by Stuart Woods
“I don’t understand.”
“Stone served a summons on a nefarious character today, and another nefarious character took a swing at him. And connected,” Dino said.
“And how did you respond?” she asked Stone.
“Stone hurt the guy’s front door,” Dino explained, “while flying through it.”
“And how did you respond?” she asked.
“My response was curtailed by the number of nefarious characters who were present.”
“We both beat a hasty retreat,” Dino said.
“Oh? You were there, too, and you didn’t come to the aid of your friend?”
“I came to his aid with my badge and gun, and by driving the getaway car.”
“Discretion was the better part of valor,” Stone said.
“That’s Shakespeare,” Dino explained. “Stone quotes people a lot.”
“Not a lot,” Stone said defensively.
“Just all the time.”
“Well, it’s a very nice quote,” Marilyn said, “and it sums up your reaction very succinctly.”
Stone nodded. “That’s why I used it. Dino would just have said, in his inimitable way, ‘We got the fuck out of there.’”
“And,” Dino said, “that would have summed up our reaction very succinctly.”
“You two are a sketch,” Marilyn said. “Did you used to be married?”
“We were partners when I was a cop,” Stone said. “It’s pretty much the same thing, except for the absence of sex.”
“What makes you think that’s different from marriage?” Dino asked.
“Dino is recently divorced,” Stone explained.
“Oooh,” Marilyn said, patting Dino’s hand.
“Your sympathy is misplaced,” Stone said. “Dino is a happier man these days, not that you can tell.”
“Then my congratulations,” Marilyn said. “What about you, Stone? Are you divorced?”
“No,” Stone said. “Never married.”
Dino staged a coughing fit.
“Well, for a couple of days, once; it was sort of annulled.”
Dinner arrived.
“I’m interested in your personal-injury case,” Marilyn said. “Who is the defendant?”
“A gentleman downtown.”
“What does he do?”
“Let’s just say he’s in a rather old-fashioned Italian business.”
“Like a deli?”
“More like a coffeehouse, among other things.”
“And how did he injure your client?”
“He hired two other gentlemen to beat him up.”
“Well, that wasn’t very nice.”
“That’s why I’m suing him.”
“What did he have against your client?”
“There was a gambling debt involved.”
“I think I’m beginning to get the picture,” Marilyn said.
“You’re very quick,” Dino interjected.
“Poker?” Marilyn asked.
“Sports,” Stone said.
“Like horse sports?”
“Very probably, though I wouldn’t exclude professional athletics.”
“Isn’t a lawsuit, ah, nontraditional in such a case?”
“You might say that.”
“You might say it’s never been done before,” Dino said.
“Wouldn’t calling the police be a better idea?”
“The police have failed in their duty where this defendant is concerned,” Stone said.
“Shame on you,” Marilyn said to Dino.
“It didn’t happen in my precinct,” Dino said. “Anyway, these things are usually settled privately, without resort to the courts.”
“By ‘settled privately,’” Stone said, “Dino means the plaintiffs are usually too badly injured to complain and are further discouraged from legal action by threats to their existence.”
“This does not sound like a very nice man you’re suing,” Marilyn said.
“I think that sums him up in a nutshell,” Stone replied. “He is not the sort of man most people want to tangle with.”
“Then why are you tangling with him? Are you so very brave?”
“It’s a long story,” Stone said.
Marilyn turned to Dino. “People say that when they don’t want to talk about something.”
“You are quick,” Dino replied.
There was a muffled ringing noise, and Marilyn dug a cell phone out of her purse. “Excuse me,” she said. “Hello? It’s difficult to say at the moment. If you insist. All right. Half an hour.” She closed the phone. “I’m afraid you gentlemen are going to have to excuse me,” she said. “I have kind of an emergency.”
“A massage emergency?” Dino asked.
“It’s a long story.”
Dino turned and glanced at Stone. “People say that when they don’t want to talk about something.”
Marilyn laughed. “You are quick, Dino. Stone, I’ll see you tomorrow morning at ten.”
“I’ll look forward to it.”
“I can’t wait to get my hands on you.” She gave a little wave and hurried away.
“Ask her if she makes calls at police stations,” Dino said.
9
Stone slept a little later than usual. At nine Joan buzzed him.
“Mmmf,” Stone said.
“Rough night?”
“No, I have a masseuse coming at ten, so it’s hardly worth getting out of bed.”
“A Mr. Bernard Finger called and left a message before I got in. Do you know him?”
“He’s a lawyer. I met him once, at the courthouse; he was defending a drug dealer. It’s probably about the Dattila thing.”
“So, Mr. Dattila is responding?”
“I’m not going to count on it. I’ll call him back later; don’t want to look too anxious.”
“Right.”
“Will you send the lady up when she arrives? Her name is Marilyn.”
“Wilco.”
“I love it when you talk pilot.” He hung up, turned over and went back to sleep. The phone buzzed again; Stone picked it up. “What?”
