Stuart Woods
Naked Greed
1
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 very 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.