Stuart Woods - Fast and Loose

“I guess I could do that.”

“I got you a room down the hall. You can take her there after you dine. Make a reservation in the hotel dining room.”

Jake picked up the phone.

“No, take your things down to your room,” Macher said, handing him the key card. “Use your cell phone to call her.”

“They took my cell phone when they threw us out.”

Macher handed him a burner phone. “This will work.”

Jake picked up his bags and left the suite.

Macher lay down on the bed, his head throbbing. He’d feel better when they were all dead.

Charley Fox walked into Herb Fisher’s office at Woodman & Weld and introduced himself.

“I hear you’re Stone and Mike’s new partner,” Herbie said.

“That’s right. And I hear you’re the ace attorney Stone turns to when there’s work to be done.”

“I’m his man.”

Charley set his briefcase on Herbie’s desk. “These were delivered to me this morning,” he said. “It’s all the papers you’ll need to prepare the sales contract and the closing statement.”

Herbie took the papers from the case and ran through them, making notes on a printed form.

“What’s the form?” Charley asked.

“It’s a checklist of everything we need for closings — helps bring order to the process.”

“When do you think we can close?”

“When do you think you can come up with a cashier’s check for half a billion dollars?”

“Pretty quick. It’s already in the works.”

Herbie completed his list. “Whaddya know, Mr. Barnes is very well organized. We have every piece of paper we need to move this forward. I just have to write the sales contract. My secretary can put together the closing statement. If I work this weekend, I can be ready to close on Monday morning.”

“Well, Herb, that’s really moving. Stone and Mike will be delighted, and I’ll be in my new apartment on Monday afternoon.”

“Where’s your new apartment?”

“On the top floor of the St. Clair mansion, about three thousand square feet of it, according to the plans.”

“Very nice.”

“And my office will be in the library on the first floor. Can I schedule the closing for noon on Monday?”

“Sure, as long as there’s no hitch. It helps that the banks are not involved. There’s no mortgage on the building, for instance. I’ll call you if any impediment arises, but I think we’re in good shape.”

“Thank you, Herb. Listen, I’m going to need a personal attorney to handle my affairs. Would you like the job?”

“I’d be delighted, Charley.” He reached into a drawer and pulled out another printed form. “Here’s a Woodman & Weld client agreement. It sets out our terms. Read and sign it at your leisure.”

Charley took out his pen, signed the document, and handed it to Herbie.

“Welcome aboard,” Herbie said. The two shook hands, then Charley left him to get on with his work.

Jake Herman got out of a shower and into a freshly pressed suit. Tonight, he would begin a charm offensive on Velma Ottley, one designed to bend her to his will.

Jake was awakened early on Saturday morning by an insistent Velma. They had dined well the evening before, and had adjourned to Jake’s room, where they had done things to each other twice, before rendering each other unconscious.

“It’s Saturday,” Velma said. “No work.”

“You mean there’s nobody at the office?”

“Nobody works Saturdays since St. Clair died.”

“That’s good news,” Jake muttered.

“Why?” Velma asked.

Jake thought about that for a moment. “Because you don’t have to be there, and you can fuck me again.”

“How nice you put it, Jake,” Velma replied, rolling him over and climbing on. “And I’m going to want eggs Benedict after you’re helpless again.”

“Deal,” Jake said, then did his duty.

Jake rang Macher’s bell at mid-morning, and his boss was awake and dressed. “Come in here and see this,” he said to Jake.

On the dressing table in Macher’s bedroom was a chunk of plastic explosive the size of a brick, with a burner cell phone taped to it. “No telltale wires,” Macher said. “Entirely self-contained.”

“Very pretty,” Jake said, “but are you going to need that much of the plastic stuff? That could bring the building down, couldn’t it?”

“Not likely,” Macher replied, “but who gives a shit?”

“Velma says the coast is clear on Saturdays — nobody works weekends since St. Clair went away. Oh, she says the board is meeting to sell the company at noon on Monday.”

“And I’ve still got my keys to the building,” Macher said. “Nobody relieved me of them, and I’ll bet money they haven’t changed the alarm code, either.”

“When do you want to do it?” Jake asked.

“As soon as we’ve had a nice brunch,” Macher said.

Stone, Marisa, Charley, and Kaley were having a Saturday brunch in the Carlyle Hotel dining room, eggs Benedict and mimosas for everybody.

“You two are looking very self-satisfied,” Kaley said.

“I think the word describes us very well,” Stone replied.

“Why so happy?” Marisa asked.

“Charley has done good work,” Stone said.

“So have we all,” Charley replied.

“What have you done?”

“We have pulled off a coup that wouldn’t have been possible without Charley,” Stone said. “We’ve bought all the assets of a company called St. Clair Enterprises.”

“That guy who tried to buy us out of our clinic?” Marisa asked.

“One and the same.”

“And a yacht,” Charley said, “and a gorgeous house.”

“Yacht, where?” Marisa asked.

“The yacht is in Rockland, Maine,” Stone said, “a stone’s throw from your own fine vessel. And this one doesn’t need sails to sail.”

“A stinkpot?”

“It’s very beautiful, don’t call it names.”

“And when do we get to sail aboard her?”

“How about next weekend? Everybody up for that?”

Affirmative noises were made by all.

“And where’s the house?” Kaley asked.

“Not a dozen blocks from where we sit,” Charley said. “Would you like to see it?”

“How do we get in?” Stone asked.

“I still have my keys, and I’ll bet they haven’t changed the alarm code, and nobody will be there on a Saturday, because both St. Clair and Macher have gone.”

“Check!” Stone called to their waiter.

Jake checked out the block while Macher found a parking spot. No security guards, and no one stirring in the building. Macher appeared from around a corner, and Jake waved him on.

They were inside in a moment, and Macher let them into the library.

“Where are you going to put it?” Jake asked.

Macher looked around the room. “The wood box, next to the fireplace,” he said. It was an antique box of rusting iron. “It will make wonderful shrapnel.”

Jake opened the box and found it full of firewood.

“Stack it neatly next to the fireplace, and don’t make a mess, somebody might notice,” Macher commanded.

Jake did as he was instructed.

Macher removed the device from a shopping bag and checked its connections. He read the number from a label taped to the back of the phone and entered the number into his own burner, setting it to speed dial when the number nine was pressed. “There,” he said, “we’re all set. I can call this phone from anywhere in the world by just pushing a button.”

“Swell,” Jake said. “Now can we get out of here?”

“I need to run upstairs to my apartment for a moment,” Macher said. “I left my razor in the bathroom.”

“Your razor? You can get one at any drugstore.”