Doing Hard Time (Stone Barrington)

by Woods, Stuart

  “I sent the two FBI agents up to 1530, and the housekeeper just called to say that they’re both dead, lying in the hallway.”

  “Two FBI agents are dead in my hotel? What the fuck?”

  “I have no idea. Mr. Majorov and his two bodyguards left the hotel right before I got the call. I don’t know where he was going.”

  “He was apparently going to the airport,” Genaro said. “Elsie!” he shouted at his secretary. “Get me the hotel’s lawyer—whatshisname, Greenbaum!”

  • • •

  Kerry Smith’s private line rang. “Deputy Director Smith.”

  “Sir, it’s Arch, in Las Vegas.”

  “Yes, Arch. How did the meet with Majorov go?”

  “Very badly, I’m afraid. Both my agents are dead, apparently shot by Majorov’s bodyguards.”

  “What? Say that again.”

  Arch repeated the information. “LVPD picked up Majorov at the airport. He had shot the two bodyguards, and he claims they shot the agents, then kidnapped him. They’re holding him at the main police station.”

  “That is the most insane thing I’ve ever heard!” Kerry said.

  “And ten minutes after they got him to the police station a lawyer for the New Desert Inn showed up, met privately with him, and is now demanding his release.”

  “Did Majorov mention why his own bodyguards would kidnap him?”

  “The lawyer told the police that some criminal element in Moscow had ordered him kidnapped and forcibly brought home.”

  “Jesus Christ!”

  “What do you want me to do, sir?”

  “There’s nothing you can do, since he’s in the hands of the local police.”

  “Killing two federal agents is a federal crime.”

  “Don’t you think I know that? Unless we have evidence that Majorov killed them himself or ordered them killed, then all he’s done is shoot the bodyguards. Are they dead?”

  “Yes, sir, they were both shot in the head.”

  “Get the ballistics report and find out if Majorov’s weapon—I assume he had a weapon—killed our two men. If it only killed the bodyguards, we don’t have a federal case against him, unless there were witnesses.”

  “The only other person in the suite at the time of the shootings was a hooker, who apparently was in bed with Majorov. She says she heard gunfire, and one of the bodyguards came into the bedroom where they were sleeping and got them up.”

  “So Majorov has a witness who exonerates him.”

  “It would appear so, sir.”

  “Get over to the police station yourself and interview everybody concerned, including the hooker, then get back to me.”

  “Yes, sir.” The AIC hung up.

  Kerry thought for a few seconds, then called Lance Cabot.

  “Cabot.”

  “It’s Kerry Smith.”

  “Yes, Kerry?”

  “We sent two special agents to the New Desert Inn to interview Majorov, and his bodyguards killed both of them.”

  “I’m sorry, Kerry, you’re not making any sense.”

  “You’re not listening, Lance. Majorov’s bodyguards killed both our agents when they went to his suite, then they apparently hustled Majorov out of the hotel and to the airport, where he shot them both. He now claims they were kidnapping him.” He gave him all the information he had.

  “My condolences on the loss of your agents,” Lance said. “Is there anything else I can do for you? I’m in a meeting.”

  “Nothing!” Kerry shouted, then banged down the phone.

  • • •

  Lance called Mike Freeman.

  “Yes, Lance?”

  “Your information about Majorov was correct,” Lance said.

  “Will anything come of his being there?”

  “A great deal has already come of it,” Lance said. He relayed what Kerry Smith had said to him.

  “That’s bizarre,” Mike said. “What are the charges against Majorov?”

  “None, so far. He lawyered up immediately, and he may very well be released shortly, if he hasn’t been already.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “No, Mike, this is merely a courtesy call. Goodbye.” Lance hung up.

  Mike called Billy Barnett on the cell number he had been given.

  “Yes?”

  “It’s Mike Freeman.”

  “Hello, Mike. What’s up?”

