A Delicate Touch

by Stuart Woods

  “I’d like that,” Huey said. “Will you set it up?”

  “Maybe a lunch sometime soon.”

  “That would be great.”

  “Do you own a suit?” Stone asked, even though he already knew the answer.

  “I do. I don’t wear these jeans all the time, though they may look like I do. Helene made me let her launder my stuff.”

  “I’ll speak to Charley and get back to you.”

  “Okay, just use my regular cell phone.”

  “I’ll do that.” Huey excused himself and left.

  Stone called Charley Fox.

  “Hey, there.”

  “Hey. I think I may have an investor you might want to meet,” he said. “He’s not a big one, yet, but he’s very promising.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  Stone did. “I think he might also be a source for tips on the tech market,” he said. “He’s into that.” He gave Charley Huey’s number.

  “I’ll do a little research on him, then give him a call,” he said.

  “See you later.” They both hung up.

  49

  Charley Fox looked up from his table to see a very young man in a suit, shirt, and tie that had never been worn before, standing in the doorway. He waved, and the youngster came over. Stone had not told him he was a high school student.

  Charley stood and offered his hand. Huey Horowitz took it—his grip was firm but his flesh was soft. These hands had never strayed far from a computer keyboard, Charley reckoned.

  Huey sat down. “I’m nineteen,” he said. “I graduated from Groton at eleven and from MIT, with a master’s, at fifteen. I always try and get that out of the way up front.”

  “Understood,” Charley said, handing him a menu.

  “What is this place?” Huey asked. “There was no sign out front, just a number.”

  “It’s a private club that doesn’t like to advertise its presence,” Charley replied. “Stone is a member, too.”

  “I see some familiar faces,” Huey said, looking around. “Politicians, the police commissioner over there.”

  “That’s Dino Bacchetti, Stone’s best friend.”

  “Oh. What are the membership requirements here?”

  “Just one: that the candidate knows ten people who are members and who like him enough that they are willing to write enthusiastic letters supporting his candidacy.”

  “I see.”

  “There’s no minimum age,” Charley said, to put his mind at rest.

  “I wonder how many members I know,” Huey mused.

  “Well, let’s see: you know Stone, then there are your executive editor and publisher at the Times. Then there’s me. That’s four.”

  Huey nodded and looked at the menu. “What’s good?”

  “Everything,” Charley said. “If you’re in the mood for fish, there’s Dover sole today. I recommend it.”

  “Sounds good,” Huey said.

  “Would you like something to drink?”

  “No, thanks, but you go ahead.”

  A waiter came and took their order.

  “Well,” Charley said, “Stone tells me you’ve built up a nest egg.”

  Huey laughed. “I think of it as my fortune.”

  “And so it is,” Charley replied. “What are your ambitions for it?”

  “To turn it into ten million.”

  “How quickly?”

  “Well, it took me four years to save the three and a half, so I don’t expect it to be overnight.”

  “That’s a healthy expectation,” Charley said. “How much are you saving a year?”

  “About a million dollars,” Huey said.

  “Not from your Times salary, I take it.”

  “No, I have outside income from writing apps and consulting on computer matters.”

  “Let me tell you how we work,” Charley said. “Stone and Mike already had considerable fortunes when we began. Mine was more like yours, perhaps a bit more. I’m tracking the market, of course, but I’m always on the lookout for a good start-up or a moderately successful company that we can buy outright. Sometimes there’s a good income stream from the business, other times they’re losing money but have an initial public offering in their future.”

  “So there’s always the chance of making a killing.”

  “A chance, yes. No guarantees, of course, but we’re averaging annual value gains of around twenty percent per annum.”

  “That’s spectacular,” Huey said.

  “Any questions?”

  “Can I withdraw funds at any time? Like if I want to buy a house or a boat?”

  “You can, but it’s better to borrow at current rates and pay back from profits. We can usually arrange favorable financing for special purchases.”

  “I like it,” Huey said. “Am I a satisfactory investor for your purposes?”

  “You are,” Charley said. “You seem to have a bright future.”

  “I believe so,” Huey said. “Then I’m in.” He offered his hand.

  Charley shook it.

  Huey produced a checkbook. “Who do I make the check out to?”

  Charley smiled. “I’ll send you some documents to read and sign, then you can send the check. I stress that it is important that you read them before you sign.”

  “I’ll look forward to receiving them,” Huey said, handing him his Times business card.

  * * *

  • • •

  AT MID-AFTERNOON, STONE took a call from Charley Fox. “How’d it go?”

  “I love him,” Charley said. “I’d adopt him, if he were a little younger.”

  “Is he on board?”

  “Yes, and we’re lucky to have him. I’ve already e-mailed him the documents.”

  “Good.”

  “I think he’s going to be a good candidate for the club, too, once he meets a few more people.”

