Stuart Woods: Fast and Loose

Jake picked up the box. “I’ll keep thinking about it and see if there are any other possible hitches.”

“You do that,” Macher said. He sat down, feeling much better than he had an hour before.

Dan Swenson was sitting at his desk, reading a gun magazine, when his phone rang. “Swenson.”

“Dan, it’s Jake Herman. Come to my office, will you? I have an assignment for you.”

“Be right there, Jake,” Swenson said, excited. He had been sitting around for weeks with little or nothing to do, and he hoped for an assignment of some consequence.

Swenson knocked on Herman’s door.

“Come!”

Swenson opened the door and walked in. “Good morning, Jake.”

“Good morning, Dan. Take a seat.”

Swenson did so.

“I expect you must be itching for something to do,” Jake said.

“You bet I am.”

“This involves driving to New York, setting a package in place outside a town house, then driving back here in time for work tomorrow morning.”

“I can do that.”

“If you do this job exactly as instructed, some bad people are going to get hurt.”

“I don’t have a problem with that,” Swenson said, meaning it.

Jake reached across the desk and handed him a pair of latex gloves. “Put these on.”

Swenson did so.

“You are to wear those at any time when your hands come in contact with this package,” Jake said, indicating the box on his desk. “It’s entirely for your protection.”

“I understand,” Swenson said.

“You are to depart here at ten PM tonight and drive to this address.” He pushed an index card across the desk. “At approximately three AM, you will park at the curb in front of the house, take the box and the accompanying steel blanket from the trunk of your car, and go to the downstairs, street door, which has a brass plate on it with the name of a law firm engraved, ‘The Barrington Practice.’”

“I see.”

“To the left of the door, under a window, is a concrete flower box. You are to slide the box out enough to admit the package, set it there, then wrap the street side of the box in the steel blanket, then push the flower box back in place to hold the package there.”

“I understand,” Swenson said.

“You are then to return to your car, close the trunk, and put masking tape over your license plate, then drive away. When you are several blocks away, you are to remove the masking tape, then drive back to your home in time to leave for work at your usual hour. Is there anything you do not understand about these instructions?”

“No, Jake.”

“Repeat them to me,” Jake said.

Swenson did so flawlessly.

“After you have successfully completed your mission, there will be a ten-thousand-dollar cash reward paid to you for service above and beyond the call.”

“Thank you, Jake, that’s very generous. I would have done it for nothing.”

“Remember this — you are not to put the cash into any bank account. You may keep it in your safe at home or your office or in a safe-deposit box at your bank, and use it as you see fit, but it must not pass through any bank account. Is that clear?”

“Of course — a normal precaution.”

“You should put the box in your car trunk now, before the rest of the staff get here.”

Swenson put on the latex gloves, set the steel blanket on top of the package, picked it up, and walked it to the alley behind the building, where the company cars were parked. He set the box in place and put the blanket beside it, then went back inside, got a roll of masking tape from his desk, and returned to the car, where he set it beside the box and closed the trunk, locking it.

“You forgot this,” a voice said from behind him, causing him to jump. Jake was standing there holding an index card. “It’s the address. You might put it into your car’s GPS, but don’t forget to delete it after your mission is completed.”

“Got it,” Swenson said, pocketing the card.

That night Stone had dinner alone in his study, then went up to his bedroom, undressed, got into bed, and switched on the TV. He found an interesting movie among those he had TiVoed for later viewing and switched it on. As the credits were rolling, he picked up his iPhone and checked his appointments for the following morning. Only one: Eliot Crenshaw, the new corporate counsel for the St. Clair company, was coming to drop off the company’s books and some other computer records at 9:30. He made a mental note to be at his desk by that time.

Dan Swenson had a late dinner with Jake Herman, as part of his alibi for the evening, then returned to his apartment. He watched a little TV, put on some fresh clothes and a shoulder holster and his 9mm H&K semiautomatic, which he was licensed to carry in Virginia and D.C., and left his apartment at 10:30 for the drive to New York. He checked his fuel level — plenty for the drive up and back, no stopping for gas — then he started the car and entered the address of his target house into his onboard GPS. Shortly, he was on the interstate, driving toward New York.

He left the tunnel at half past two, then drove to the address in his GPS. He stopped, got out of the car, looked around, then drove around the block again. He pulled to a halt on the uptown side of the street, immediately in front of the target address, then he got out of the car and went to the door, finding the promised brass plate.

He went back to the car, opened the trunk, pulled on his latex gloves, then set the blanket on top of the package and carried it to the door. He had another look around, found the block deserted, then pulled the concrete flower box away from the wall, which was harder than he had thought it would be.

He picked up the box, set it down behind the flower box, then unfolded the steel blanket and wrapped it around the three sides of the box and pushed the flower box back into place. He examined his work and thought it looked good.

He went back to his car, opened the trunk, removed the masking tape, and knelt down to tape over his license plate. He had just finished when a set of headlights turned the corner and a car stopped behind his car, emitting a short blast on its whooper.

Swenson stood up to face the two policemen getting out of their patrol car. “Good evening,” he said to them.

“Yeah,” the driving cop said. “Tell me, how come you are obliterating your license plate with tape? Don’t you know it’s a serious misdemeanor to drive with an obliterated tag?”

“I’m sorry, Officer,” Swenson said, but he didn’t have a story ready for this, and he was stuck.

“Let me see your license, registration, and insurance card,” the cop said.

“Of course, Officer,” Swenson said. “I’ll have to get it from the glove compartment.”

“Go ahead, but keep your hands in sight.”

Swenson felt a rising wave of panic. If the cops discovered the package, he would be in serious trouble, and it suddenly occurred to him that he was not licensed to carry in New York City. He turned to walk toward the driver’s door.

“Hold it,” the cop said.

Swenson stopped.

“The glove compartment is on the other side of the car.”

Swenson turned slightly to hide his right hand, then he drew the 9mm from his shoulder holster, turned, and fired a round each at the two cops. Both went down immediately.

He turned to get into the driver’s seat when he heard and felt two shots in the middle of his back, and he fell into the gutter.

Stone was sleeping soundly when he was awakened by a distant popping, sounding like gunshots. He listened for a moment more, then drifted off again.

The phone rang. Stone opened an eye and glanced at the bedside clock: 6:10 AM. He reached for the phone. “Barrington,” he croaked.