Unnatural Acts

by Stuart Woods

  “In locations where kidnapping is practiced by local criminals or terrorist groups, we can send in specialists in penetration and recovery, and when that is not possible, we send personnel to negotiate the freedom of personnel being held. Our insurance associate, Steele, offers insurance packages for personnel sent abroad, which can include kidnapping insurance, making large sums immediately available for negotiation and recovery.

  “We are pleased to offer services that none of us has even thought of yet—invented or improvised, as the situation calls for. All our personnel are thoroughly trained for the environment in which they work, at home or abroad. We draw people from the armed services, particularly Special Forces and Navy SEAL veterans, as well as from the FBI, the treasury department, the CIA and NSA, and from police departments in many countries. They are trained to always operate legally in any setting, especially with regard to local weapons laws.

  “Finally, when we have designed a top-to-bottom security plan for your company, we will make a comprehensive presentation to your board of directors, demonstrating the cost-effectiveness of each part of our plan.”

  Mike then took questions for nearly an hour, then invited the group to lunch in the company mess. Herbie excused himself to take a phone call on his cell.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, it’s Cookie.”

  “What’s up?”

  “You had a call from Dink Brennan a few minutes ago.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “I’m not. He asked for an appointment to come and see you when you get back.”

  Herbie thought about that for a moment. “Make the appointment,” he said, “and make it early.”

  “All right. When are you coming back?”

  “I’ll be there Monday morning, first thing.”

  “Then that’s when I’ll make the appointment for Dink.”

  “Good. Let’s see if he can get up that early. Anything else?”

  “I think I’m going to need some help around here,” she said.

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Herbie said. “I don’t want you spread too thin.”

  “There’s a woman I know who works here in Accounting that I think would be very good for the things we do. Her name is RoseAnn Faber.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Herbie said. “See ya.” He hung up and called Bill Eggers.

  “Having fun at camp, Herbert?”

  “I’m having a lot more than fun, Bill. I just watched Mike Freeman give a presentation to prospective clients that taught me more about Strategic Services than I thought I’d ever know. I think you would enjoy watching, next time he gives it.”

  “I’ll figure that out,” Eggers said. “What’s up?”

  “I need another secretary,” Herbie said. “Cookie is beginning to drown in the work.”

  “That’s not an unreasonable request, given the work you’ve created for yourself. I’ll speak to Personnel.”

  “Speak to Accounting, instead,” Herbie said. “There’s a woman working in that department named RoseAnn Faber. Cookie knows her and thinks she’d be good in the job. Then Accounting can speak to Personnel about replacing her.”

  “I’ll look into it,” Eggers said. “Are you ever coming back to work here?”

  “I never stopped, but I’ll be in my actual office Monday morning.”

  “See you then.” Eggers hung up, and Herbie went to lunch.

  43

  STONE WOKE from a deep sleep with somebody shaking him. “What?” he said.

  Marla laughed. “You were having a nightmare,” she said, “and talking in your sleep.”

  “I remember,” Stone said. “I dreamed you were a Republican.”

  She laughed. “I am a Republican,” she said. “Didn’t you know?”

  “Apparently not, I let you in the house.”

  “I take it you’re a Democrat?”

  “I’m a Yellow Dog Democrat.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That’s a Democrat who would vote for a Yellow Dog before he would vote for a Republican.”

  She laughed again. “Well, I’m not that dyed-in-the-wool a Republican. I just grew up in a Republican family.”

  “You poor girl.” He rolled over and pulled her to him. “I think we have to begin your reeducation now.”

  She kissed him. “You mean we’re going to have Democrat sex?”

  “Democrat-ic sex,” Stone said. “Don’t insult it by mispronouncing the name. That’s the first step in your reeducation.”

  “What’s the second step?”

  He kissed her. “That’s step two.”

  “I can’t wait for step three.”

  He gently pinched a nipple.

  “I think you’ve just found the start button,” she said. “Can we skip to the final step?”

