Naked Greed (Stone Barrington)

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Naked Greed (Stone Barrington) Page 1

by Woods, Stuart




  BOOKS BY STUART WOODS

  FICTION

  Hot Pursuit

  Insatiable Appetites†

  Paris Match†

  Cut and Thrust†

  Carnal Curiosity†

  Standup Guy†

  Doing Hard Time†

  Unintended Consequences†

  Collateral Damage†

  Severe Clear†

  Unnatural Acts†

  D.C. Dead†

  Son of Stone†

  Bel-Air Dead†

  Strategic Moves†

  Santa Fe Edge§

  Lucid Intervals†

  Kisser†

  Hothouse Orchid*

  Loitering with Intent†

  Mounting Fears‡

  Hot Mahogany†

  Santa Fe Dead§

  Beverly Hills Dead

  Shoot Him If He Runs†

  Fresh Disasters†

  Short Straw§

  Dark Harbor†

  Iron Orchid*

  Two-Dollar Bill†

  The Prince of Beverly Hills

  Reckless Abandon†

  Capital Crimes‡

  Dirty Work†

  Blood Orchid*

  The Short Forever†

  Orchid Blues*

  Cold Paradise†

  L.A. Dead†

  The Run‡

  Worst Fears Realized†

  Orchid Beach*

  Swimming to Catalina†

  Dead in the Water†

  Dirt†

  Choke

  Imperfect Strangers

  Heat

  Dead Eyes

  L.A. Times

  Santa Fe Rules§

  New York Dead†

  Palindrome

  Grass Roots‡

  White Cargo

  Under the Lake

  Deep Lie‡

  Run Before the Wind‡

  Chiefs‡

  TRAVEL

  A Romantic’s Guide to the Country Inns of Britain and Ireland (1979)

  MEMOIR

  Blue Water, Green Skipper

  *A Holly Barker Novel

  †A Stone Barrington Novel

  ‡A Will Lee Novel

  §An Ed Eagle Novel

  G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS

  Publishers Since 1838

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street

  New York, New York 10014

  Copyright © 2015 by Stuart Woods

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Woods, Stuart.

  Naked greed / Stuart Woods.

  p. cm.—(Stone Barrington ; 34)

  ISBN 978-1-101-66424-7

  1. Barrington, Stone (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 2. Private investigators—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3573.O642N35 2015 2015007427

  813'.54—dc23

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  CONTENTS

  Books by Stuart Woods

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Author’s Note

  Stone Barrington and Dino Bacchetti were having dinner at Patroon, a favorite restaurant. Dino’s wife, Viv, was out of town on business—she was an executive at the world’s second-largest security company, Strategic Services, and had to travel a lot, so Stone and Dino were having, perhaps, their thousandth dinner together, just the two of them.

  The owner, Ken Aretzky, stopped by and bought them a drink, then continued on his rounds. They ordered the Caesar salad, a house specialty prepared at the table, and the chateaubriand, medium rare, and Stone ordered a bottle of the Laughing Hare Cabernet.

  “Laughing Hare?” Dino asked.

  “A Cabernet you never heard of,” Stone said. “Honest public servants can’t afford it.” Dino was New York City’s commissioner of police, but the two men had been partners as homicide detectives many years before. “That’s why I’m buying.”

  The waiter brought the bottle and poured them a taste. Dino sampled it. “So I should consider this a bribe?”

  “Let’s call it a bribe in the bank, since there’s nothing in particular I want from you at the moment.”

  “That makes a nice change,” Dino said, and took a larger swig of the wine. “Not bad.”

  “You are given to understatement,” Stone said.

  “Okay, it’s pretty damn good.”

  Stone took a swig himself. “Better than that.”

  “So how come you’re alone tonight? Where’s Pat Frank?”

  “Who knows?” Stone said. “She has let it be known that she’d rather be alone than with me.”

  “What did you do?”

  “It’s what you did,” Stone said. “You arrested her boyfriend on a double murder charge and her old friend as an accessory after the fact.”

  “And she blames you?”

  “I tried blaming you—it didn’t work.”

  “So she pulled the plug?”

  “Not exactly, she just got really busy.”

  “She just started a new business, maybe she is really just ver
y busy.”

  “When I hear that excuse twice, I usually pull the plug myself. But the second time I was understanding, then I heard it a third time, and I got the message.”

