Swimming to Catalina

by Stuart Woods

  Eventually, the skipper of Contessa would mention to somebody that an insurance man had been aboard, and give a description of Stone. That didn’t trouble him greatly, since Ippolito himself would be unlikely to be involved, and he was the only man in his organization who could recognize Stone by sight.

  He made his way back to his car and telephoned Betty Southard at her office. “Hi, it’s Stone; can you talk?”

  “Sure, go ahead.”

  “I want to take a closer look at David Sturmack; what can you tell me about him?”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Let’s start with his address and all the telephone numbers you’ve got for him.”

  She read the information out to him.

  “Does he have a second home?”

  She gave him an address in Malibu that sounded as though it might be next door to Ippolito’s slightly scorched beach house.

  “What can you tell me about him personally?”

  “He’s always been very cordial to me; he’s one of those people who can make you feel, when you’re talking to him, that you’re the only person in the room. He likes beautiful women, and from remarks that Vance has made, I think he always has something on the side. His wife seems cowed by him, so I don’t think she’d object, even if she knew.”

  “Got any names?”

  “There was an actress on Vance’s last picture, Veronica Hart, that he seemed to be very interested in. Want her address?”

  “Sure.” He wrote it down, along with the phone number. “How big an actress is she?”

  “Struggling, but pretty good. She reminds me of me a few years ago.”

  “Any idea how Sturmack spends his time when he’s not conspiring with Ippolito or getting laid?”

  She laughed. “He and Vance play golf at the Bel-Air Country Club once in a while. He seems to have lunch there most days.”

  “You got any private numbers from Ippolito?”

  “Let’s see.” She flipped some pages and gave him home, office, and car numbers, plus the number aboard Contessa.

  “I think that’ll do me for a while,” he said. “Thanks.”

  “Dinner tonight?” she asked.

  “You mind doing it in my suite at the Bel-Air?”

  “I don’t mind doing anything in your suite.”

  “Seven o’clock?”

  “Make it eight.”

  “You’re on.” He hung up and headed for Sturmack’s address. Maybe he hadn’t devoted enough attention to the man thus far, but he was going to remedy that now.

  47

  David Sturmack lived in a Georgian mansion less than a five-minute drive from Vance Calder’s house, in Bel-Air. It seemed to be on at least ten acres of land, which Stone thought must have cost a very large fortune. He had been struck by how little land most expensive L.A. houses occupied, especially in Beverly Hills, but also in the even ritzier Bel-Air. A platoon of men were working on the front lawn, employing tractor mowers, string trimmers, rakes, and hoes. One operated what appeared to be a large vacuum cleaner. God forbid a stray blade of cut grass should mar the perfect greenery.

  The Rolls convertible was parked outside the front door, and as Stone drove past the house, Sturmack came out, got into the car, and started down the driveway. Stone made a U-turn and followed at a very discreet distance, wondering how best to shake up Sturmack’s world. He had already shaken up Ippolito, and now it was Sturmack’s turn. He had an idea. He dialed a New York number.

  “Lieutenant Bacchetti.”

  “Dino, it’s Stone.”

  “How you doing, Stone? I was beginning to wonder if you’d got lost.”

  “Not yet, but people are working on it. Do me a favor?”

  “Sure.”

  Stone gave him Sturmack’s car phone number. “Call this number; a man will answer. Say to him, ‘Stone Barrington has a message for you from the other side; he’s not through with you and Ippolito yet.’”

  “I got the number,” Dino said, “now what the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Just do it, Dino; it’s important.”

  “You want me to tell him who I am?”

  “For Christ’s sake, no! Just say the words and then hang up and call me back on my cell phone.”

  “Whatever,” Dino said, and hung up.

  Sturmack turned left on Sunset, and Stone followed. Perhaps a minute later, Stone saw the man pick up his car phone and speak into it. Suddenly the brake lights on the Rolls came on, and Sturmack pulled over. As Stone drove past him, he could see Sturmack shouting into the car phone. Stone turned right, made a U-turn, and waited for the Rolls to pass on Sunset, then he fell in behind it again, perhaps a hundred yards back. His cell phone rang.