  He rolled on top of her.

  HALF AN HOUR later, they lay, panting and sweating, holding hands. “Does that complete my reeducation?” she asked.

  “That’s only the first lesson,” Stone said. “We have a lot to work through yet.”

  “Such as?”

  “You’ll see, lesson by lesson.”

  “I guess it’s good that I seem to have relocated to your house. It saves all those trips through the garden and in the back door.”

  “It is good, isn’t it? Even difficult situations can have their bright side.” He rolled over and kissed her. “Where’s that start button again?”

  HERBIE WAS at his desk by seven on Monday morning, and Cookie came into his office, leading another young woman, taller than she and dark-haired.

  “Herb, this is RoseAnn Faber,” Cookie said. “She’s going to be working with us.”

  “Wow, that was fast,” Herbie said, standing up and shaking her hand.

  “It all happened Friday afternoon,” Cookie said.

  “Are you glad to be out of Accounting, RoseAnn?” Herbie asked.

  “You bet your ass … Excuse me, yes, I’m very glad to be out of Accounting.” The accent had a tinge of Brooklyn.

  “And we’re glad to have you,” Herbie said. “I’ve been working Cookie too hard.”

  “So she tells me,” RoseAnn said.

  “RoseAnn!” Cookie said, blushing. “I haven’t been complaining, Herb. I love my job.”

  “I know you do, Cookie, because I know how well you do it. RoseAnn, I hope you learn to love your job as well as Cookie does hers.”

  Cookie looked at her watch. “Your appointment is probably here now,” she said. “I’ll go see if he’s in reception.”

  Both women left, and Cookie came back a couple of minutes later, leading Dink Brennan, who was dressed in a suit.

  Herbie shook his hand and sat him down. “I had a call from the director at the farm,” he said.

  Dink sat down and accepted coffee from Cookie. “Yes, well, I felt the farm had done all it could for me. You see, I was never an addict, and almost everybody at the farm was. I felt out of place.”

  “Have you spoken to your father?”

  “We met last week, and I think we both went a long way toward patching things up.”

  “I’ve gotten to know him pretty well,” Herbie said. “He deserves better from you than what you were giving him.”

  “I can’t deny that,” Dink said. “I’m going to do better by him.”

  “Why are you here, Dink?”

  “Several reasons. First, I want to apologize to you for being such a handful.”

  “Apology accepted. Don’t do it again.”

  “Secondly, I’m sufficiently impressed with you that I’m thinking of applying to law school.”

  Herbie shrugged. “There are worse ways to make a living, but, as with most careers, it’s only really good when you love doing it. A year in law school to find out if you could love it might be a good idea. Where are you thinking of?”

  “Yale. I’ve always liked it there.”

  “What are your grades like?”

  “Surprisingly good,
considering. I have a three-point-eight average, and I might be able to improve on that in my final year. I want to graduate before going on to law school.”

  “Let me know if you need any advice.”

  “That brings me to my other reason for being here,” Dink said. “I’d like you to represent me as my attorney.”

  “You’re a college junior—why do you need an attorney?”

  “Because I’ve just come into my inheritance from my mother, which is considerable.”

  “How considerable?”

  “Thanks to my dad’s brilliant investing over the years, my trust grew from around six million to just under twenty million,” Dink said.

  “Is your dad going to continue to invest for you?”

  “I’d be crazy not to let him. He’s the best there is. But I think I’m going to want to invest in other things, too.”

  “What sort of things?”

  “Small businesses that can grow.”

  “I have another client—one your father sent me—who is that kind of entrepreneur,” Herbie said. “I’ll introduce you, if you like. You might learn a lot from him.”

  “I’d appreciate that,” Dink said. He gave Herbie a card. “This is my address, until I go back to Yale in the autumn.”

  Herbie looked at the card. “Nice address.”

  “It’s one of two apartments Dad’s firm uses to house out-of-town investors.”

