“My team warns me about every ten minutes that seeing you between now and Tuesday could have catastrophic results.”
“They know you that well, do they?”
“They believe they know you that well. I’m not positive, but my chief of staff may have ordered the Secret Service to shoot you on sight.”
“They’d enjoy that, wouldn’t they.”
“They’d rather arrest you and get their picture taken hauling you off to jail in shackles.”
“I don’t think I’ll leave the house until next Tuesday,” he replied.
“Good thinking. You can watch me on television.”
“I don’t suppose you can get naked on television?”
“Good guess. I’m not allowed to speak the words ‘naked’ or ‘sex.’ They are not to pass my lips.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that.”
“You may not talk affectionately to me on the phone, either. My staff is absolutely positive that any phone I can reach is tapped.”
“By whom?”
“The Russians, maybe. They would love to torpedo me.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
“Oh, I almost forgot. A pass to the election-night party is being delivered to you. Don’t lose it.”
“In Washington?”
“In New York. The committee has taken the whole of the Carlyle Hotel, every room, bar, nightclub, and dining room. After three PM, nobody can enter the hotel without the little pass.”
“What color is it?”
“The standard is blue, but there are silver, gold, and platinum ones, as well. Yours is the latter, so afterward you can have it melted down and turned into a tie pin, or something. Also, it opens the door to two rooms: a bedroom across the hall from my suite and my suite. You’re welcome anytime, after the polls close, when your presence can no longer do any damage.”
“And what time is that?”
“Nine o’clock in New York.”
“And when do I have to leave?”
“If I lose, never.”
“And if you win?”
“Ask me in eight years — less, if they can think of a reason to impeach me.”
“I’m torn,” Stone said. “I wouldn’t want to see you impeached, but...”
“What?” Somebody was talking to her. “Gotta run. I’ll see you on TV.” She hung up.
Stone switched on the TV with a couple of minutes to go. He wondered if he’d still be allowed to attend the election-night party, if Sig were still on the loose.
The music came up, and a freshly barbered Chuck appeared on screen and introduced the Democratic candidate for President of the United States.
Stone thought Holly looked sunny, composed, and absolutely smashing in a tailored suit and long pants. There must be someone following her around with a brush and comb, he thought, because her hair was absolutely perfect — glowing, even. He settled back to watch and almost immediately dozed off. When he awoke, Holly had been replaced by a panel of journalists who argued about her chances.
54
Dino picked him up on schedule, and they were driving up Third Avenue when Stone suddenly yelled, “Stop!!!” The driver slammed on the brakes and the big SUV skidded to a halt.
“What the hell!” Dino shouted.
“Look at that!” Stone said, pointing at a brightly lit showroom.
“At a store window?”
“At what’s in the window.”
“A motorbike?”
“It’s not a motorbike. It’s a 1951 Norton. I’ve wanted one all my life.”
“But you know nothing about motorcycles,” Dino pointed out.
“The hell I don’t!” Stone snorted. “Before I met you I rode one to work every day, but it was only a Honda 180.”
“You’re not making any sense,” Dino said.
“Wait here, I’ll be right back.”
Stone went to the shop’s door, but it was locked. A lone woman was seated at a desk across the room. He tapped his signet ring on the glass, and she drew a finger across her throat. Closed, she mouthed.
Stone dug out his police badge and held it so she could see it. She got up, approached the door, and peered at the badge.
“Police!” Stone said helpfully.
She unlocked the door, but the chain was still on. “What do you want?” she asked.
“I want that motorcycle,” Stone said, “if the price is right.”
“The price is not right — not for a cop’s wallet, anyway.”
“Let’s have a look at it up close.”
“You’re sure you’re a cop?”
“See that man in the back seat of the SUV with the light on top?”
“Yes.”
“Ask that man. He’s the police commissioner of New York City.”
She waved at Dino and beckoned him over. He got out of the car and approached. “I’ve got a crazy person here who says you’re the police commissioner,” she said. “Anything to that?”
“Well,” Dino said. “He’s crazy, but he’s not lying.”
“Lemme see some ID.”
Dino pulled back his coat to reveal his badge and his piece.
“Oh, all right,” she said, unlocking the chain, “but believe me, you can’t afford it.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Stone said, stepping into the showroom and approaching the bike reverently. He reached out to stroke the metal.
“Ahh!” she said. “No touching.”
“I can buy it only if it’s real,” Stone said.
“Okay, one finger.”
Stone stroked the gas tank with one finger. “How much?”
“I told you, you can’t afford it.”
Stone whipped out his cell phone and did a search on Norton prices. “Says here seventeen thousand five hundred dollars.”
“In your dreams,” she said.
“All right tell me your dream.”
“My boss’s dream is twenty-five grand.”
“Call your boss and tell him you’ve got an offer for twenty grand, cash, right now.”
Doubtfully, she got out her phone and pressed a number. “Harvey, I’ve got a cash offer for twenty grand for the Norton in the window.” She listened for a moment, then covered the phone. “Harvey says twenty-five grand, cash, and it’s yours. I warn you, don’t lowball him, or he’ll hang up.”
“I’d like to speak to him.”
“Harv,” she said into the phone, “I think a personal appearance is required.” She hung up. “He’ll be right out. Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“If he’s in the mood.”
“Sold at twenty-five thousand dollars,” Stone said. “And I’ll need a full tank of gas, the original owner’s manual, and the factory tool kit.” He saw a display of helmets on the wall. “And the best helmet you’ve got.”
She spoke to her boss. “He wants to speak to you,” she said, hanging up the phone.
A door at the rear of the showroom opened and a small man wearing greasy coveralls entered.
“I am Stone Barrington,” he said. “I just bought your Norton.”
“Have you got twenty-five grand cash on you?”
“I’ve got that between my checkbook and credit cards.”
“I’ll need all cash, right now. I’ve got a buyer at twenty who said he couldn’t get the cash until nine o’clock tonight.”
“Hang on,” Stone said. “Dino, how much cash you got on you?”
Dino whipped out his wallet and counted. “Two grand,” he said.
Stone turned back to the owner. “My friend, the police commissioner, and I have four grand between us. I’ll give you a check for the rest.”
“The police commissioner my ass,” Harvey said. “You think I’m going to fall for that?”
“Harvey,” the girl said. “He really is the police commissioner. I saw his badge.”
“Mr. Barrington,” Harvey said, “I’ll give you half an hour to come up with the cash.”