Stuart Woods - Cold Paradise

Stone hoped somebody would get out, but instead, the car sped away, its tires squealing on the pavement, leaving a puff of black smoke.

“Nice shot!” Dino yelled.

Dino watched the car speed away and laughed aloud. “That ought to make the guy keep his distance!”

“Guy? What guy? You said it was Dolce.”

“I said I thought it was Dolce. For all I know, it may be one of your groupies.”

“I don’t have groupies,” Stone said.

“Okay, maybe it’s one of your many enemies.”

“Come on, let’s finish the round,” Stone said. “I assume you’re going to let me take a mulligan on that one.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Stone took his sand wedge, choked down on it, opened the face and flopped the ball onto the green, within three feet of the pin.

“You should have taken my advice in the first place,” Dino said.

They were driving back to the Shames estate, with Dino at the wheel, when Stone’s cell phone vibrated. “Hello?”

“This is Frederick James.”

“Good day, Mr. James.”

“I’ve spoken with Paul, and he’s willing to deal, through me.”

“Not through you,” Stone said.

“Why not? He’s chosen me as his representative.”

“How can I trust you?” Stone asked. “You’ve already lied to me at least once.”

“When did I ever lie to you?” James asked, sounding offended.

“You told me you’d never heard of Paul Manning, and then you told me you knew him. One of those was a lie.”

“But-”

“I’ll deal directly with Manning.”

“For whatever reason, Paul doesn’t wish to deal with you.”

“Then I’ll deal with a reputable lawyer who represents him.”

James was silent for a moment. “I am Paul Manning’s attorney,” he said finally.

“You’re a novelist,” Stone said.

“So is Scott Turow, but he’s a lawyer, too.”

“I take it your name is not Frederick James, then?”

“A nom de plume.”

“What is your real name?”

“I’m not prepared to divulge that.”

“And you think I’m going to deal with somebody who says he’s an attorney but won’t tell me his name? Either get serious, or go away.”

“But I-”

“I don’t know who you are, where you are, if you’re an attorney or even if you really know Paul Manning.”

“I assure you, I do.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“What exactly do you want, Mr. Barrington?”

“I want to know that I’m dealing with the real Paul Manning and that he’s represented by an attorney whose identity I can confirm.”

“And what proof of those things would you accept?”

“Bring Manning to a meeting, and let him authorize you to represent him in my presence.”

“Paul won’t meet with you.”

“Then I’m not going to remove the threat of his arrest on insurance fraud, and I’m certainly not going to give him any of my client’s money.”

“There must be some way we can resolve this.”

“I think you understand my concerns, Mr. James. Why don’t you go away and think about it for a bit, discuss it with your client and get back to me?”

“All right,” James said and hung up.

“He’s playing games?” Dino asked.

“I don’t know what the hell he’s doing.”

“Manning’s afraid you’re going to set him up for an arrest.”

“A reasonable fear,” Stone said.

“Can you really get him off on the insurance fraud charge, or are you just blowing smoke up his ass?”

“I’ve already gotten him off,” Stone said. “But I’m not going to tell him that.”

“How did you get him off?”

“I negotiated a deal for Allison with the insurance company, whereby they agreed not to prosecute in order to get some of the money back.”

“And the deal includes Manning? Why?”

“I didn’t want to admit to them that Allison was still alive, so I wrote the agreement without reference to names. Now they can’t prosecute anybody.”

“That’s pretty slick, Stone.”

“I’m a pretty slick lawyer,” Stone replied.

“Yeah, sometimes,” Dino admitted.

They were back on the yacht, having a drink with Callie, when Stone’s phone buzzed again. “Hello?”

“It’s Frederick James.”

“What did you come up with?”

“I propose that you and I meet, in order for me to establish my credentials.”

“Okay, where?”

“Where are you?”

“Where are you ?”

“I’m in New York, but I have to go to Miami on business later in the week. Is there someplace between New York and Miami we can meet? Preferably in an airport?”

“I’m on the west coast of Florida,” Stone said. “How about Palm Beach International? It’s a couple of hours’ drive for me.”

“Agreed. Now, what do you need from me?”

“In what state are you licensed to practice?”

“New York.”

“Okay. Bring a copy of your New York law license, your New York driver’s license and your United States passport. Also, I’ll need a photograph of you with Paul Manning, taken no earlier than today and no later than tomorrow, and I want a copy of the day’s New York Times prominently displayed in the photograph.”

“I can do all that, I think, although Paul doesn’t like to be photographed.”

“I can imagine. Then I’ll need a copy of Manning’s U.S. passport, with his current identity recorded therein, and I want that clearly visible in the photograph, too.”

“Whoa, whoa, he’s not going to go for that.”

“I’m giving him nothing unless I’m convinced he’s who he says he is, and in order to do that, I’ll need to know who he says he is. He’s going to have to prove it to me.”

“You’re throwing in a whole lot of stuff, here,” James said.

“If you’re a lawyer, you’ll know very well that I have to protect my client, just as you have to protect yours. That’s all we’re talking about.”

“I’ll get back to you,” James said and hung up.

“Any progress?” Liz asked.

“By inches,” Stone said. “Manning is being very cautious.”

“He’s got a lot to be cautious about,” Liz replied.

An hour later, Stone’s phone vibrated again. “All right,” James said. “The day after tomorrow at one p.m., at Signature Aviation, Palm Beach International.”

“Fine,” Stone said. “I’ll see you then, but if my concerns are not met, there’ll be no discussion of terms.”

“I understand,” James said.

Stone hung up. “We’re on.”

Late that night, after a big dinner and more wine than he had intended to drink, Stone fell into bed, exhausted. He had barely fallen asleep, when he was wakened by a knock on the door-at first, softly, then loudly. Annoyed, he got out of bed, put on a robe and went to the door.

“Good evening,” Dolce said. She stood there with two brandy snifters in one hand and a pistol in the other. “May I come in?” she asked, unnecessarily.

Stone looked at the gun and backed into the room. “Of course,” he said.

Dolce kicked the door shut and offered him a snifter. “I brought you a drink,” she said.

“Thanks, but I’ve already had too much to drink this evening,” he replied.

“I said, I brought you a drink,” she said, through clenched teeth.

Stone took the glass.

“Sit on the bed,” she said, “where I can see you.”

Stone sat on the bed.

Dolce lifted her glass. “To many more happy moments like this,” she said.

Stone sipped at his brandy. It had an uncharacteristically bitter taste.