  “What are you going to do with your money besides invest it?” Herbie asked.

  “I haven’t decided.”

  “I once came into a lot of money all at once,” Herbie said, “and I blew a third of it in a year. It’ll take me five or six years to earn that back.”

  Dink shrugged. “I’ve already got a nice car. I may have some clothes made, and I’m thinking of buying an apartment in the city.”

  “That could be a good investment, Dink. Prices are lower than they were before the recession.” Herbie took a card from a drawer and handed it to him. “This is a good agent, if you’re looking to buy on the East Side or downtown. Those are her specialties.”

  “Downtown interests me,” Dink said. “I’ll give her a call.”

  “All right, Dink, I’ll be your attorney. Just remember, you can fire me at any time, and I reserve the same right.”

  Dink stood up to go. “I hope it won’t come to that on either side,” he said. He shook hands and left.

  Cookie came into the office. “So that’s Dink Brennan? He looks awfully normal.”

  “Yes, he does, doesn’t he? Let’s see how that goes. Oh, he’s our new client, so you can open a file for him.” He handed her the card. “Here’s his address, until he goes back to Yale in the fall.”

  Cookie started back to her desk.

  “Oh, and, Cookie?”

  She turned. “Yes?”

  “Don’t let RoseAnn talk to clients until she learns to watch her language.”

  “Gotcha.”

  44

  VIV AND ROSIE stood in Viv’s friend’s apartment and looked around. “It’s not obvious,” Viv said to the tech guy.

  “That’s because they’re wireless—we didn’t have to hide a lot of wiring.” He pointed. “You’ve got four cameras in here, one at roughly each corner of the living room. Nothing can happen here that we can’t see.” He led them into the bedroom. “We’ve got one in the light fixture here and one in that basket on the chest of drawers.”

  “Don’t worry,” Rosie said, “we’re not going to get this far.”

  The techie shrugged. “Whatever. Each camera has a microphone, too. We’ll be in the second bedroom, down the hall. There’s a lock on the door, so he won’t walk in on us by mistake. When are you guys going to start the ball rolling?”

  “You may not have noticed this, Albie,” Viv said, “but we’re not guys.”

  “I hope your mark notices that,” Albie said. He handed Rosie a wristwatch. “I’ve only got one of these, so you’ll have to decide who wears it.”

  “What does it do?” Viv asked.

  “Two things: it’s got a GPS chip, so if we should lose you in the street, we can still keep track, and if you press the stem, it’s a panic button. It sets off an alarm that flares your location on the screen and buzzes loud, in case somebody’s in the john.”

  “You’re going to have two cops in there with you, so don’t all go to the john at the same time,” Rosie said.

  VIV AND ROSIE sat in an unmarked car on West Forty-fourth Street and watched the entrance to the building that housed the Bright Lights, Ink, agency. It was raining. Viv’s cell rang. “DeCarlo.”

  “It’s Bacchetti. I see you on West Forty-fourth on my laptop screen.”

  “Shall I wave?” Viv asked.

  “Just watch your ass,” Dino said. “I’m not up for wearing my uniform to your funeral.”

  “Don’t worry, Lieutenant, there’ll be three guys in the second bedroom, and when one of us is in the apartment with him, the other will be outside the door with a key. What could go wrong?”

  “Are you armed?”

  “One of us will be. If the one in the apartment is packing, it might be a tip-off. And Albie gave us a panic button, and the one who’s doing the tailing will have the radio.”

  “I’ll feel a lot better when this is over,” Dino said. “Be careful, Viv, goddammit!” He hung up.

  “I think Dino cares,” Rosie said. “About you, I mean.”

  “Oh, stop it.”

  “He didn’t tell me to be careful.”

  “That’s because he wasn’t talking to you.”

  “He didn’t call me, either.”

  “He couldn’t call both of us at the same time.”

  “I’ve seen him watching your ass,” Rosie said. “Believe me, he wants your body.”