“It’s ten forty-five, and she hasn’t shown.”
“Ah, okay. I’ll deal with it.” He rolled out of bed, went to his dressing room, rummaged through the contents of his pockets dumped on the dresser top the night before and found Marilyn’s card. He went back, sat on the bed and dialed her number. There came back a loud squawk and a mechanical voice: “The number you have dialed is not in service; please check the number and dial again.”
He must have dialed a wrong digit, he thought, and he dialed again; same result. Very peculiar. By the time he had showered, shaved and dressed it seemed very, very peculiar. He went down to his office and called Bernard Finger.
“Stone Barrington!” Finger shouted into the phone, as if they were long-lost friends. Finger was a large, voluble man.
“Good morning, Mr. Finger. You rang?”
“Call me Bernie!” Finger shouted. “Everybody does! And I’ll call you Stoney!”
“Over my dead body,” Stone replied.
“Ha! My client can arrange that!” He dissolved in loud guffaws.
“And your client is…?”
“You’ve met him, Stone. Is that better?”
“Yes, thank you. What can I do for you, Bernie?”
“I represent a certain party downtown who was baffled yesterday to have you walk into his place of business and hand him a summons! He wants to know what this is all about!”
“Didn’t you read the complaint, Bernie?”
“Well, not exactly; it didn’t really survive the day!”
“I’ll send you a copy.”
“Just give me a quick run-through, and I’ll read it later!”
“My client lost a considerable sum of money, betting with one of your client’s employees. When he failed to pay fast enough, two of your client’s other employees dragged him from a public eating establishment, causing him great humiliat
ion and embarrassment, then proceeded to beat him on the sidewalk, until they were interrupted by a police officer.”
“Did the cop arrest them?”
“No.”
“Well, then it couldn’t have been too serious, could it?”
“I assure you, my client takes it very seriously, since he now faces plastic surgery to his face, and he is looking forward to meeting your client in court.”
Finger’s tone changed, and he spoke more quietly. “Well, Stone, I have to presume you know who you’re dealing with here.”
“Bernard Finger, Esquire, I presume.”
“Heh, heh. Well I’m sure you understand that my client is not accustomed to being hauled into court on civil matters.”
“Only landlords are accustomed to that,” Stone replied. “I suggest you explain to your client that this is, indeed, a civil matter, which means that he will be required to testify, and he won’t be able to clam up the way he does when he’s addressed by the U.S. attorney. Tell him that I will look forward to questioning him about his various sources of income and his business practices, and I am certain that various members of the federal legal establishment will be present in the courtroom to hear his answers and to learn if he perjures himself. I would also expect a trial to be attended by many members of the media.”
“Well, Stone, that ain’t never going to happen.”
“Then I will see your client in civil jail while he ruminates on his response to my client’s lawsuit.”
“You don’t understand.”
“No, Bernie, your client doesn’t understand, and I hardly need remind you that it is your duty to explain it all to him, a prospect that I do not envy you. By the way, yet another of your client’s employees attacked and injured me in the La Boheme coffeehouse yesterday, and I am contemplating legal recourse. Finally, you should tell your client that I anticipate an extralegal response to this suit, either against my client or myself, and that I welcome such actions, since they will only strengthen my position and make him further liable for a criminal action against him.”
“Stone, you sound very tense, you know. You should have a massage, or something. Good morning.” Bernard Finger hung up.
Stone called Dino.
“Bacchetti.”
“It’s Stone.”
“Morning.”
“Guess who I just had a call from.”
Dino sighed. “Just tell me.”
“Bernard Finger.”
“The man himself?”
“None other. He represents Carmine Dattila.”
“Big surprise, not that he represents Carmine, but that he bothered to call you.”
“Guess who else represents Dattila.”
“You got me again.”
“The lovely Marilyn, from last night.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“She didn’t show for our appointment this morning, and the phone number on her card is a phony. Then, after my conversation with Finger, he says, slyly, that I sound tense and I should have a massage. I think the preponderance of the evidence points to a pecuniary relationship, at the very least, between Marilyn and Carmine.”
“So you think he sent her to Elaine’s to pump you about your lawsuit?”
“What else?”
“That sounds more like something Bernie Finger would do.”
“You have a point,” Stone said.
“I frequently do.”
“Listen, why don’t you put some of your little-used police skills to work and find out who she is?”
“So what am I going to go on? Beautiful blonde with phony phone number? I don’t think our computers could handle that.”
“I guess not.”
“And besides, it’s not as though she committed a crime. I don’t think it’s a felony to offer massage and not show up.”
“It ought to be,” Stone said.
“In a more perfect world.”
“I was looking forward to that massage.”
“And I was looking forward to hearing about it.”
“I hope I run into her again,” Stone said.
“What are you going to do, slug her? Besides, she looks like she could take care of herself. Pretty big girl.”
“Parts of her.”
“That’s probably what Carmine wants you to do, so he can have her beat you up.”
“Good-bye, Dino.”
“Have a nice day.”