  “Yep?”

  “It’s Dino, I did it.”

  “What did he have to say?”

  “First there was a stunned silence, then he started calling me names, said he would have me castrated. I don’t know why—I’ve never even met the guy. Who was he?”

  “Fellow by the initials of D.S. We talked about him before?”

  “I remember. What’s this about?”

  “I’m just rattling his cage. He and a friend of his tried to off me a few days back.”

  “Sounds like you make the man nervous,” Dino said.

  “I’m just getting started.”

  “Oh, by the way, you remember the other name you asked me about? About his family connections?”

  “Sure.”

  “I told you the old mob guy didn’t have any sons, but he had a nephew. Apparently he had a brother who was an honest man, relatively speaking, worked in the garment district. The brother had a son. I believe the French say ‘Voilà!’”

  “Indeed. It’s not all that useful at the moment, but it’s nice to know about.”

  “Stone, are you working on getting yourself killed?”

  “Far from it,” Stone replied. He missed Dino, and he had a thought. “I could use somebody to watch my back. Have you got any off-time coming?”

  “To come out there?”

  “I’ll spring for a first-class ticket and a room at the Bel-Air Hotel.”

  “That’s a very tempting proposition,” Dino said. “Okay, but if you ever tell Mary Ann that it wasn’t department business, I’ll have you offed myself.”

  “No loose lips here. Catch the next plane you can, rent a car at the airport, and they’ll give you directions to the Bel-Air. I’ll have a room waiting for you, and we’ll have breakfast in the morning.”

  “You want me to come heavy.”

  “Good idea. Rick helped me out in that regard.”

  “Am I out of my fucking mind?”

  “You’ll like it here, I promise.”

  “Am I gonna get laid out there?”

  “I won’t stand in your way,” Stone laughed.

  “Bye-bye.” Dino hung up.

  Sturmack was passing the Beverly Hills Hotel now, still headed up Sunset. When he reached the Sunset Strip, Sturmack parked the Rolls and entered a small business.

  Stone was surprised. He called Rick Grant.

  “Lieutenant Grant.”

  “It’s Stone.”

  “Hi.”

  “Are you aware that Vinnie’s Deli is back in business?”

  “What?”

  “I just saw the lawyer who doesn’t practice law go in, and he’s not the only customer.”

  “They’re operating illegally,” Rick said. “When we raided the joint I had their business license canceled.”

  “Is that grounds for busting them again?”

  “You bet it is! I’ll have a couple of cars over there in a few minutes. We’ll see if they’re taking bets again, too.”

  “Can you bust the customers, too?”

  “I can bring ’em in; I can’t hold ’em.”

  “I’d love to see the guy ride in the back seat of a black and white.”

  “I’ll probably feel the mayor’s hot breath on my neck, but what the hell, it
sounds like fun.”

  “I’ll wait and watch from a distance,” Stone said. He pulled into a side street and parked facing the deli. Nineteen minutes later, by his watch, two police cars and two vans pulled up in front of the deli, and the raid went down exactly as before.

  Minutes later, people were being led out in handcuffs, and Stone was delighted to see David Sturmack shackled to two men in dirty aprons, protesting loudly to whoever would listen. Nobody did. There was a bonus, too: Martin Barone was among the arrested. Sturmack must have been meeting him there. Stone’s phone rang.

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s Rick; did it happen, yet?”

  “You bet, and they bagged Barone, too.”

  “If they were just having a sandwich, I’ll have to let them go, but if they were in the back room, I can charge them.”

  “Great! By the way, our man arrived in a Rolls convertible. Can you impound that?”

  “Why not? I’ll send a tow truck.”

  “I hope they won’t be too gentle with it.”

  “They usually aren’t,” Rick said, laughing.

  “Let me know how it comes out, okay?”

