Stuart Woods - Fast and Loose

“Sure, did you think you were indispensable?”

Charley smiled. “Well, yeah, sort of. Stone, will you give Kaley and me a few minutes?”

“Sure, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“No, you’ll be closing. Just call and let me know how it went.”

“Okay. Talk to you then.” Stone left.

Charley pressed the button that raised his bed a little more. “Listen,” he said, “I was going to say this yesterday, but I got interrupted.”

“Yes, you did, and you scared me to death.”

“I’m sorry about that. What I was going to say to you was, why don’t you move into the new apartment with me? Let’s live together for a year or so, and if we can still stand each other, let’s get married.”

Kaley smiled. “What a good idea! Yes, on all points!”

“Quit your job, if you like. You’re not going to need the money.”

“I like my job, so I’ll keep it. Maybe I’ll take some time off to get us moved in, so it will be ready when you are. In the meantime, I’ll stay with you in Stone’s apartment, to see that you’re taken care of.”

“That would be great,” Charley said. “Now I need to get some sleep, right after you kiss me.”

Kaley kissed him, and he closed his eyes. She tiptoed out of the room.

Stone got to his desk on time the next morning and rang for Joan.

She picked up the phone. “Yes, boss?”

“Will you please run over to the bank, see Mr. Baird, and pick up a cashier’s check for me?”

“Sure thing. Be right back.” She hung up.

Stone reviewed his copy of the sales contract and closing statement, and by the time he had finished, Joan was back with the check.

“That’s a very nice round number,” she said, handing him the check.

“It’s going to buy a dozen or more companies,” he replied, “for Triangle.”

“How’s Charley doing?”

“He was fine when I saw him yesterday. He ran me out and told me to call him today when we’ve closed.”

“Good luck,” she said, and went back to her desk.

Stone gathered his papers together, put the check in his inside pocket, and got into the Bentley for the trip to the St. Clair mansion.

As he walked up the front steps, he was joined by a young man with an elderly yellow Labrador retriever leashed to his wrist.

“Yes?”

“I’m Eliot Crenshaw, the new corporate counsel for St. Clair. We’re here for the closing.”

Stone scratched the Lab behind an ear. “Who’s your colleague?”

“This is Bessie,” he said. “Sometimes I take her to work. Do you mind?”

“Not in the least. I’ve one at home a lot like her, named Bob.”

“Then you must be a very happy man.”

They went into the building and into the library, finding themselves the first there. Crenshaw unleased Bessie and told her to go lie down. Instead, she began circling the room, sniffing.

The three members of the board of directors and Herb Fisher arrived, and Stone shook all their hands. “I’m sorry that Charley Fox couldn’t be with us this morning. He had an accident over the weekend and is spending a few days in the hospital.”

“Nothing serious, I hope,” Elihu Barnes said.

“It was, but he received quick attention, and he’s recovering normally.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” They all took seats at the table.

“I’ll turn this over to Herb Fisher, of Woodman & Weld,” Stone said.

Bessie began to growl at the fireplace.

“Does she detect an intruder?” Stone asked Crenshaw, interrupting Herbie.

“Bessie doesn’t do intruders,” he replied. “She spent eight years at JFK as a sniffer dog.”

“Drugs?”

“No, her specialty was bombs.”

Stone froze. “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said, “but would you all grab your papers and get out of the building as quickly as possible?”

“What?” Barnes asked.

“ Get out of the building now! ” Stone commanded.

“Let’s go, gentlemen,” Herbie said, and began herding them toward the door. Only Crenshaw stayed.

Stone walked toward the fireplace, surveying the area. Bessie seemed to be concentrating on the wood box. The logs, Stone noted, were stacked neatly beside it, instead of inside it. He reached out for the latch and opened the lid a quarter of an inch, then he looked around the gap for any sign of wires. Nothing. He opened the lid.

There was no ticking clock, but there was a cell phone taped to a large brick of what looked like modeling clay. “Eliot,” Stone said, “take Bessie and go, right now.” Crenshaw hurried for the door, but Bessie had to be dragged.

Stone looked at his watch: two minutes before twelve; people had arrived a little early. He would normally have called Dino and asked for the bomb squad, but he had the very strong feeling that this phone was going to ring at noon. He ran over to the desk and found a large pair of scissors, then returned to the wood box. He snipped the tape that clamped the phone to the brick, and it came away attached to a single wire, running from the earbud receptacle on the bottom of the phone to a cylinder he believed was a detonator, pushed into the soft material. He unplugged the wire from the phone, and as he did the instrument lit up and rang.

Stone jumped back and dropped the phone, expecting the explosive to detonate. Then the phone rang a second time, and a third. He picked it up and pressed the send button. “Hello?”

“What number is this?” a male voice asked.

“What number did you call?” Stone asked.

There was a dead silence at the other end of the phone, then the man spoke in a half-whisper. “ Barrington? ”

“Yes, Mr. Macher. Who or what were you expecting, Mr. Boom?” The connection was broken.

Stone got out his own phone and pressed the favorites button, then another.

“Bacchetti,” Dino said.

“It’s Stone.”

“Is it important? I’m with some people.”

“Is one of them a bomb expert?” Stone asked.

“Funny you should mention that,” Dino said.

Stone left the phone and the bomb in the wood box and joined the others on the street.

“Mr. Barrington,” Elihu Barnes said, “would you mind explaining what’s going on here?”

Stone went over and hugged Bessie against his leg. “This young lady, Eliot’s Bessie, who is a retired sniffer of bombs at the airport, has just saved all our lives, and probably those of half the neighborhood.”

Approaching sirens could be heard.

Two hours later, sitting at a lunch table with the others around the corner from the house, Stone answered his phone. “Stone Barrington.”

“Mr. Barrington, this is Lieutenant Marconi. Nice job on deactivating your bomb. We’ve secured it and searched the building for any other explosives. We didn’t find anything else, so you can return to the building whenever you wish.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Stone said, “and please thank your squad for arriving so quickly and making us feel safe again.” He put the phone away. “Gentlemen, I am informed that the house is now safe, and we may resume our business there.”

Everybody got up, Stone paid the bill, and they walked back to the mansion together. Forty minutes later, all i ’s had been dotted and t ’s crossed, and a check for half a billion dollars had changed hands.

“Congratulations, Mr. Barrington,” Barnes said, “you and your partners have just become the owners of a fine business.”

“Thank you,” Stone replied, and began escorting everyone out.

Along the way, Barnes leaned over and whispered into Stone’s ear, “Was it Macher?”

“Yes,” Stone replied, “but it’s going to be hard to prove.”