  “I’m sure it’s you, not her.”

  “Isn’t that line supposed to be the other way around?”

  “It’s always you.”

  “What, am I too nice to them?”

  “Maybe. They don’t always appreciate that the way you expect them to.”

  “You mean I should be less nice?”

  “Look at it this way,” Dino said. “Her boyfriend had two arrests for domestic violence, both times against her, once with a gun, and still, she’s upset that he’s in jail. Does that make any sense?”

  “None at all.”

  “You’ve never been violent, have you? You take her out to good restaurants, you stay in good hotels, you have a jet airplane that you let her fly, because she can fly it better than you.”

  “Had a jet airplane,” Stone pointed out. “Her boyfriend and her friend put a bomb in that airplane, which you detonated by pulling a string tied to the master switch.”

  “Given the circumstances, I thought it was a better idea to pull the string than just sitting in the cockpit and flipping it to the on position, incinerating myself and, incidentally, you.”

  “I’ll grant you that.”

  “That’s swell of you. When does the new airplane arrive?”

  “It’s sitting in Wichita, ready to go, but the FAA hasn’t certified it yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Some sort of technicality, they tell me.”

  They watched the maître d’ make their Caesar salad, then ate it and waited for their steaks to arrive.

  “Don’t worry about Pat,” Dino said. “As you always say, ‘Women are like cabs—there’ll be another one along again in a minute.’”

  “I have never spoken those words in my life,” Stone said, outraged. “I have too much respect for women.”

  “Well, maybe you didn’t actually say that, I just read your mind.”

  “I’ve never thought it, either.”

  “Now we’re back to why they keep dumping you.”

  “Can you suggest a solution to that problem?”

  “Stop being so nice.”

  “I don’t know how not to be nice. What should I do, beat them?”

  “Pat seemed to respond well to that.”

  “No she didn’t, she took out a protection order against him.”

  “She knew that wouldn’t stop him, and it didn’t.”

  Their chateaubriand arrived; the maître d’ presented it, sliced it, and served it.

  They had just taken their first bite, when Dino’s phone rang. “Uh-oh,” he said, then put it to his ear. “What? Say again.” He listened. “All right,” he said wearily, “I’m on my way.” He put the phone back in his pocket. “I gotta go.”

  “What is it?”

  “Does it matter? It’s always something. We’ll continue your education on the treatment of women at our next meeting.”

  “Oh, I’ll really look forward to that.”

  “And you’ll have to eat my chateaubriand.”

  “If I do that, I’ll explode. I’ll take it home and have it for lunch tomorrow.”

  “That makes me feel so much better,” Dino said. He got to his feet, and a young woman appeared with his coat. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

  “What was it they used to say on Hill Street Blues? ‘Be careful out there.’”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Dino said, then left.

  —

  Three-quarters of an hour later, Stone left the restaurant with a doggie bag and a recorked half-bottle of wine. He stepped onto the sidewalk and looked up the street to the other side, where Fred, his driver and factotum, sat in the Bentley. The headlights came on, and the car started. It had just begun to pull away from the curb when another car roared past it, nearly hitting a fender, and screeched to a halt just past Stone.

  Two large men in suits spilled out of it and were all over a man who had just passed Stone on the sidewalk. They threw him against the wall and began searching him, while he protested.

  “What is it?” he asked, and he had a slight accent of some sort. “What did I do?”

  “Shut up,” one of the men said, backhanding him.

  Stone saw the flash of a gold badge on his belt as he drew back to hit the man again. There was a blackjack in his hand.

  “Hold it!” Stone shouted.

  The man froze for a moment, then turned toward Stone. “Did you say something to me?”

  “I said hold it,” Stone said more quietly.

  “Stay out of this, you dumb son of a bitch,” the man said.

  “That’s an illegal weapon in your hand, Detective,” Stone said. “If you hit him with it, I’ll see that you spend the night in jail.”

  Out of the corner of his eye Stone saw Fred get out of the car and unbutton his jacket. He raised a hand, motioning him to stop.

  “Who the fuck do you think you are?” the cop said. “I’m a police officer, I can do whatever I want to this guy.”

  “Do you have a warrant?” Stone asked.

  “I don’t need a warrant to use this on the guy”—he held up the blackjack—“and I’ll use it on you, too, if you don’t shut the fuck up and get out of my face.”