  “Sure, I will.”

  “By the way, Dino is on his way out here; you want to have lunch tomorrow and catch up?”

  “Love to.”

  “Meet us in the outdoor cafe at the Bel-Air at twelve-thirty.”

  “See you then.”

  Stone hung up and drove back to the hotel, whistling a merry tune all the way. Things were looking up: he was unsettling his enemies, his best friend was coming to help him, and he had a wonderful evening planned in his suite.

  48

  Stone and Dino had breakfast on the terrace of Stone’s suite and caught up. “You staying busy?” Stone asked.

  “If I was busy, could I come out here and screw around with you? The crime rate in New York is dropping like a stone, you should excuse the expression—murders down, robberies down, even burglaries down. It’s terrible!”

  Stone laughed.

  “It’s not funny; pretty soon they’ll be laying off cops. Already we’re getting ‘nice’ lessons from the mayor’s office, so we don’t annoy the tourists.”

  “It’s a better city for us all, Dino.”

  “I liked it the way it was before—people getting popped at all hours of the day and night, hookers on 42nd Street, three locks on every door—it was a cop’s city, you know?” He waved a hand. “Not like this miserable excuse for a metropolis. You call this a hotel? There’s not a fire escape in the place, there are no hookers in the lobby, and it’s located in a jungle!”

  “A garden.”

  “A garden is, like, in the back yard of a brown-stone; this is a fucking jungle! There are plants here that only belong in the rain forest; there are swans in a creek, for Christ’s sake! In New York I wouldn’t give ‘em twenty-four hours before somebody’d be barbecuing ‘em!”

  “I like it here—the hotel, I mean.”

  “You would. How the fuck can you afford it?”

  “I told you about my part in the movie. I made twenty-five grand in a couple of days. I’m spending it.”

  “All of it?”

  “Maybe, we’ll see.”

  “How’s Rick Grant?”

  “He made lieutenant, and he’s got a big job at headquarters; he’s really being a big help, too. We’re having lunch with him today.”

  “What’s this about somebody trying to off you?”

  “They made a first-class stab at it, let me tell you.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I’ll try to bring you up to date.” Stone started with the phone call at Elaine’s and told Dino some of the things that had happened to him since arriving in Los Angeles.

  Dino listened, rapt, his chin in his hand, his omelet getting cold; he didn’t speak until Stone had finished. “That’s fucking outrageous,” he said, “them tossing you in the ocean like that.”

  “You bet it is.”

  “And what have you done about it? Have you killed the fuckers?”

  “I didn’t have to; Ippolito did it for me, the same way they did it to me.”

  “Nothing like mon justice,” Dino said with satisfaction. “Have you killed this Ippolito yet?”

  “I’ve gotten a couple of licks in.” Stone told him about sinking the boat and setting Ippolito’s living room on fire.

  Dino’s mouth dropped open. “Stone, have you gone out of your fucking mind? You’re committing crimes! That’s not the sort of thing you would do. It’s the sort of thing I would do. Congratulations, it’s nice to see you pissed off.”

  “So, Lieutenant Bacchetti, you approve of my illegal actions?”

  “Heartily. Let’s do some more.”

  “Maybe; I’ve got something in mind.”

  “What?”

  “If I get pissed off again, I’ll let you know.”

  “So what are you doing about Arrington?”

  “Everything I can, which isn’t much. There’s no way to know where they’ve put her, and they could be moving her around.”

  “I hope you didn’t tell the fucking FBI about her; they’d get her killed, for sure.”

  “No. Rick and I have talked to a guy there who’s wired Barone Financial for sound; he knows somebody was snatched, but he doesn’t know who, and he’s keeping it unofficial.”

  “Don’t tell the fuckers anything.”

  “There may come a time when we’ll need the feds, you know.”

  “I doubt it. You and I can figure this out; we’ve figured out worse.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Who was the broad who was leaving as I arrived?” Dino asked.

