Stuart Woods - Fast and Loose

“Not like this one. It’s a straight razor, with a blade of Damascus steel and an ivory handle. I had it made in Istanbul, eight hundred bucks. I hope to God one of those security guys didn’t cop it.” Macher handed Jake his car keys. “The car is around the block, in the next street. You bring it around while I get my razor.”

“Okay,” Jake said, then left.

Macher took the elevator to the top floor and let himself into the apartment and looked around. The heat was running, and it was hot in the room. The bed had been stripped and the place cleaned by the maids. He wished that he had had the chance to take the pictures with him. Christian had had superb taste in art, and Macher knew nothing about it. He made his way to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. There it was, where he’d left it. He put the razor into his jacket pocket and started to leave. As he opened the door, he heard voices downstairs. Who the hell could that be on a Saturday? He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket.

Charley let them into the house amid oohs and aahs in the marble entryway. “You folks go and see the library, up there,” Charley said, pointing to the double doors. “I want to show Kaley my apartment.” They started up the stairs.

Stone opened the double doors.

“Oh, this is magnificent,” Marisa said, looking around. “When was this house built?”

“My guess would be in the twenties,” Stone said. “Lots of money around then and not much in taxes. Some robber baron must have built it to show the world how rich he was.” They browsed among the books.

At the top of the stairs Charley saw the open door. “I’m glad the maids have been in,” he said. “I don’t have a key for this door yet.” He led Kaley into the apartment and they stood, admiring the finely carved fireplace and the pictures on the walls.

“That’s a Picasso,” Kaley said, pointing, “and that’s a Matisse.”

“Wow,” Charley said, taking off his jacket and tossing it onto the sofa. “Hot in here. Will you open a window? I need to use the john.”

Kaley opened one of the French doors leading to an outside balcony, and fresh autumn air poured in. Then she followed him into the bedroom. Charley was walking into the bathroom.

Charley had just stepped onto the marble floor when a figure in dark clothes and a cloth cap appeared before him, wearing a handkerchief tied over his face. His first thought was a Western movie he had seen as a child. Then the figure swung an arm, and he felt a searing pain across his abdomen. His hand went to the wound automatically, and it was warm and wet. The figure brushed past him, and he heard Kaley scream before he collapsed onto the bathroom floor, blood pooling around him.

He heard heels on marble and Kaley shouting his name.

Stone heard Kaley screaming and started for the stairs, then he saw the elevator, its door standing open. He pulled Marisa in and pressed the button for the top floor. As the car rose, he saw through the stained glass of the doors a figure running down the stairs and out the front door. At the top, they got out and ran into the apartment, looking for Kaley and Charley.

They found them in the bathroom, Charley lying on his back, glassy-eyed, while Kaley tried to stanch the flow of blood from his belly with a towel.

“Let me in here,” Marisa said, pushing Kaley aside. She examined the wound, then applied a fresh towel to it.

“I’ll call nine-one-one,” Stone said, whipping out his cell phone.

“No,” Marisa barked, “dial this number.” She recited it for him. “Now give me the phone.” She listened for a moment. “This is Marisa, give me Nihls, now. ” She waited. “Nihls, I’m bringing in a man with a major abdominal knife wound. Send an ambulance to this address.” She recited it. “Prep OR 1 and start scrubbing. Wait.”

Charley was trying to say something. Marisa bent over him and listened.

“A positive,” Charley murmured, then closed his eyes.

Marisa went back to the phone. “Order four units of type A positive for the ambulance and eight for the OR, stat!” She hung up. “Nihls is the best trauma surgeon in the city,” she said. “He did his surgical residency at Bellevue, and he’s seen more knife wounds than anybody.”

Somewhere out in the street, an ambulance siren could already be heard. “I’ll get them up here,” Stone said, and ran down the stairs.

Nearly four hours later, Stone was shaken awake by Kaley. He had fallen asleep in a chair in a waiting room. Nihls Carlsson stood before him, his surgical scrubs mottled with blood. He looked exhausted. “He’s stable and in recovery,” he said. “There wasn’t too much organ damage, just an awful, twelve-inch wound. He’s young and strong, and he’ll make it.”

Stone shook his hand. “Thank you, Nihls. When can we see him?”

“Give him until tomorrow morning,” Nihls said. “He needs to rest.”

“Will you ask someone to tell him Kaley and Stone were here, and we’ll be back tomorrow morning?”

“Of course.” Nihls went looking for a nurse.

Stone and Marisa dropped Kaley off at her apartment. “Are you going to be all right?” he asked her.

“Sure, now that I know he will be.”

“We’ll pick you up at nine tomorrow morning.”

“Make it ten,” Marisa said.

“All right, ten.”

She closed the door to the cab, and they continued downtown to Turtle Bay.

“I’m really glad you were there,” Stone said.

“So am I,” Marisa replied. “If it had taken five minutes longer to get him a transfusion, he wouldn’t have made it.”

“It’s a good thing you requested blood in the ambulance.”

“A nine-one-one ambulance might not have had it aboard.”

Over dinner, Stone didn’t have much to say. Now that Charley’s recovery seemed assured, he started to think about how to proceed without him. “How long will his recovery be?” he asked Marisa.

“Assuming no infection or other complications, he’ll be out of the hospital in four days or so, and he’ll need to recover at home, with a daily visit from a nurse to change his dressings, for another week. Then he’ll be ambulatory. They’ll remove the stitches about two weeks out — the nurse will know when it’s time — and then he’ll need some rehab to get his abdominal muscles in shape again. He can work during that time, if he feels like it. In a month to six weeks he should have a full recovery.”

“Send his medical bills to me,” Stone said. “We haven’t had time to arrange for company insurance.”

“I’ve already spoken to Dad. The costs are on us, in gratitude for all you did for us during the takeover bid.”

“That’s very kind of all of you. I know Charley will be grateful, too.”

He was already thinking about how to handle the closing, with Charley out of commission. He and Herbie could get it done, and he had already moved the money and asked the bank for a cashier’s check.

The following morning, Charley looked better than Stone had expected. He had been moved to a lovely private room, which, magically, had been filled with flowers. His bed had been raised a little, to make it easier for him to talk. “How’re you feeling?” Stone asked.

“Exhausted.”

“You were on the table for three and a half hours,” Stone said. “That’s hard work.” He told Charley what Marisa had said about his recovery schedule. “Charley, was it Macher or Herman?”

“It wasn’t Herman,” Charley said. “Not big enough. It could have been Macher, but there was a handkerchief tied over his face, so I couldn’t make him.”

“Never mind.”

“Can you and Herb close the deal without me?” Charley asked.