  “I made a call about Majorov to someone who made a call to the FBI, who sent two agents to see him. As far as I can tell, Majorov’s bodyguards killed the agents, then Majorov killed the bodyguards at the airport and is claiming they kidnapped him.”

  “If I read that in the newspapers I wouldn’t believe it,” Teddy said.

  “Neither would I.”

  “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Neither do I. I’ll let you know when I hear more.” Mike hung up.

  • • •

  Pete Genaro sat in his office, staring at the blotter on his desk. Majorov sat across from him, sipping a brandy and soda.

  “Thank you for sending Mr. Greenbaum,” Majorov said. “He was very good.”

  “You’re welcome,” Genaro said. “Mr. Majorov, I would be grateful if you would not kill anyone else in my hotel.”

  Majorov shrugged. “I have not killed anyone in your hotel, only the two bodyguards who were kidnapping me. I believe Mr. Greenbaum has convinced the police that that is so. However, the police have asked me to remain in Las Vegas until their investigation is complete—a few days, Greenbaum says. I suppose my suite is still available?”

  “Yes,” Genaro said tonelessly.

  “What have you heard from your skip tracer fellow?”

  “Oh, that.”

  “Yes, that.”

  “Billy Burnett has disappeared without a trace. My man is the best in the business, and he has been unable to find him or the girl.”

  Majorov set down his drink and spread his hands. “I must ask you to provide security for me while I am in the hotel,” he said.

  “All right,” Genaro said. “I can spare one man, but not outside the hotel.”

  “I will remain in the hotel and the casino,” Majorov said, rising. “Now I will go to my suite.”

  “Of course,” Genaro said.

  Stone walked into the Four Seasons at lunchtime; Mike Freeman was waiting for him at the bar. The headwaiter seated them immediately at Mike’s usual table, and half a bottle of a good Chardonnay was waiting for them in an ice bucket.

  As soon as they had ordered, Mike took a deep breath and began. “I have news of Yuri Majorov,” he said.

  “Did they find his body?”

  “In a manner of speaking. It’s occupying a suite at the New Desert Inn, in Las Vegas.”

  “Is it breathing?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Then we should probably call someone in law enforcement, shouldn’t we?”

  “I have already done so, if rather indirectly. As a result, two FBI agents were sent to the hotel to question him, and his bodyguards killed them both.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Exactly, but that’s not all: Majorov was taken to the airport by his bodyguards, and there he shot both of them, then called the police. When they arrived, he claimed that they were kidnapping him.”

  “Hold on, I’m getting dizzy,” Stone said, taking a gulp of his wine.

  “You’re going to get dizzier. Majorov was released by the LVPD and is back at the hotel. Turns out, he entered the country legally, and there are no charges of any kind against him.”

  “How did you learn about this?”

  “From Billy Barnett.”

  “Is he in New York?”

  “Not yet.” Mike thought about that for a moment. “Well, he could be in New York—he could be anywhere, for that matter—but my assumption is that he’s still in L.A.”

  “Does this mean that Peter is in danger from Majorov?”

  “I don’t believe so. I
n the circumstances, I don’t think Majorov is likely to do anything more boisterous than playing blackjack at his hotel. Too many law enforcement and intelligence agencies are now aware of his presence in the country.”

  “I’m going to go back to L.A.,” Stone said.

  “I’ll go with you,” Mike said.

  “Do you have business there?”

  “My business is such that I have business everywhere, or at least, wherever I want to go. We’ll take the company airplane.”

  “Thank you, Mike.”

  “When would you like to go?”

  “I’ve got a few things to clear up at the office. I’ll pick you up at, say, four o’clock? We can beat most of the rush hour to Teterboro and we’ll be at The Arrington in time for dinner.”

  “Sounds good,” Mike said.

  “I’ll let Peter and the staff know we’re coming in.”

  Their lunch arrived, and they devoted their attention to that.

  • • •

  Back in his office, Stone called Emma Tweed, who was at her New York office.

