Стюарт Вудс - Wild Card

Bob showed her to the back room, where a table awaited. “Would you like another drink, or just some wine with dinner?” he asked.

“I think wine with dinner is the better idea,” she said. “Weren’t you here last week?”

“I was. I saw you here, too. You’re the reason I came back.”

“Well, that’s flattering,” she said.

“It seemed to me that you look happier tonight than last week, or is that my imagination?”

“You’re very perceptive,” she replied. “I had a bad couple of days the week before. My employer seemed to think I had done something disloyal. But finally, after a lot of questions, they believed me. They transferred me to another department, though.”

“You don’t seem like a disloyal person to me, Sherry.”

“Thank you for that.”

They ordered dinner and wine, and got along swimmingly. When the check came, Bob paid it. “I’ve got my car. Can I give you a lift home?”

“Which way are you going?” she asked.

“Whichever way you’re going.”

“Thanks, Van, but I think I’ll just get a cab.”

“May I have your number?”

She wrote it in a notebook and tore out the page. “Sure, call me sometime.”

Bob gave her a number, too, then he walked her outside and hailed a cab for her. He drove back to Stone’s house, put the car away, and then went upstairs and called Sherry.

“Hello?”

“It’s Van,” he said. “There was something I forgot to tell you.”

“What’s that?”

“I bear some of the responsibility for the hard time they gave you at work. I want to make it up to you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Look in your handbag,” he said. “There’s a gift for you there, wrapped in a napkin.”

“Well, that was sneaky,” she said.

“Go ahead, take a look.”

There was silence when she did, then a little gasp. “What is this?” she asked.

“It’s ten thousand dollars in hundreds,” Bob replied.

“Van, can I ask you a question and get an honest answer?”

“Certainly.”

“Are you the copying-machine guy?”

“I was,” Bob replied, “but I won’t be paying any calls in the future.”

“They think you planted a bomb in the office.”

“They can think what they like,” Bob said. “I’m just sorry they tried to blame you. I hope the money will make up for that.”

“This is all so mysterious,” she said.

“And it will have to remain so. Listen, don’t put the money in your bank account. If you ever had a tax audit they would want you to pay taxes on it. Just hide it somewhere and use it whenever you need it. Don’t be seen paying with hundreds, though. Pop into a bank — not your own — now and then and break them for smaller bills. Also, it’s not impossible that your employer might take a look at your account, understand?”

“I don’t entirely understand, but I’ll do as you say, and thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“Will I see you again, Van?”

“Maybe after some time has passed we can meet again, but not for a while. The people you work for are unforgiving. Tell me: Is your new job as good as your old one?”

“No, it’s not.”

“Then, after a while, you might look for something better. You have my number. Call me, and perhaps I can help find you something.”

“All right, I will.”

“No one will answer, so just leave a message, as detailed as you like. No one but me will ever hear it, and I’ll get back to you.”

“Oh, Van, there’s a telephone with the money.”

“It’s a throwaway,” Bob said. “You can use that to contact me; never call on your office phone or from your apartment. Both lines are almost certainly tapped.”

“I’m not surprised,” Sherry said. “My employers can be creepy at times, especially Rance Damien. He was burned in the fire, and he looks creepier than ever.”

“Your instincts are very good, Sherry. I’ve got to run. Call me, if you should need me.” He hung up.

At dinner on Sunday night, Craig Calvert stood and raised his glass. “To Stone Barrington,” he said, “and all of you.” They drank. “Stone, you’ve been a marvelous host. Vanessa, Mick, and I thank you for all you’ve done. A car is coming for us tomorrow morning at five AM, since we have to be at Pinewood at seven. Our parting gift to you is not to wake you.” He sat down, and they enjoyed a good dinner.

The following morning just after five, Stone woke to the sound of car doors slamming and an engine starting. A moment later, all was silence again. But now he was awake and sleep did not seem to want to return. He looked at the sleeping woman next to him, one arm thrown out in his direction, and decided it was too early to suggest sex. Instead, he got up, showered, dressed in riding clothes, then called down to the stables for a horse.

Fifteen minutes later he was galloping through a cloud of ground mist, turned a beautiful color by the rising sun. He reviewed the past few weeks in his mind and decided it was time to get back to reality.

They had breakfast in the kitchen. “Well,” Stone said, “all the glamour has left the house. We may as well go home.”

“I need to get back anyway,” Viv said, “and so does Dino, even if he won’t admit it.”

“And I have corrections to make to my manuscript,” Jamie said.

“Then it’s unanimous. Breakfast at eight tomorrow, wheels up at nine. Given the time difference and the fuel stop and light headwinds, we should be at Teterboro by mid-afternoon, just in time to avoid rush hour going into the city.”

Back at Turtle Bay, Stone had Fred take his and Jamie’s bags upstairs, then he went to his office to see Joan and check his mail and messages. Bob Cantor was waiting for him. They shook hands and sat down.

“How’s it going, Bob?” Stone asked.

“Not as well as I would have liked. The Thomases trashed my house and workshop, so I took you up on your invitation to stay upstairs, and I’ve been driving a rented car. I had begun to think things were cooling off, so I hatched a plan to find out for sure. I followed the receptionist I used to pass on my copy machine visits to P.J. Clarke’s, and made her acquaintance, suitably disguised. We had dinner, and I slipped a throwaway phone in her handbag, along with some cash, by way of an apology for casting suspicion on her, and we talked later.

“I gave her my throwaway number, and yesterday she called and wanted to meet for dinner at Clarke’s. I parked my rent-a-car at the corner of Fifty-fourth and Third, half an hour early, and waited for her to show up. I watched three men take up stations within half a block of P. J.’s. Then, when she showed up, she got out of a black SUV with heavily tinted windows and went inside.

“I phoned her and asked how she had traveled uptown. She said she had taken the subway. I canceled dinner and hung up. Suddenly, I had three guys closing in on me. I started the car, drove it a couple of blocks, then got a cab, so I’m still in one piece.”

“Apparently, your generosity was inadequate,” Stone said.

“That, or they started putting pressure on her again. They had already done that after the fire. I guess she was more fragile than I thought, and she caved.”

“Good moves covering yourself,” Stone said. “I wouldn’t go back for the car. Call the rental company and report it stolen. It’ll find its way home. I take it you used another name.”

“Sure. I’m disappointed about the girl, though. She was nice. Under other circumstances, who knows?”

“They’ll do that, but don’t stop trying. They’re worth it.”

“Can you put up with me for a few more days?”

“As long as you like.”