10
Stone sat and stared at his desktop. His back was still stiff and sore; he had really wanted that massage. He buzzed Joan.
“Yes?”
“Do you know a really good masseuse who makes house calls?”
“What is this sudden obsession with massage?”
“It came with the sudden contact of my back with a sidewalk.”
“No, I don’t know anybody.”
“I’ll bet your sister who knows the cosmetic surgeon knows somebody.”
“You should have been a detective. I’ll call her. When do you want it?”
“At the earliest possible moment, if not sooner.”
Five minutes later, Joan buzzed him. “Two p.m.,” she said. “Her name is Celia.”
“Is she beautiful?”
“You requested availability, not beauty.”
“Is she good?”
“You didn’t request good, either, but seeing that she’s available on such short notice, I wouldn’t be too optimistic about her skills.”
“Joan, just being around you fills me with hope.” He hung up and went to the kitchen to make himself a ham-and-Swiss on whole grain with mayo and honey mustard. Since he planned to spend the early part of the afternoon semiconscious anyway, he treated himself to a cold Heineken, as well.
At two o’clock sharp the phone buzzed in Stone’s bedroom. “She’s here,” Joan said. “Shall I send her up?”
“Please do. Is she beautiful?” But Joan had already hung up. A moment later he heard the elevator door open, and he rose to greet the masseuse. The sight of her caused a sharp intake of breath.
She was more than just beautiful; she was a giant of a woman, at least six-two, his own height. As he shook her hand and introduced himself, he measured: He hoped she was wearing heels, because he came up to about her eyebrows.
“I’m Celia Cox,” she said.
“How do you do, Celia. Thank you for coming on such short notice. I had an appointment with someone else, but she didn’t show up.”
“That’s very unprofessional,” she said. “Is right here good for my table?” She pointed to the foot of the bed.
“Perfect,” he said. “May I ask how tall you are?”
“Six-three,” she said. “The shortest of three sisters.”
The mind boggled. “You carry your height beautifully,” he said.
“Thank you. That’s the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me about my size.”
He could not begin to guess her weight, but whatever it was, it was perfect. And all of her went very well with the long chestnut hair that spilled around her shoulders. When she pulled her hair back into a ponytail and secured it, he thought her nose and her jawline were perfect, too. And her eyes were a deep green.
She spread her sheets over the table, affixed the face cradle and patted the leather top. “You hop up here, face down, while I wash my hands. Bathroom in here?” She pointed.
“Yes, help yourself.” Stone tossed his robe onto the bed and crawled under the top sheet, settling his face into the cradle.
She returned after a moment. “Any special problems I should know about?”
“Yes, I suffered a fall onto my back on the sidewalk yesterday, and I’m pretty sore and stiff.”
“Do you suspect any skeletal problems?”
“No, I don’t think so; just muscular.”
He heard her squirt something, then rub her hands briskly together. “I apologize if my hands are cold,” she said, placing them on his back gently.
“They feel very go
od,” he said.
“I’m going to go over your back and shoulders lightly, and I want you to tell me if what I do makes you hurt in any particular place.” She did so. “How was that?” she asked.
“Wonderful.”
“May I go deeper, do you think?”
“Yes, please.”
She went deeper and covered everything from his neck to his heels. “Okay,” she said, holding up a sheet, “you can turn over on your back now. Do you need any help?”
“No, I’m fine,” he said, turning over.
She began massaging an arm. “Who was the masseuse who stood you up?” she asked.
Stone nodded at the bedside table. “Her card is over there,” he said. “Her phone number didn’t work.”
Celia went and got the card. “I know her,” she said. “Her name is Marilyn Martin; we both used to work at the same day spa.” She began working on his arm again. “Last I heard, she wasn’t working anymore, she’d moved into an apartment that some lawyer is paying for, guy with a funny name.”
“Wouldn’t be Bernard Finger, would it?”
“That’s it! Do you know him?”
“Only slightly. He’s the opposition in a personal-injury suit I’m working on.”
“Flashy kind of guy. I saw them in a restaurant once; she was wearing a lot of jewelry. So was he, come to think of it.” She began working on his other arm. “I think he’s married.”
“That’s kind of sore,” Stone said. “I must have fallen more on that side.”
“I’ll spend a little extra time on it. Are you in a rush?”
“God, no. You can take all afternoon, if you want to.”
She laughed. “I don’t have that much time, I’m afraid; I was able to come to you only because one of my regular clients was ill.”
“Can we set up a regular time?” he asked.
“My schedule is full, but I could call you when I have a cancellation.”
“Yes, please.”
She worked silently on the arm and shoulder, then she moved to the top of the table and began massaging his neck, then his face and scalp. She finished slowly. “There,” she said. “Is that better?”
“Oh, yes,” Stone sighed. “I could go to sleep.”
“That’s a good idea,” she said, “but lie on your back, with a pillow under your knees.”
Stone sat up. “I have an electric bed that can elevate my knees,” he said.