  “Hi, there.”

  “Hi. Mike Freeman and I both have some business in L.A., so we’re going back out there. Would you like to come?”

  “I’d really like that, but my being in the New York office has caused a kerfuffle, and it’s going to take me a few days to sort it out. How long are you staying?”

  “Just a few days.”

  “Then I’ll be here when you get back,” she said. “Give my love to Tessa and the kids.”

  “Will do.”

  • • •

  They landed at Santa Monica at seven PM, Pacific time, and were shortly at The Arrington. Peter, Ben, and the girls greeted them in the living room.

  “Dinner in half an hour,” Peter said. “What brings you two back so soon?”

  “It’s complicated,” Stone said. “We both have business to conduct out here. Let’s leave it at that.”

  “If you say so,” Peter said.

  “How’s your shooting going, fellas?”

  “We’re a week into it and two days ahead of schedule,” Ben replied. “There are advantages to shooting on soundstages instead of on improvised locations.”

  “How are you getting along with Leo Goldman?”

  “Very well. He’s been helpful in moving things along.”

  “Have you seen Billy Barnett?” Stone asked Peter.

  “I’ve seen him in the commissary at lunch a couple of times. I believe he’s still working at the armory.”

  “He seems like a very useful fellow,” Stone said. “What’s he going to be doing when he finishes renovating all those weapons?”

  “I don’t know,” Peter said. “I’ll ask him.”

  “I would have thought that such a competent and versatile fellow might be of use to you in your work,” Stone said.

  “You know, the same thought occurred to me,” Peter said, “but I haven’t done anything about it. Maybe I’ll have a chat with him this week.”

  Suddenly Stone liked the idea of having Teddy Fay around Peter. The man had been protective of him before, and perhaps he would continue to be.

  Teddy Fay sat at his usual table at the Centurion commissary and picked at his lunch while reading the Los Angeles Times story about the adventures of Majorov the previous day. Why wasn’t the guy in jail?

  He began to wonder if the events of the day before had made Majorov more vulnerable. Had he replaced his bodyguards? If he turned up dead now, would the police blame the Russian Mafia? Still, Teddy’s face was known at the New Desert Inn, and that face was connected to a name. Those odds were too long for Teddy.

  He finished his lunch and went back to the armory. The new gunsmith had started, and he would have the man well broken in before another day had passed.

  Teddy was calling it a day at three when he had a phone call.

  “Billy Barnett.”

  “Billy, it’s Peter Barrington. How are you?”

  “Very well, thanks, Peter.”

  “I wonder if you could stop by my bungalow and see me when you finish work today?”

  “I’ve just finished,” Teddy said. “Is right now good for you?”

  “That’s fine. You know where we are?”

  “I think so, I saw the Cayenne parked there.”

  “See you shortly, then.”

  They both hung up, and Teddy wondered what Peter could want.

  • • •

  It didn’t take him long to find out. He gave his name to Ruth Pearl at the bungalow and was shown into the editing suite.

  “Hi, Billy,” Peter said, stepping away from the console. “I’m just adding this morning’s footage to the rough cut. I do this every day, so that when we wrap, we’ll already have a cut in the can. Come into my office and let’s talk.”

  Teddy followed Peter into the adjoining room, and they took seats around the coffee table.

  “Billy, will you tell me something about your background?”

  Teddy gave Peter the same story he had given Betsy.

  “You’ve led an interesting life,” Peter said.

  “And it seems to be getting more interesting since I retired.”

  “We’re a little shorthanded around here,” Peter said. “Ben and I are new at this kind of studio work, and we could use some help of a general nature.”

  “What could I do for you?”

  “Tell me what your skills are, in general.”

  “Well, I can make machine parts, repair weapons, service computer and audio equipment, cook, repair airplanes, and give flying instruction.”

  “Flying instruction? That’s interesting. Ben, Hattie, and I all got our private licenses while we were at Yale. Do you have an airplane?”