  “Take a look at this,” Stone said, taking a gold badge from his pocket and holding it up. “Let me read it for you. It says ‘Detective First Grade.’ I’ll bet yours says ‘third grade.’”

  The cop backed away a step. “You don’t look like a cop to me,” he said.

  “You mean because I’m not fat and ugly and wielding an illegal weapon?” Stone reached out and took the blackjack from him.

  “Hey,” the cop said.

  “Ryan,” his partner said, tugging at his sleeve, “back off.”

  “What is this man charged with?” Stone asked.

  “I haven’t done anything!” the man said.

  “Come on, what has he done?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.”

  Stone turned to the man. “Sir, I’m an attorney. Do you wish to have an attorney to represent you in this matter?”

  “Yes, yes, I do.”

  “Come on, Detective, what is my client charged with?”

  “You said you was a cop.”

  “No, I just showed you my badge. I’m a retired cop.”

  “All right, give me my, ah, persuader, and we’ll go.”

  “No,” Stone said. “What precinct are you out of?”

  “The Three-Five South.”

  “Let’s see, your precinct commander is Captain O’Donnell, right? Why don’t we get him out of bed and have a chat with him right now. Or, if you prefer, we can meet tomorrow morning in the commissioner’s office and see what he has to say about this.” He held up the blackjack.

  “Look, mister, we don’t want any trouble,” the cop said.

  “Then why are you still here?” Stone asked.

  The two men got into their car and drove away. Stone turned to the man, who appeared to be in his sixties and Hispanic. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m okay. Are the police always like this in New York?”

  “Not usually, and I don’t think you’ll have any problem with him again tonight. Are you from out of town?”

  “From San Antonio, Texas. I’m in town on business.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “At the Waldorf Towers.”

  “Then let me give you a lift, it’s not far.”

  Fred opened a door for him, and they got in.

  “Fred, the Waldorf Towers.” Stone turned to his guest. “My name is Stone Barrington.” He offered his hand.

  The man
shook it. “I am Jose Perado,” he said. “Please call me Pepe—everyone does.”

  “What business are you in?”

  “I’m in the beer business. I’m a brewer. Perhaps you’ve heard of Cerveza Perado?”

  “Yes, I have. I had it once in Texas. It’s very good.”

  “My grandfather started the business nearly a hundred years ago. I’m the third generation. Do you have a card, Mr. Barrington?”

  “Of course.” Stone handed him a card.

  “What kind of law do you practice?” Perado asked, looking at the card. “Oh, I’ve heard good things about Woodman & Weld. I hope to visit them while I’m here.”

  “I practice mostly business law, and I’d be happy to introduce you to whoever you’d like to meet at Woodman & Weld.”

  Fred drove the car to the Towers entrance at the Waldorf.

  “Here we are,” Stone said.

  “May I meet with you tomorrow, Mr. Barrington?”

  “Yes, of course, and please call me Stone.”

  “Would ten tomorrow morning be all right?”

  “Of course. The address is on the card. My office is on the street level of my home. It’s a short walk from the Waldorf.”

  “Until ten o’clock,” Perado said. He shook Stone’s hand, got out of the car, and went inside.

  Stone went home, resisted eating Dino’s chateaubriand, and called his firm’s managing partner, Bill Eggers.

  “Hello?”

  “Good evening, Bill, it’s Stone. I hoped you’d be awake.”

  “I am now. This better be good news—I don’t sleep well on bad news.”

  “Have you ever heard of a beer called Cerveza Perado?”

  “I have two six-packs of it in my bar downstairs. It’s hard to come by outside of Texas—you have to know somebody.”

  “I chanced to meet Jose Perado, their third-generation CEO, this evening.”

  “And how did you manage that?”

  “I was coming out of Patroon as he was being ‘set upon by footpads,’ as Shakespeare once put it.”

  “Right there in the street?”

  “Yep, and the footpads were cops. I took a blackjack away from one of them and threatened to call his captain, whereupon they dematerialized. I gave Pepe, as he likes to be called, a lift to the Waldorf Towers. He’s in from San Antonio and looking for legal advice. I’m giving him some tomorrow morning. Would you like to join us?”

  “In my office?”

  “No, in mine, at home.”

  “And that is supposed to impress him?”

  “No, you’re supposed to do that. Ten o’clock?”

 

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