  “Rosie, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to shoot you, I swear to God!”

  “You’re not going to have time to shoot me,” Rosie said.

  “What?”

  “There’s our boy.”

  Ed Abney came out of his office building, wearing a tan raincoat and a black hat, and hurried up West Forty-fourth, hunching his shoulders against the rain. It was a little before seven.

  “He’s headed for Sardi’s, I bet,” Rosie said.

  “That’s the intel we’ve got on him. He’s old-school Broadway.”

  Abney turned into the restaurant, and they could see him taking off his raincoat.

  “Let’s go,” Viv said. She started the car and drove slowly to within a few yards of Sardi’s’ door, then she flipped down the sun visor, which had an official-looking card attached to it, reading Physician On Call.

  The two women got out of the car and hurried into Sardi’s in time to see Abney walking up the steps to the upstairs bar. They checked their coats and followed.

  “You got our story straight?” Viv asked.

  “We’re two girls fresh off the farm who want to be on the stage, right?”

  “I don’t know why I partner with you.”

  They climbed the steps, then stopped, looking around. Abney was talking with the bartender. A headwaiter appeared and told the couple sitting next to him that their table was ready.

  “Lucky so far,” Rosie said. They hurried to grab the seats.

  Abney was served a martini as they sat down, and he took due notice of them. “Good evening, ladies,” he said, raising his glass. “Can I get you two a drink?” He was a little over six feet, heavyset with pale red hair and a smooth, pink complexion, maybe fifty.

  “Thank you, I’ll have a Tom Collins,” said Rosie, who was sitting next to him.

  Abney turned to the bartender. “Eddie, is there still such a thing as a Tom Collins in the world?”

  “There is,” Eddie replied, then went to work.

  “And you?” he said to Viv.

  “I’ll have a vodka martini, straight up,” she said.

  “Eddie? You heard that?”

  “I did.”

  “Only one of the
m is from the sticks.” Abney laughed at his own joke.

  “We’re both from the sticks,” Viv said. “Cleveland.”

  “Ah, Cleveland,” Abney said.

  “Don’t say it like that,” Rosie said. “It’s not nice.”

  “No insult intended,” Abney said. “I haven’t been there for twenty years. I stage-managed a national tour of Charley’s Aunt, and we played a week there.”

  “Oh, you’re in show business?” Viv asked.

  “My dear, you’re looking at the hottest press agent in the Big Apple.”

  “Wow,” Rosie said without irony. “You must know a lot of show business people.”

  “I’m afraid that, in my trade, I’m not able to avoid that.” He was listening to Rosie, but he was looking at Viv. “I’m Ed,” he said.

  “This is Rosie, and I’m Viv.”

  “Short for Vivian?”

  “You’re psychic.”

  Abney laughed. “I like you,” he said.

  “Then let’s switch seats,” Rosie said, hopping off her stool. Viv moved over and gave her a glare when her back was turned to Abney.

  “Anybody hungry?” Abney asked.

  “I’ve got a date,” Rosie said, “but Viv is free.”

  “Rosie!”

  “Viv, I know an excellent French restaurant over on the East Side, and my car is waiting outside.”

  “What’s wrong with eating here?” Viv asked.

  “The food isn’t so hot,” Abney said. “Trust me on this.”

  Rosie tossed off her drink and got off her stool. “I gotta run,” she said. “You two kids have a good time.” She kissed Viv on the cheek and whispered, “Don’t worry, I’ll be right behind you.” She stopped, took off the alarm wristwatch, and handed it to Viv. “Thanks for the loan of your watch. I’d have been late!”

  Viv buckled the watch onto her wrist.

  “Another martini before we go?” Abney asked.

  “Not on your life. One’s my limit before dinner. It’s nice that you’ve got a car—it’s nasty out tonight.”

  “Well, let’s get started with the evening,” Abney said. He signed their check, and they went downstairs and got their coats.

  “Right this way,” Abney said, opening the door for her.