“I think that will fly,” Dino said. “Remind me to call somebody after I finish this steak.”
“Certainly.”
“Dino,” Charley said, “there’s a button somewhere in Macher’s office that, when pressed, will scrub all their computer files clean.”
“Uh-oh. Where is it?”
“I don’t know, somewhere in that room. Just keep Macher and anybody else there out of that office until you’ve had a chance to search the files.”
“Have you got locations and file names for the files?”
“Yes, you can print out the will there, then download them onto a thumb drive. I’m assuming you’ll take an IT guy along on your raid.”
“Right.”
“If he has any problems, he can reach me anytime on my cell.” Charley gave him his business card. “Macher lives on the top floor, in Christian St. Clair’s old apartment, very handsome. Something else you should know, his taste in women runs to call girls. I heard him say once that picking up and seducing the amateurs was too time-consuming, so he’s likely not to be alone when you bust in.”
“There’s another charge you can add to your list,” Stone said.
“Who else lives there?” Dino asked.
“His secretary. Word around the office is, Macher likes her to be available for blow jobs, as well as her regular work. By the way, you want to keep her away from her desk and computer while you’re there. Cuff her to a doorknob or something.”
“Are there any other bedrooms?”
“There are several that are occasionally occupied by visiting business associates and others. It’s quite an elegant house, really.”
“What about Jake Herman, Charley?” Stone asked. “Where does he live?”
“He has an apartment in the neighborhood, but I’ve known him to stay the night at the mansion.”
“Is he likely to offer resistance?”
“Nah, Jake is ex-FBI. He knows the drill. Macher knows the drill, too, but he won’t like it. He could very well give you a hard time.”
“I hope so,” Dino said, grinning.
“So do I,” Charley said. “I wish I could be there to watch the raid.”
“We’ll be doing a video,” Dino replied. “I’ll shoot you a copy so you won’t miss any of the action.”
“Great!”
“Forgive the change of subject,” Stone said, “but is anything happening on the investment front, Charley?”
“I’ve had conversations with two companies on St. Clair’s list — both are good bets.”
“What are they?”
“DigiFlood is one. They make digital components for manufacturers. They’re particularly interesting right now because they’re working on a new kind of storage device that will be revolutionary. They need thirty million dollars to finish the development. The other is called Automobile Butler Services. They work on your car in your own garage or even parking space, if the weather is good. The great thing about them is that they’re authorized warranty agents for the more expensive cars. They’ve got a couple of dozen offices in the tristate area, but they need capital to expand nationwide.”
“Sounds good.”
“They’re both well managed and already profitable.”
“Then move in whenever you’re ready.”
“I’ve also got two new people, starting the first of the month, who I knew at Goldman, and they’ll bring their own ideas with them.”
“Great.”
“One thing I should mention, though. St. Clair has already made overtures to both DigiFlood and Automobile Butler Services, so we’re likely to make Macher angry again.”
“Well, if he gets angry enough, maybe he’ll do something stupid that will allow us to neutralize him.”
“As long as you know what’s happening.”
“I’ll have a word with Mike about it.”
Dino finished his steak.
“You were going to call somebody,” Stone reminded him.
“Yeah, an assistant DA who will get us our warrant.” Dino made the call and discussed his raid for a few minutes, then hung up. “Done,” he said. “He’ll see a judge in the morning, and we should be ready to go for tomorrow night.”
On the ride home, Charley spoke up. “Stone, would it be inconvenient for you if I stayed on in the apartment for a few months?”
“Not at all — as long as you like.”
“I’m going to look for something to buy, but right now I’d like to put my time into getting Triangle up and running.”
“Of course.”
“And I’d like to pay rent. I can afford it.”
“And I can afford not to collect it,” Stone said, “so forget it.”
As they pulled into the garage, Fred said, “Mr. Barrington, the street seems to be clean of the trash we’ve had in the block the past few days.”
“That’s good,” Stone said.
“I expect Macher found it unprofitable,” Charley said.
They drove into the garage and said good night.
Stone went upstairs and found a surprise waiting for him in his bed.
“Good evening,” Marisa said. “I used my new key. Did you enjoy your boys’ night out?”
“Not as much as I’m going to enjoy your company,” Stone said, getting out of his clothes and slipping into bed with her.
She threw a leg over his and snuggled close. “Anything new in the world of skullduggery?”
“I think the skullduggers are getting weary,” Stone replied. “The two guys out front have been withdrawn.”
“Oh, good. May we dispense with the armed guards now?”
“Let’s not be hasty about that,” Stone replied. “Maybe another week.”
Then he did his duty.
31
Erik Macher gazed up at the girl on top of him. “How’s that, baby?” he asked.
“Oooh, good!” she replied, as she was expected to. “Why don’t you just move me into your apartment, and we can do this all the time? Looks like you’ve got plenty of room.”
“Don’t ruin the mood,” Macher said, then the doorbell rang. He glanced at the bedside clock: three AM. “What the hell?” he said, sitting up and unseating the young woman.
“What’s the matter?”
The doorbell rang again, and there was a hammering on it, followed by muffled shouting.
“Don’t you move,” Macher said. He reached into his bedside drawer and withdrew a Glock. He grabbed a robe, and as he departed his apartment, he slapped the panic button on his security system, and a siren began to wail. As he reached the first floor, there was a huge bang, a splintering sound, and the front door flew open, followed by a man with a steel ram, surrounded by uniformed police officers wearing body armor.
“Drop the gun!” a cop yelled at him.
Macher had forgotten the Glock in his excitement, and he opened his hand, allowing it to fall onto the stairs. “What the fuck is this?” he screamed.
A cop handcuffed his wrist and fastened the other end to the banister rail. “What’s your security cancellation code?” the cop shouted.
Macher told him, and the cop entered it into a keypad at the bottom of the stairs. The siren abruptly stopped. “I asked you, what the fuck is this?” Macher demanded anew.
A detective in a suit stepped forward and handed him a paper. “This is a warrant, allowing us to search the premises.”
“Search the premises for what?” Macher demanded, tossing the warrant aside.
“Whatever the fuck we like,” the cop replied. “You’ve been served, now shut up and cooperate. Who else is in the house?”
“My secretary lives on the second floor.” As if on cue, the woman appeared, one landing up, tying a robe around her. “And there’s a Ms.... oh, I don’t know what the hell her name is. She’s on the top floor in my bed... ah, apartment.”