Stuart Woods - Swimming To Catalina

“Why didn’t you call my portable number?”

“I always feel as though I’m interrupting something when I do that.”

“Oh.”

“Stone, something’s really wrong, I can tell. Why won’t you talk to me?”

Because I might as well whisper it into Vance’s or Ippolito’s or somebody’s ear, he thought. “There’s nothing, really.”

“It’s Arrington; you’d hoped to see her again, hadn’t you?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

They finished their dinner in silence. He paid the check, and she took his hand on the way out.

“I’m going to make you forget her,” she said.

“Sounds good.”

“I’ll meet you at Le Parc in fifteen minutes.” “No,” he said, “meet me at the Bel-Air Hotel. I’ve moved.”

“See you in the parking lot there,” she said.

He followed her all the way, checking his rearview mirror to see if anyone were following him. As far as he could tell, there was no one behind him.

She walked ahead of him into the suite, shedding clothing as she went. Stone allowed himself to be undressed, then she went into the bathroom and came back with a bottle of body lotion.

“Where does it hurt?” she asked, kneeling over him on the bed.

“All over,” he said.

She warmed the lotion between her palms and began rubbing his chest. “I watched you having your massage at Tiptop,” she said. “There was a peephole for that very purpose. I saw the effect Lisa had on you.”

“And what effect did watching have on you?” he asked.

“It made me want you both,” she replied, pouring more oil into her hand.

“Then why didn’t you have us both?”

“I didn’t think I should tamper with the staff.”

“My impression was that Lisa would have enjoyed being tampered with,” he said.

“Would you have enjoyed it?”

“What’s not to enjoy?”

She laughed. “I like your attitude. Maybe the next time you come out here I can arrange something like that.”

“What an exciting idea.”

She had his genitals in both hands now, and they were both unbearably excited. She lay down beside him and took him into her, throwing a leg over his body. From that time until morning they did not speak again.

“So, you’re leaving today?” Betty asked over breakfast.

“Maybe. Or maybe I’ll stick around a little longer.”

“What for? Last night you sounded determined to leave.”

Tired of cat-and-mouse, he decided to go for broke. “Ippolito interests me,” he said.

“The banker? Why?”

“I think he’s behind all this.”

“Behind what?”

“Affington’s disappearance.”

“That doesn’t make any sense at all, Stone,” she said, sounding worried.

“I’m beginning to think it does. I think the two men who followed us the other night work for Ippolito.”

She stopped eating. “Stone, I think it’s better that you stay away from Mr. Ippolito.”

“Why? It’s a free country. I’ve been a cop and an investigator long enough to know that you can find out anything about anybody, and I’m going to find out more about Ippolito.”

“That could be dangerous,” she said quietly.

“I thought you didn’t know anything about the man,” he said, “and here you are telling me he’s dangerous.”

“It’s just an impression.”

“And how did you get that impression?”

“Just from things I’ve heard.” She looked at her watch. “God, I’ve got to get to the office; Vance is coming in early this morning for a meeting about a new film.”

Stone walked her to the door. “I want to thank you,” he said. “You’ve been wonderful.”

She put her arms around his neck. “If you want to thank me, go back to New York today.”

“I don’t think so,” Stone said.

She looked frightened but said nothing. She kissed him and ran out the door.

Stone watched her go, wondering how long it would take to pass on their conversation.

It took until just before lunch. The phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Barrington?”

“Yes.”

“This is Onofrio Ippolito. How are you?”

“I’m very well, Mr. Ippolito. I’m surprised to hear from you; hardly anyone knows I’m staying at the Bel-Air.”

“It’s a small town.”

“I suppose so.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk more at dinner at Vance’s house. David Sturmack tells me you’re going to be doing some work for him in New York.”

“We discussed it.”

“I have many interests in New York, too; I wonder if we might talk about your doing some work for me?”

“Of course.”

“Tell you what; I’m giving a dinner party on my yacht this evening. Why don’t you come to dinner, and we’ll find a few minutes to talk privately.”

“I’d be delighted.”

“The yacht is moored off Catalina Island, so if you’ll be at Marina Del Rey at eight o’clock, I’ll see that you’re ferried out there.”

“Fine.”

Ippolito gave him a slip number and a boat’s name,Maria. “I’ll look forward to seeing you,” he said.

“Thank you; I’ll see you this evening.”

Stone hung up the phone and sat back. Time to face the man and ask some direct questions. In the meantime, he thought, he’d have a swim. He got up and went to look for a robe.

Stone arrived at Marina Del Rey at a little after eight and parked the car. He had dressed in one of his new Purple Label suits, dark blue with a white pinstripe, and had wom one of the new Sea Island cotton shirts and a new tie. He would probably e overdressed at the dinner party, but better that than underdressed.

He walked down the ramp and along the pontoons, looking for the berth number he had been given. The light was going now, and as he passed the pontoon wherePaloma was berthed, he noticed no lights were on. Maybe he’d see Barbara and her boyfriend at dinner. He finally found the correct pontoon and worked his way down the berth numbers until he came toMaria, a sports fisherman of thirty-odd feet, complete with a tall flying bridge. Standing in the stem of the boat was one of the two men who had followed him in the Lincoln.

Stone experienced an urge to turn around and walk the other way, but before he could, the man smiled and spoke.

“Mr. Barrington? We’ve been waiting for you; come aboard, please.”

Stone walked up the small gangplank.

“I’m Manny,” the man said, as another man came up from below. “This is Vinnie. We both work for Mr. Ippolito.”

Vincent Mancuso stuck out a hand, and Stone shook it. After all, they had never been formally introduced. “We’re all ready,” Vinnie said. He turned, switched on the ignition, and started the engines, while Manny dealt with the gangplank and the mooring lines.

“Where’s Mr. Ippolito,” Stone asked, “and the other guests?”

Vinnie put the throttles ahead, and the boat moved out of the berth. “Most of the guests are already aboard the big boat. Mr. Ippolito and the others are choppering out from a meeting downtown.”

“Can I get you something to drink?” Manny asked.

“A beer would be good.”

Manny went below and came up with a Heineken and a glass on a silver tray. “There you are; would you like to stay in the cockpit or ride down below?”

“I’ll stay up here, I think,” Stone replied. “It’s a nice evening.” He felt more comfortable now, and he took a seat near the stem and sipped his beer.

“Yeah, it is a nice night, isn’t it?” Manny said. “When we’re clear of the marina we’ll see a hell of a sunset.”

Stone watched the moored boats go past as the sports fisherman moved down the channel toward the breakwater. Five minutes later they were on a calm Pacific Ocean, and Vinnie put the throttles forward. “How long will it take us to get to Mr. Ippolito’s yacht?” Stone asked.