room. See the sign?”

“Oh.”

Stone watched as the man returned to his table. “You’re right, he was looking at you.”

“I’m accustomed to that,” she said, twirling the last of the pasta on her fork. “That is the first time in ten years I have finished a whole meal in a restaurant,” she said, swallowing. “If you bring me here again I’ll be able to audition for Roseanne’s replacement.”

The waiter appeared and began gathering their dishes. “How about some of our cheesecake?” he asked.

“Don’t say that,” Betty said, throwing up a hand. “I could gain weight just listening.”

“A double espresso for me,” Stone said.

“I’ll have a cappuccino,” she said.

The waiter left.

“I want to have a look around the back,” Stone said, rising.

She caught his sleeve. “Are you nuts?”

“I’m just going to the men’s room; I’ll be back in a minute.” He walked into the rear hallway, looking to the right and left. He passed the kitchen and came to the men’s room door, looked inside, found it empty, and continued down the hall, where he found a door markedSTAFF ONLY. He looked over his shoulder, then walked in.

It was a good-sized storeroom, with refrigerators lining one wall and steel shelving lining the other. In the middle of the floor were empty crates with the remnants of vegetables stuck to them. Stone walked to the rear of the room and found a toilet and, across from that, a small office.

“Hey!” a deep voice yelled.

Stone spun around. A large man in kitchen whites was standing a few feet behind him. “I was looking for the men’s room,” he said, and he caught sight of something familiar on the floor between him and the man.

“You walked right past it,” the man said. “Come on, I’ll show you.” He turned and walked toward the door.

Quickly, Stone stooped and picked up the small object, tucking it into a pocket.

“It’s right here,” the man said.

“Thanks, sorry for the trouble,” Stone replied, turning into the men’s room.

“No trouble.”

Stone opened the men’s room door and found another of Ippolito’s party standing at one of the two urinals; he took his position at the other one. The man ignored him, in the way of strangers standing at urinals. Stone washed his hands and went back to his table.

“So?”

“I got caught in a storeroom,” he said.

“Drink your coffee, and let’s get out of here,” Betty said under her breath.

Stone sipped his espresso, then dug into his jacket pocket. “I found something, though.” He held it up her to see.

“A matchbook? Congratulations, you’ve won the California lottery.”

“But look where it’s from.”

She didn’t look. “Tell me.”

“It’s a matchbook from Elaine’s,” he said.

“Can we get out of here now?”

They were driving back to the Bel-Air with the top down, enjoying the desert air.

“Elaine’s in New York?” she asked.