Стюарт Вудс - Class Act

“Word has it he’s already been replaced by a guy named Vinnie Rossi, who worked for him. Interestingly, somebody recently spotted Vinnie on Fifth Avenue and gave the department a call.”

“What interest would the department have in the activities of Hialeah mobsters?”

“We like to know if guys like that come to town. Just between you and me, the FBI has a master list of guys who might be important. If there’s a sighting, it goes into the computer.”

“Did he blow up the trailer?”

“No indication of that. He worked for the guy who worked in the trailer. The FBI wants to talk to the girl who lived with Manny, name of Hilda Ross, a nightclub singer.”

“Nightclub singers still exist?”

“As long as there are nightclubs,” Dino said.

“Nightclubs still exist?”

“In Florida, yeah. They can’t play golf all the time. Even a few left in New York.”

“I don’t get it. If the guy is dead, why do they want to talk to the girlfriend?”

“Well, when they went through what was left of his house, they didn’t find a single female garment there. Plenty of neckties, etcetera, but no frilly bras and such.”

“So she packed up before the house burned?”

“That’s the idea.”

“This story gets more and more interesting,” Stone said.

“It gets more interesting than that,” Dino said, handing him the New York Post, opened and turned back. A small ad in the corner held a photo of a beautiful woman in a low-cut gown, and a headline read:

“I like the near-absence of the dress,” Stone said. “Have you called the FBI?”

“Certainly. You and I are meeting a G-man I know there for the ten o’clock show.”

The club was better than Stone had expected: it was roomy and the tables didn’t put you elbow-to-elbow with others. The decor was handsome, and when the trio began to play, the sound system was good. They were given a good table, and a moment later a decently dressed FBI agent joined them.

“Stone Barrington, meet Brian Goode,” Dino said.

Stone shook his hand. “Good to meet you, no pun intended. I hear you have a fugitive at large in the building.”

“Not at large, exactly,” Goode said. “There’s no warrant. But she’s been a confidential informant for nigh onto a year, and I hear she sings well. And we want to talk to her.”

Stone leaned near to Dino’s ear. “Has he heard about the two slugs in the autopsy?”

“Yes, I’ve heard about that,” Goode said. “And I read lips pretty good.”

“Don’t fuck with the FBI,” Dino said.

“Is she a suspect in the shooting?” Stone asked.

“Not yet,” Goode said. “Though we’ll have some questions to ask her about that.”

The trio finished its number, and a voice over the PA system said, “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome back Hilda Ross!” The applause was enthusiastic.

The velvet curtains parted and a curvy woman in a tight, green dress with auburn hair followed her impressive cleavage onto the stage, to a waiting microphone.

The group ripped into Rodgers and Hart’s “Johnny One-Note,” an up-tempo number that gave her an opportunity to use her big voice.

Stone was impressed.

When the set was over Dino said to Stone, “I know, you want to meet her.”

“Only if she’s innocent of wrongdoing,” Stone said.

But Brian Goode was already escorting her to the table and pulling out a chair for her.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” she said, shaking each hand and apparently remembering their names.

“That was a great set,” Stone said. “I’m a lover of Rodgers and Hart.”

“Who isn’t?” she asked. “Are you all law enforcement?”

“Just Brian and me,” Dino said. “I’m a local. This guy used to be” — he jerked a thumb at Stone — “but the work was too honest for him. Now he’s a lawyer.”

“Do I need a lawyer, Brian?”

“Everybody needs a lawyer now and then.”

“Then you’d better give me your card, Stone.”

Stone did so, and she made it disappear somewhere in her cleavage.

She tucked a card of her own into Stone’s breast pocket. “I’m in town for a week, maybe two,” she said.

“That ought to be long enough,” Dino muttered.

“I’ll call you when you least expect it,” Stone said.

“Then I’ll expect the unexpected,” she replied.

“Hilda,” Brian said, “can we have a little chat at the bar for a minute or two?”

“My time is yours, G-man,” she said, and the two of them left the table.

“Very nice,” Stone said.

“I thought you would think so.”

Stone and Hilda left the club immediately after her midnight show.

“Are you worn out after all that work?” Stone asked.

“Hardly,” she said. “I’m in shape for it.”

“My house is between here and your hotel,” he said. “Can I force a nightcap on you?”

“That’s an interesting way to put it,” she said. “Why not? ‘The night is young and you’re so beautiful,’ ” she sang.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Stone replied. He bent over and kissed her on the nape of her neck.

“That was nice,” she said.

“More?”

“Yes, but let’s not start something we can’t finish in the back of a cab.”

The cab stopped at Stone’s house, and they walked up the front steps. “Nice view,” she said, looking up and down the block.

“It’s even nicer inside.” He let them into the house and walked her through the living room to his study, where he lit a fire and poured them a brandy. She set down her drink, reached up, and helped him off with his jacket.

“Thank you,” he said. “Is there anything I can help you off with?”

She made a motion toward her dress. “This is all there is,” she said.

Stone reached behind her and pulled the zipper down as far as it would go. The dress fell into a puddle, and she kicked it away.

The sight of her was breathtaking, Stone thought.

She dealt with his belt buckle and the trousers, while he got out of his shirt. Soon he was naked and she, nearly so. He peeled away her thong and sat her down on the sofa, then knelt in front of her and began explorations.

“You know,” she said, “if you were a horse, you’d be called a fast starter.” He sat down on the sofa, and she took him in her hand. “And there are other equine resemblances,” she said.

After that, everything was a blur for the next half hour.

Finally, they made it upstairs to his bedroom, where they had a shower together.

“Let’s take it again from the top,” she said. And they did. Sometime during the dark of night it happened again, and nobody complained.

When there was sunlight streaming through the windows, Stone ordered breakfast for them, then took the tray off the dumbwaiter and set it between them. Stone switched on CNN, just in time for a replay of the exploding trailer.

“That was the former office of my former boyfriend,” Hilda said.

There was another shot of Manny picking up hundreds that made her laugh. “That is not the sort of work he’s accustomed to,” she said. “He’d better hope his bosses don’t see it.”

“I think they probably did see it,” Stone said, “resulting in his disappearance.”

Hilda swiveled her head. “What?”

“I heard about it last night, from Dino. The fed knew, too, didn’t he mention it?”

“Has he turned up?”

“He turned up in the smoking ruin of his house, deep fried. An autopsy found two bullets in his head.”

“Jesus,” she said. “I slept in that house until a couple of days ago.”