  “Vance Calder’s secretary. We’ve become…close.”

  “Don’t blame you a bit. She got a friend?”

  “Dino, it’s one thing for your wife to cut your balls off, it’s quite another for her to cut mine off, and we both know she would do it if she found out I had anything to do with your getting laid out here.”

  “You said you wouldn’t stand in my way.”

  “I didn’t say I’d pimp for you.”

  Dino sighed.

  “Look, go have a swim have a massage, get over your jet lag. Lunch with Rick is at twelve-thirty in the outdoor cafe.”

  “Yeah, yeah, okay,” Dino said.

  Stone and Rick had been seated at a shady table for fifteen minutes before Dino showed up with a small blonde on his arm, his hair still wet from his swim. He gave her a kiss, patted her on her backside, and sent her on her way before sitting down.

  “How you doing, Rick?” Dino asked, shaking his hand.

  “Good, Dino, you?”

  “Since the last hour, great! I met her at the pool; you should see her in a bikini!”

  “Down, Dino, down,” Stone said.

  “You see the eleven o’clock news last night?” Rick asked Stone.

  “He was busy,” Dino said.

  “Too bad. You’d have seen David Sturmack leaving the lockup with a coat over his head. His lawyer told the cameras he went into Vinnie’s for a corned beef sandwich, that the whole thing was a terrible misunderstanding.”

  “I love it,” Stone said, smiling broadly.

  “Same with Barone. Can you believe the bookie joint was already back in business at the same location?”

  “I’d believe it if they were back in business this morning,” Stone said. “They’ve got to have somebody at LAPD on the pad.”

  “Now, now,” Rick said. “You can’t go applying NYPD methods to us.”

  “Was Sturmack in the back room?”

  “Unfortunately, no, but the embarrassment factor is not any less because of that.”

  “I wonder what he’s telling his pals at the Bel-Air Country Club today,” Stone said.

  “Wish I could be there,” Rick replied.

  “Rick,” Dino said, “can’t we just kill these guys, so I can go back to New York? It’s too sunny and clean out here.”
>
  “No, Dino, you can’t kill anybody. It’s frowned on.”

  “Oh,” Dino said. “But we can keep on driving them crazy.?”

  “Be my guest.”

  “Good. What’s our next move, Stone?”

  “I want to sink Ippolito’s big boat.”

  “I didn’t hear that,” Rick said, holding up his hands.

  “How we going to do that?” Dino asked.

  “I had a real good look around her yesterday; told the skipper I was from an insurance company. I figured out how to do it, but we’ve got to pick a night when nobody’s aboard but a couple of crew. I don’t want to drown anybody, unless it’s Ippolito.”

  “I’m not hearing any of this,” Rick groaned.

  “Hear no evil,” Dino said. “That’s my policy. Do evil, if it works for you.”

  “I’m sorry, Rick,” Stone said. “Dino is a depraved individual. He can’t help himself.”

  “You’re not doing so bad with the depravity yourself,” Rick replied. “How can I help?”

  “We’re going to need a fast boat, something that’ get us to Catalina and back in a flash.”

  “I think I know where I can borrow one. When?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but could you line it up on short notice?”

  “Consider it done.”

  49

  Stone and Dino drove down to Santa Monica Airport, a small general aviation field with a single 5,000-foot runway, near the beach and just next door to Los Angeles International.

  “What are we doing here?” Dino asked as they pulled into a parking lot behind a large hangar.

  Stone found the sign he was looking for: AIRCRAFT FOR RENT. “We’re going to do some aerial sightseeing,” Stone said. “I want to show you the layout of where we’re going, and it’s the fastest way.”

  “What’s the hurry?” Dino asked.

  “This weekend that yacht will be full of people. I want to get to her first. Wait here.”

  Stone went into the office, passing a large sign offering various airplanes for rent, and inquired about rates from a young man at the desk. He produced his pilot’s license, his medical certificate, and his logbook on request.

  “What sort of airplane do you want?” the man asked.