  “I have something called a JetPROP. Do you know what that is?”

  “Yes, my father used to have one, until he got the jet. I need to get my instrument rating.”

  “I can train you for that,” Teddy said. “I’m a certified instrument flying instructor.”

  “How long would it take?”

  “Well, if you worked on it full-time, we could do it in under two weeks.”

  “I can’t do that at the moment, but I can fly on weekends and occasionally I can take a couple of hours off in the late afternoon.”

  “Then we could probably get it done in six or eight weeks.”

  “Where do you keep your airplane?”

  “At Hawthorne, but I can move it to Santa Monica, if that’s more convenient for you.”

  “That sounds good. It’s my ambition to eventually own and fly my own jet, as Dad does. What sort of training will that involve?”

  “You’ll need your instrument rating and a multi-engine rating—that one can be done over a long weekend. Then you’ll need some turbine time before Flight Safety will accept you as a student for a type rating in a jet, then you’ll need a couple of weeks of type-specific jet training in the simulator. You could get all this done in a year, if you take it very seriously and work hard.”

  Peter nodded. “I’m certainly willing to do that. I’ve also been thinking of trying to buy a hangar at Santa Monica for when I buy an airplane.”

  “I can ask around about that. In the meantime, you should sign up for one of the online instrument courses—that way, you can learn the classroom stuff at your leisure. I’d recommend working on it at least an hour a day.”

  “All right, I’ll do that.”

  “We can start the practical instruction this weekend, if you have the time.”

  They discussed money and agreed on a salary for Teddy. “I’ll charge you by the hour for the airplane, and you can pay the FBO for the fuel.”

  “Sounds good. Can you start here tomorrow?”

  “I can start the day after tomorrow. I need another day to make sure my replacement at the armory has a grip on the work.”

  “Great. You’ll be working for us, not the studio, but Ruth will set you up with the credentials you need to be on the lot,
and she’ll give you a parking pass. What are you driving?”

  “A 1958 D model.”

  “Wow, that’s a neat car. Won’t take up much room in the lot, either.”

  The two shook hands, Teddy filled out some forms for Ruth, then he went home to Betsy.

  “Hey, hon,” she said, as he walked in the door.

  “What have you been up to?” he asked.

  “More shopping. I’ve pretty much replaced my wardrobe. Did you see the papers this morning? About Majorov?”

  “Sure did. Maybe all that activity will take his attention away from you and me.”

  “I hope so.”

  “I got a new job today, as an assistant to two young filmmakers on the Centurion lot.”

  “Assistant what?”

  “Whatever they’ve got. I’m going to give one of them some flight instruction, too, for his instrument rating.”

  “I didn’t know you were an instructor.”

  “You still have a few things to learn about me,” he said, kissing her.

  “I know the things that are important to me,” Betsy said. “When do you start the new job?”

  “Day after tomorrow,” Teddy said. “I’ve got an offer from a security company, too. We’ll use that for a backup, in case we need to move on.” He had already explained to her that there might be times when they would have to move on short notice, and she had accepted that.

  “Want to take a walk down the beach?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  • • •

  Harry Katz sat in his car outside the apartment building. He didn’t know what Billy Burnett looked like, but he knew Charmaine Evans, and he had come across her shopping on Rodeo Drive and followed her home.

  Now he watched as Charmaine left the apartment building in the company of a somewhat older man.

  “Good day, Mr. Burnett,” he said aloud, and with a chuckle.

  Pete Genaro was working at his desk when the fateful call came. “Genaro.”

  “Pete, it’s Harry Katz. I’ve found your guy.”

  “Really?”

  “I got lucky and ran across Charmaine shopping in Beverly Hills, hitting the expensive shops. I followed her to an apartment building in Santa Monica and staked it out. A couple of hours later, she left the building with an older man, and I figure it’s Billy Burnett. I’ve just e-mailed a couple of photos of them together. I’ll hold while you check them out.”