Stuart Woods - Swimming To Catalina

“Hello?” Her voice was careful, neutral.

“Barbara, it’s St…Jack Smithwick.”

“What number are you calling, please?”

“Is he there?”

“I’m sorry, you’ve dialed the wrong number,” she said. Then, just before she hung up, she whispered “Call in an hour.”

At loose ends, Stone went down to the swim, read the papers at poolside, then asked for a phone and called again.

“Hello?”

“I believe the appropriate question is, ‘Is the coast clear?’”

She laughed. “Yes, it’s clear.”

“You free for lunch?”

“Sure, and I’ve got a car this time.”

“Meet me at the pool at the Beverly Hills Hotel, and bring a bikini-a very small one.”

“I’ll be there in an hour.” She hung up.

Stone swam a few laps, then hailed a poolboy and arranged for a cabana.

She saw him from a distance, then walked toward him, along the poolside, unbuttoning her cotton dress as she came.

For a moment he thought she was stripping in public, but when she stepped out of the dress she was wearing a very, very small bikini. She turned heads, and they didn’t stop looking when she sat down at the table next to him and gave him a big wet kiss.

“I was hoping you’d call,” she said. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

“I’m glad I did. I ordered us both a bacon cheeseburger; I hope it’s as good as the last one.”

“I’m sure it will be,” she said.

They ordered piña coladas, and then lunch came. When they were finished, Stone got serious.

“Barbara, I want to ask you some questions, and I hope you’ll give me straight answers.”

“Okay.”

“First of all, was everything you told me about yourself the other night the truth?”

“Yes, but that’s more than I can say for you.”

“What?”

“Your name isn’t Jack Smithwick, is it?”

Stone reddened. “How did you know?”

“You think I’m so dumb that I can’t tell when a man gives me a false name? Anyway, nobody is named Smithwick.”

“I apologize,” he said.

“Let’s start over.” She held out her hand. “I’m Barbara Tierney.”

Stone took the hand. “My name is Stone Barrington.”

“Stone,” she said. “I like that.”

“It was my mother’s maiden name.”

“It’s nice. Now, why didn’t you tell me your real name from the beginning? I would have liked you a lot better.”

It escaped Stone how she could possibly have liked him better than the first time they met. “If you’ll forgive me, I’ll answer that later, but I will tell you the truth.”

“All right. What do you want to know from me?”

“What do you know about Martin Barone?”

She blinked. “How do you know his name?”

“I got lucky.”

“Stone, you said you’d tell me the truth.”

“I had him investigated, but I didn’t find out much; I need to know more.”

“Why on earth did you have him investigated?”

“I promise, I’ll fill you in, but later.”

“What, exactly, do you want to know?”

“How did you meet him?”

“A girl I know, another actress, introduced us at a party.”

“What sort of party?”

“It was at a bank downtown. We were hired to…just be decorative, I guess, and she had met him at a previous party. He was charming, one thing led to another, and he offered to let me live on the boat. I had been living at a friend’s place, and we were crowding each other.”

“Did you form any impressions about the kind of business he does?”

“Not at first, but over a period of a couple of weeks I heard his end of some telephone conversations.”

“What did you learn?”

“He talked about moving stuff-he didn’t say exactly what, but I think he was talking about money. At first I thought it was drugs, but now I think money.”

“Did he talk about how he moves it?”

“He talked about pickups and deliveries.”

“So he movescash around?”

She nodded. “I think so; between here and Mexico.”

“Does he keep any sort of schedule?”

“He goes away two or three times a week, but I’m not sure if it’s always to Mexico.”

“Do you think he’s moving money personally, as in his car?”

“The Porsche doesn’t have a lot of room in it,” she said.

“I know; was there ever any talk of anything larger?”

“He mentioned a truck once.”

“Do you know who his boss is?”

“He’s his own boss; it’s his company.”

“But you met him at the Safe Harbor Bank?”

“How did you know which bank? I didn’t tell you.”

“It was more than a lucky guess. Did you meet a man named Ippolito there?”

“Yes, he’s the head of the bank, I think; somebody pointed him out to me at the party. I got him a drink at one point.”

“What was your impression of him?”

“I think his impression of me was that he thought I was a hooker, which annoyed me.”

“Did you notice what kind of relationship Barone had with Ippolito?”

“Marty was doing a lot of major sucking up,” she said.

“I can imagine. Did Marty say anything to you about his relationship with Ippolito?”

“He refers to him as the boss sometimes. Not to me, but on the phone. I’m sure that’s who he’s talking about. My turn for some questions.”

“All right.”

“Are you a cop?”

“No, but I used to be; now I’m a lawyer.”

“What’s your interest in Marty and Ippolito?”

“I think that both of them are mixed up in organized crime.”

She rubbed her forehead. “I was afraid of something like that,” she said. “I was beginning to get this feeling.”

“Where is Marty now?”

“He left this morning for Mexico, or that’s what he said, anyway.”

“Barbara, I think you ought to get off the boat as soon as possible.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” she said, “and I’m about out of money.”

“What about the friend you stayed with before?”

“We didn’t part on such good terms.”

“Have you got a lot of stuff on the boat?”

“Two suitcases and a hanging bag.”

“Tell you what: you go back to the marina, pack up, and I’ll meet you at the restaurant where we met in an hour, okay?”

“But where will I go?”

“You can stay with me, until we figure something out. Don’t worry about money.”

“Okay, let’s do it.”

“One other thing: remember I asked you if you had ever driven a white Mercedes convertible?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t really answer me. Do you know the car?”

“I drove it here today,” she said. “It’s in the parking lot.”

Stone arrived at the Marina Del Rey restaurant on time, but there was no sign of Barbara. Arrington’s car was parked near the chandlery, though. When she was fifteen minutes late, Stone began to worry. Then she came up the ramp from the pontoon, struggling with her bags, one of which was on wheels. Stone ran to help her.

When they were in the car, she looked into her handbag. “Damn,” he said, “I’ve still got the keys to the Mercedes; I’ll have to take them back to the boat.”

“Wait,” Stone said, thinking. “Don’t take the keys back; drive the car to the hotel.”

“I can’t just steal the guy’s car,” she said.

“It’s not his car, and don’t worry, he won’t report it stolen.”

“Stone, I don’t want to get into trouble.”

“Believe me, I’m getting youout of trouble.”

“Oh, all right.” She went to the Mercedes, and Stone led the way back to the hotel.

He called the parking valet aside. “Bury the SL500 somewhere,” he said, handing the man a twenty. “We won’t need it for a while.” He gave his room key to Barbara, along with tip money for the bellman. “You go on upstairs; there’s something I have to do.”