Stuart Woods: Family Jewels

“No aha. They couldn’t arrest him for carrying a concealed holster.”

“Why not? I should think that would be prima facie evidence of carrying a gun.”

“He said he had worn the same pants for two days and forgot that the holster was on his belt.”

“So he confessed to having a gun on him the day before.”

“Yeah, but he said he wasn’t in the city then.”

“Yeah, but you have a witness who saw him carrying a gun.”

“Who, you?”

“Yeah, me.”

“You know as well as I do that eyewitness testimony is often wrong.”

“Not when I’m the eyewitness.”

“You have a high opinion of your own perspicacity.”

“I know a .45 caliber Glock when I see it — that’s perspicacious enough.”

“Not in a court of law. A good defense attorney would call your perspicaciousness into question. He’d say you wanted to see a .45 Glock in the man’s hand, therefore you thought you saw it.”

“My perspifuckingcaciousness is just fine, thank you. I remind you that I’m a veteran police officer.”

“You were a veteran police officer. The clock goes back to zero when you retire.”

“Well, then, I’m a veteran former police officer.”

“I don’t have time to mince words with you, I have thirty-six thousand, six hundred police officers to command.”

“Mince this !” Stone shouted into the phone, but it was too late; Dino had already hung up.

Joan was standing in the doorway, leaning against the jamb. “You seem a little on edge,” she said.

“I’m just fine.”

“No, you’re steaming — even Bob noticed.” She nodded toward the dog, who was sitting next to Stone’s desk, staring anxiously at him.

“Bob, I’m just fine,” he said.

“Bob’s not buying it,” Joan said. “Why don’t you get out of town for a while, until they pick up this guy.”

“Where would you like me to go?”

“Pick something from your extensive list of real estate holdings,” she said, “and go.”

“I just got back,” Stone pointed out.

“That’s no excuse.”

“You’re just trying to get rid of me.”

“Nope, Harvey Biggers is trying to get rid of you.”

“He’s not smart enough to get rid of me.”

“He doesn’t have to be smart, he just has to be lucky.”

“Arguing with you is like arguing with Dino.”

She brightened. “Thank you very much.”

“It wasn’t meant as a compliment.”

“I knew that, but I liked it anyway.”

Stone leaned on his elbows and put his face in his hands. Bob walked over and rested his chin on Stone’s knee, slowly wagging his tail.

“Bob and I think you should get out of town,” Joan said. The phone rang, and she picked up the one on Stone’s desk. “The Barrington Practice,” she said, “or Woodman & Weld, take your pick.”

Stone made a groaning noise.

“Well, hi there, how are you?” Joan said, brightening. “He’s right here.” She handed Stone the phone. “It’s Ed Eagle, calling from Santa Fe.”

“You’re just saying that to cheer me up,” Stone said, taking the phone from her.

Stone was genuinely glad to hear from Ed Eagle. “Ed, how are you?”

“Better than middling, I guess. How about you?”

“Not too bad.”

“You very busy these days?”

“No, I spent some time in England and just got back a couple of weeks ago.”

“I have an invitation for you.”

“I accept.”

“Hang on, let me finish. Susannah is having a birthday, and I’m throwing a party for her.”

“I accept.”

“It’s in Santa Fe this weekend.”

“I accept. Which birthday?”

“Don’t ask. How soon can you get your ass out here?”

“Is tomorrow too soon?”

“Certainly not. What are you flying these days?”

“A Citation CJ3 Plus.”

“Then you can do it nonstop?”

“As long as there isn’t a two-hundred-knot headwind.”

“See you late tomorrow afternoon, then?”

“Perfect.”

“Don’t rent a car, I’ll loan you one. It’ll be at the airport.”

“Great.”

“And there’s something I want to show you.”

“What’s that?”

“You’ll see.”

“By the way, I have a houseguest named Bob. May I bring him along?”

“Sure, as long as you don’t mind sleeping in the same bed. We’ve got a full house.”

“No problem, Bob can sleep on the floor.”

“Stone, is there something you want to tell me?”

“Lots of things, but not now.”

“By the way, when you get to the airport, read the instructions in the manual before you start the car.”

“I know how to start a car, Ed.”

“Trust me — read the instructions.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Can you find your way to the house sober?”

“I can.”

“Then we’ll see you tomorrow. Drinks are at six.”

“I’ll flight-plan for the cocktail hour.”

“See you then.”

“See you.” Stone hung up feeling elated.

“You look better already,” Joan said.

“I feel better already.”

“Bob looks relieved,” she said.

“Are you relieved, Bob?”

Bob wagged all over.

“You want me to pack you a bag?”

“That would be great.”

“How long?”

“Say a week, to be safe, and pack Bob a bag, too.”

—

The following morning at ten, Stone sat at the end of runway 24 at Teterboro Airport.

“November One, Two, Three, Tango Foxtrot, cleared for takeoff,” the tower controller said.

“N123TF, cleared for takeoff.”

Stone flipped on the pitot heat, strobes, and landing light, taxied onto the runway, and pushed the throttles forward, glancing at the pilot’s display as the airspeed climbed. At a speed labeled R for rotate, Stone pulled back on the yoke, and the jet rose from the concrete and climbed. He retracted the landing gear and the flaps and, at 450 feet, switched on the autopilot, which would now fly the departure procedure known as RUDY4.

Shortly, he got a vector and a new altitude from the departure controller and, to his surprise, was given flight level 400, or 40,000 feet, and was cleared direct SAF.

Twenty minutes later he was at altitude and on course. He adjusted the air-conditioning, chose the symphony channel on the Sirius Satellite Radio, and picked up the New York Times crossword puzzle. He glanced over a shoulder to see how his new crew was doing and saw Bob sitting on a rear seat, looking intently out the window. Stone had laid a blanket in the aisle for him, and a moment later Bob hopped down, curled up, and went to sleep.

Stone concentrated on the puzzle. Each time he moved to the next clue, he looked up, did an instrument scan, made an adjustment, if necessary, then returned to the puzzle. Three and a half hours later he was descending into Santa Fe, with fifty minutes of fuel left, and he set down smoothly on runway 20.

As he taxied to a halt at the FBO (fixed-base operator) and stopped for chocking, a sleek dark sports car pulled up to the nose of the airplane. He wasn’t sure what it was.

He picked up the checklist and went through the shutdown procedure, then got up and opened the door. Bob preceded him onto the ramp, and he gave the key to a lineman, who opened the forward baggage compartment and loaded his and Bob’s luggage into the rear of the car. It was a tight fit.

Stone walked around the car and found the Aston Martin winged logo. The lineman walked Bob over to some grass to do some business while Stone sat in the driver’s seat and looked around. He couldn’t find a key or a start button, and there was no gearshift lever present in the usual place.