  “I’ll write a letter.”

  “What are you working on with him?”

  “I can’t tell you, but if it happens, it will knock your socks off.”

  “I’ll look forward to the day,” Charley said.

  * * *

  • • •

  STONE TOOK JAMIE to the River Café, under the Brooklyn Bridge, for dinner that evening. Stone ordered half a bottle of a good champagne.

  “What a beautiful setting.” Jamie said, watching the tugs and ferries go up and down the East River.

  “It is, isn’t it? You look excited about something else, though.”

  “I am. I’ve written three chapters of my book.”

  “That was quick.”

  “The best thing the newspaper business has taught me is how to plant my ass in a chair every day and write two thousand words, whether I feel like it or not.”

  “A valuable skill,” Stone said.

  “An essential one, if you ever hope to make a living as a writer—and I hope to make a fortune at it.”

  “Put me down for a couple dozen copies,” Stone said. “I’ll send them to friends.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “Where are you working?”

  “Anyplace I can, except the Times. I don’t want them to be able to say that I wrote it on their nickel.”

  “A good policy.”

  “It’s in my contract that they get to fact-check any books I write based on my reporting, and they get to approve the pub date, so that it doesn’t interfere with something else they’re working on.”

  “That seems fair.”

  “How long before we can go to your house and climb into bed?” Jamie asked.

  “How fast can you eat?” Stone replied.

  50

  Joan buzzed. “Huey Horowitz to see you.”

  “Send him in.”

 
Huey walked in wearing a well-cut suit.

  “Nice ensemble,” Stone said, indicating his clothes.

  “I told you, I don’t wear those old jeans all the time. In fact, I’m thinking of not wearing them at all anymore.”

  “Good idea,” Stone said.

  “Thanks for your tip on how to dress for lunch.”

  “Glad to be of help.”

  “I was very impressed with Charley Fox. He’s a no-bullshit guy.”

  “He was impressed with you, too.”

  “Mind if I go up and check the computers?”

  “Please do,” Stone said. “I’ll buy you a drink when you’re done.”

  * * *

  • • •

  HUEY WAS BACK in fifteen minutes. “Still perking along, nothing big yet.”

  Joan came into the office from the supply room. “I can’t open the Excelsior,” she said.

  “Find the printed checklist and give it another go,” Stone replied, and she went back.

  “What’s an Excelsior?” Huey asked.

  “It’s an old safe, made in Germany before World War II.” Stone told him the story of how he came to possess it.

  Joan came back. “No good.”

  “It’s complicated,” Stone said to Huey.

  “You know something I discovered from my wardrobe change?”

  “What’s that.”

  “Women look at me differently, like I’m a man, instead of a boy.”

  “Then the clothes are worth the investment,” Stone said.

  “I have a feeling I’m going to start meeting more interesting people.”

  “Are you free for dinner?” Stone asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Would you like to meet someone interesting?”

  “Why not?”

  Stone got out his phone and looked up Solomon Fink’s number.

  “This is Sol,” the old man said.

  “Sol, it’s Stone Barrington. How are you?”

  “Still alive, that’s an accomplishment.”

  “It is. We’re having trouble opening the Excelsior. If I send my car for you, can you come over and deal with it?”

  “What else do I have to do with my time?” Sol asked.

  “Can you stay for dinner? There’s an interesting young man I’d like you to meet.”

  “I didn’t know there were any interesting young men,” Sol said. “I’d be delighted to stay for dinner.”

  Stone looked at his watch. “My car will be there in three quarters of an hour, traffic permitting. You’ll remember my driver, Fred.”

  “Of course. I’ll see him then.” Sol hung up.

  Stone asked Joan to send Fred to pick up Sol.

  “Who’s Sol?” Huey asked.

  “He worked for the safe maker who made the Excelsior, in Berlin, shortly before the war.”

  “Was he a Nazi?”

  Stone shook his head. “He was then and is now a Jew. His name is Solomon Fink. He’s a little over a hundred years old and lives in a fancy old folks’ home in Brooklyn. I think you’ll enjoy him.”

  “I’ve never met anyone that old. My grandmother is only sixty-six.”

  “Let’s go up to the study and have a drink.”

  “I’m not old enough,” Huey said.

  Stone got some cash from his other safe to pay Sol’s fee, and they went upstairs.

  “This is a beautiful room,” Huey said when he walked into the study.

  “My father built it, and all the other woodwork in the house. He was a cabinetmaker and a furniture designer.”

  “Lots of books. I read mostly on my iPad.”

  “A nice device,” Stone said, “but e-readers make lousy interior decoration. What would you like to drink?”

  “What are you having?”

  “An excellent bourbon called Knob Creek, the place where Abe Lincoln was born in a log cabin. It’s the patriotic thing to do.”

  “I’ll have that,” Huey said.

