Stuart Woods - Fast and Loose

“Great.”

“One thing I should mention, though. St. Clair has already made overtures to both DigiFlood and Automobile Butler Services, so we’re likely to make Macher angry again.”

“Well, if he gets angry enough, maybe he’ll do something stupid that will allow us to neutralize him.”

“As long as you know what’s happening.”

“I’ll have a word with Mike about it.”

Dino finished his steak.

“You were going to call somebody,” Stone reminded him.

“Yeah, an assistant DA who will get us our warrant.” Dino made the call and discussed his raid for a few minutes, then hung up. “Done,” he said. “He’ll see a judge in the morning, and we should be ready to go for tomorrow night.”

On the ride home, Charley spoke up. “Stone, would it be inconvenient for you if I stayed on in the apartment for a few months?”

“Not at all — as long as you like.”

“I’m going to look for something to buy, but right now I’d like to put my time into getting Triangle up and running.”

“Of course.”

“And I’d like to pay rent. I can afford it.”

“And I can afford not to collect it,” Stone said, “so forget it.”

As they pulled into the garage, Fred said, “Mr. Barrington, the street seems to be clean of the trash we’ve had in the block the past few days.”

“That’s good,” Stone said.

“I expect Macher found it unprofitable,” Charley said.

They drove into the garage and said good night.

Stone went upstairs and found a surprise waiting for him in his bed.

“Good evening,” Marisa said. “I used my new key. Did you enjoy your boys’ night out?”

“Not as much as I’m going to enjoy your company,” Stone said, getting out of his clothes and slipping into bed with her.

She threw a leg over his and snuggled close. “Anything new in the world of skullduggery?”

“I think the skullduggers are getting weary,” Stone replied. “The two guys out front have been withdrawn.”

“Oh, good. May we dispense with the armed guards now?”

“Let’s not be hasty about that,” Stone replied. “Maybe another week.”

Then he did his duty.

Erik Macher gazed up at the girl on top of him. “How’s that, baby?” he asked.

“Oooh, good!” she replied, as she was expected to. “Why don’t you just move me into your apartment, and we can do this all the time? Looks like you’ve got plenty of room.”

“Don’t ruin the mood,” Macher said, then the doorbell rang. He glanced at the bedside clock: three AM. “What the hell?” he said, sitting up and unseating the young woman.

“What’s the matter?”

The doorbell rang again, and there was a hammering on it, followed by muffled shouting.

“Don’t you move,” Macher said. He reached into his bedside drawer and withdrew a Glock. He grabbed a robe, and as he departed his apartment, he slapped the panic button on his security system, and a siren began to wail. As he reached the first floor, there was a huge bang, a splintering sound, and the front door flew open, followed by a man with a steel ram, surrounded by uniformed police officers wearing body armor.

“Drop the gun!” a cop yelled at him.

Macher had forgotten the Glock in his excitement, and he opened his hand, allowing it to fall onto the stairs. “What the fuck is this?” he screamed.

A cop handcuffed his wrist and fastened the other end to the banister rail. “What’s your security cancellation code?” the cop shouted.

Macher told him, and the cop entered it into a keypad at the bottom of the stairs. The siren abruptly stopped. “I asked you, what the fuck is this?” Macher demanded anew.

A detective in a suit stepped forward and handed him a paper. “This is a warrant, allowing us to search the premises.”

“Search the premises for what ?” Macher demanded, tossing the warrant aside.

“Whatever the fuck we like,” the cop replied. “You’ve been served, now shut up and cooperate. Who else is in the house?”

“My secretary lives on the second floor.” As if on cue, the woman appeared, one landing up, tying a robe around her. “And there’s a Ms.... oh, I don’t know what the hell her name is. She’s on the top floor in my bed... ah, apartment.”

“Is that your office?” the detective asked, pointing at a set of double doors.

“Yes.”

“All right,” he shouted to his group, “execute the plan.” He pointed at a young man in civilian clothes. “You — on the computers, now.”

“Gotcha,” the youth replied, heading for the double doors.

Macher sat down on the stairs, the cold marble freezing his ass through the thin silk robe, picked up the warrant and began to read. “Shit!” he said to nobody in particular.

As dawn broke over the Upper East Side, the policemen began departing, carrying boxes of documents and other evidence. The IT man approached the detective in charge and held up a thumb drive. “Got everything worth having,” he said.

“Go back to the precinct and print it all out,” the detective said, “then get yourself some breakfast and some sleep.”

The detective walked over to Macher, who was still sitting on the stairs, handcuffed to the rail. “You got a permit for the piece?”

“I have,” Macher said, “full carry.”

The detective took out an iPhone and opened a departmental app, then tapped in the name. “Okay, you’re licensed,” he said a moment later. He uncuffed Macher, cleared the weapon and returned it to its owner. “Have a nice day,” he said.

From the third floor, a young woman was heard to call out, “Do you want to go again? Or am I out of here?”

Macher started up the stairs. “Out of here!” he shouted.

Stone was at his desk when Dino called.

“Good morning. How’d it go last night?”

“We got the will,” Dino said, “and it’s been turned over to the DA, who will decide whether to prosecute. My guys are still slogging through the printout from St. Clair’s computers.”

“I’m delighted to hear it.”

“Something occurred to me — you know this strong case thing that had the bomb in it that killed St. Clair?”

“Yep, I know it, it lived in my safe for a couple of days.”

“Describe it to me.”

“It was a kind of briefcase, but bigger and thicker than the standard and covered in black leather. It had unconventional locks and a key that was a slab of titanium with some pointy things on it.”

“Right, and was there some sort of procedure to unlock it without the bomb going off?”

“That’s what I was told.”

“What was the procedure?”

“I don’t know,” Stone said, “I never tried to open it.”

“And who had the strong case before St. Clair opened it and got his head handed to him?”

“It was in the possession of Ed Rawls, at his house in Virginia, then Macher or some of his cohorts in his security firm broke into the house, roughed up Ed, and stole the case. Macher then took it to St. Clair and sat there in his office and watched while he opened it, then blooey!”

“The strong case was a CIA thing, wasn’t it?” Dino asked.

“Yes. Holly Barker, who was visiting me at the time, knew about it from her days with the Agency.”

“And Rawls was CIA once, that’s where he got the case?”

“Right.”

“And,” Dino said, “Macher was CIA once, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Then he would have known something about the strong case and how it worked.”

“Presumably.”

“And yet he sat there and watched St. Clair open it and kill himself.”

“Well... yes.”

“Doesn’t that sound to you like an awful good case for premeditated murder?”