  Stone mixed them a drink and sat down and lit the fire.

  “I’ve got a loft downtown,” Huey said. “It’s pretty industrial. I think I’ll redesign the interior to look more like this.”

  “Have you ever done any woodworking?”

  “No, but I’ve admired it, as I do this.”

  “I inherited this house from my great-aunt, my grandmother’s sister. I did most of the renovation myself, except for the parts that required a license, like plumbing and electrical. It’s the most satisfying thing I’ve ever done.”

  “How did you learn to do it?”

  “I grew up in my father’s shop. By the time I went to college I could do almost anything he could.”

  “I’d like to learn.”

  “If you’re going to redo your loft, hire a good woodworker who will let you help him. That’s a good way to learn.”

  “I watch This Old House on TV; I admire those guys.”

  “Woodworking would slow down your mind, make you think in a different way. You’re used to everything happening instantly, with your computers; woodworking is about next week and next month, not right now.”

  “You’re full of good ideas, Stone.”

  “Thank you.”

  Joan buzzed him. “Sol Fink is here.”

  “Show him where the safe is, and send him up here when he’s done. Tell Helene we’re three for dinner.”

  It was a half hour before Sol appeared in the study. He sat down heavily. “Whew!” he said. “That was a workout.”

  “Is it open?” Stone asked.

  Sol nodded. “I changed the combination.” He handed Stone a slip of paper, and Stone pressed the cash into his hand. He tucked it into an inside pocket without counting it.

  “What would you like to drink, Sol?”

  “One of your single malts, I believe.”

  Stone looked through the bottles in his bar and picked one. “How about a Macallan 18?”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  Stone poured the drink and handed it to him. “Why did you have to change the combination, Sol?”

  “Because somebody who didn’t know what he was doing tried to open it,” Sol replied. “And it locked up.”

  Stone froze. “Joan tried.”

  “This happened before she tried. How long since you opened it?”

  “A few days, maybe a week.”

  “Well, my boy, you’ve had a yegg in your house.”

  “What’s a yegg?” Huey asked.

  “A safecracker,” Sol replied.

  51

  Dinner was served before Stone could ask further questions. “Sol,” he said finally, “tell me why you think there was a yegg in the house.”

  Sol took a sip of his wine and nodded approvingly. “There’s only one thing that can lock up the mechanism that way: someone entered the wrong combination twice.”

  “How do you get it to open after that?” Huey asked.

  “Only two people know how to do that,” Sol said. “I’m one of them, and the other is Bob Cantor, who I instructed in the art.”

  “And there’s no other way to open it?”

  “Not without destroying the contents. If you were after gold bars, you could simply blow the door off, although that wouldn’t be easy. The gold might be scarred, but it would still be gold.”

  “Where do you get a safe like that?” Huey asked.

  Sol looked at him sharply. “Are you in the market, son?”

  “Yes, I am,” Huey replied. “I have a lot of data records—disks, hard drives—that need securing.”

  “Well, there used to be half a dozen companies with them in New York, going back to the thirties, of course, and I serviced them.”

  “Are those companies still in existence?” Huey asked.


  “Let me go through my old logbooks and see what I can find,” Sol said.

  “I’d appreciate that,” Huey replied.

  “Where do you keep those records now?” Stone asked.

  “In the vault at the Times. I have a lockbox there, but it’s pretty much full.”

  “What about copies of Bob’s work upstairs?”

  “It’s all there, in a little safe in the closet. Bob gave me the combination.”

  “Do you think anybody might have been in that bedroom?”

  “Just Trixie,” Huey replied. “And she isn’t much interested in that sort of thing.”

  “Does Trixie know anyone who is interested in things like data records?”

  Huey shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  Stone’s phone rang and he looked at the caller. “It’s Dino, excuse me.” He left the table, went into the living room, and answered it.

  “Hey,” Dino said. “I just finished work. You want some dinner?”

  “Come to my house,” Stone said. “Sol Fink and Huey Horowitz are here, there’s plenty left.”

  “I’m already nearly there,” Dino said, then hung up.

  Stone went back to the table. “Dino’s going to join us,” he said.

  “I saw him at lunch today at that club, across the dining room,” Huey said.

  “He’s there often.” Stone called down for Helene to bring another place setting and some hot bread.

  Dino used his own key and bustled in. Stone made the introductions and poured Dino a scotch.

  “I saw you at lunch,” Dino said to Huey, “with Charley Fox.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Dino,” Stone said, “can you send somebody from your safe squad over? We’ve had a yegg in the house.”

  “But he didn’t get it open,” Sol said, before Dino could speak.

  “When?” Dino asked.

  “A few days, maybe a week. He screwed up the Excelsior, and we had to get Sol in to open it.”

  “Tomorrow morning do?”

  “That’ll be fine.”