“The information came my way in connection with some work I’m doing for a client.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Bob, how else would I be able to guess that? And it was a guess.”
“I only saw him for a minute.”
“And he saw you.”
“Well, yeah.”
“Why didn’t he speak to you?”
“Look, we made a pact a long time ago not to contact each other.”
“Do you think his presence at Clarke’s was just a coincidence?”
“It’s a popular place; a lot of people drink there.”
“Do you think it was a coincidence?”
Cantor sighed. “I don’t know,” he said. “I just didn’t expect him to pop up on my radar.”
“Another of your former Marine buddies has popped up, this time on my radar.”
“Huh?”
“Ab Kramer.”
“Holy shit. How’d you run into him?”
“I was having dinner at a restaurant in Litchfield, Connecticut, with Barton Cabot, and he stopped by our table to say hello, then stayed for a drink.”
“Why were you having dinner with the Colonel?”
“At his invitation. I’m trying to help him recover the property he lost when he was, well, mugged, shall we say?”
“How is he?”
“He seems to have recovered himself, except that he can’t remember anything about being beaten up.”
“Do you believe that?”
“I don’t think he would conceal anything from me that would help find his property.”
“The Colonel is a complicated man,” Cantor said.
“You mean he lies a lot?”
“I wouldn’t put it quite that way. Let’s just say that he plays his cards very close to his vest. Always.”
“You know that Kramer has done well on Wall Street?”
“I read the business pages.”
“What do you know about Charlie Crow’s business life?”
“I read Page Six in the Post, too.”
“So you know that Charlie seems to have an unscrupulous side to his nature?”
“Charlie Crow was born with an unscrupulous side to his nature. When we were in ’Nam, if there were two ways to get something done, he would always choose the crooked way, and he’d always make a profit doing it.”
“Would you say that Charlie has a tendency to hold a grudge?”
“Forever,” Cantor replied.
“So, you think he might still be just a tiny bit peeved about the split in your caper with the gold coins?”
“How’d you know about the gold coins?”
“The Colonel told me.”
“Oh. One of the many reasons I was glad to agree never to contact any of the others again was that I would never again have to listen to Charlie Crow bitch about his cut. If he walked in here right now, the first thing he’d say to me would be ‘Y’know, I got screwed on that deal with the Colonel.’ ”
“Did Charlie have violent tendencies?”
“Shit, we were in a jungle war; we all had violent tendencies. That’s why we’re still alive.”
“Would Charlie have trouble letting go of that after reentering civilian life?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised. If an argument got heated, Charlie always threw the first punch. Or, more likely, the first kick in the balls.”
“A street fighter, then?”
“He wouldn’t need a street; he was ready to go anytime, anywhere.”
“What about Ab Kramer?”
“Ab was smarter than Charlie and cooler, too. He’d pick his moment to take a swing at somebody, but he’d get around to it, if he was mad enough. He knew how to stay mad but not show it.”
“Did either of them ever kill anybody who wasn’t wearing black pajamas and carrying a Kalashnikov?”
“Let’s not get into that.”
“Let me put it another way: Would Charlie hesitate to kill somebody who made him mad enough?”
“He might; maybe he grew up some over the years.”
“Would Ab?”
“Ab was too smart for that. If he wanted to do more than just throw a punch, he’d find a way to do it so that the other guy never forgot it. I saw him maneuver a guy right into the stockade once. The guy did a year, and when he got out, Ab walked up to him in a bar in Saigon and asked him how he enjoyed his stay. Ab was fearless.”
“Which one of them would be more likely to have stolen the Colonel’s piece of antique furniture?”
“Stone, Charlie Crow might take a broken bottle to somebody who’d crossed him, but he wouldn’t know his ass from antique furniture.”
“Thanks, Bob. I think I get the picture.”
22
Joan buzzed Stone. “Bill Eggers is on line one, and he’s whispering.”
“Why is he whispering?”
“You’ll have to ask him.”
Stone picked up the phone. “Bill?”
“Stone,” Eggers said in a raspy whisper, “get over here.”
“What?”
“Right now.” Eggers hung up.
Stone slipped into his coat and stopped at Joan’s desk. “Bill wants me to come over there in a hurry.”
“Why was he whispering?”
“I forgot to ask. See you later.”
Five minutes later, Stone got out of a cab at the Seagram Building on Park Avenue at Fifty-second Street, where the law firm of Woodman amp; Weld occupied four high floors.
Woodman amp; Weld was often referred to as the gold standard of New York law firms, with a reputation for high-quality legal services, solid integrity and complete discretion. Every law firm, however, has clients and cases with whom it would prefer not to be publicly associated, and for that reason W amp;W employed Stone. He and Bill Eggers had been classmates at NYU Law School, and when Stone had been invalided out of the NYPD, Eggers had brought him aboard.
Stone got off the elevator, and the receptionist didn’t even speak, just waved him in the direction of the corner office of the managing partner.
Stone rapped lightly on the door, opened it and stuck his head in. “Good morning?”
“Stone!” Eggers said, rising from his chair. His companion did not rise. “Come in, come in! I want you to meet someone.”
At this, the other man rose. He was of medium height and build, wearing a very good suit but somehow unprepossessing. He was bald, with a fringe of blond hair, and wore rimless spectacles. Stone knew who he was immediately.
“Stone, this is Harlan Deal. Harlan, this is my colleague, Stone Barrington.”
Stone shook Deal’s hand. His grip was firm and cool, but his demeanor was dour. He looked as though he had not slept well for some time. “How do you do, Mr. Deal,” Stone said.
“Hello,” Deal replied. “Please call me Harlan; everybody does.”
What most people called him, Stone reflected, was The Deal. Harlan Deal had inherited a portfolio of grimy real estate in the nether regions of the Bronx and Queens and had turned it into a giant holding company, called Real Deal, with a worldwide reach. It was a great American success story, but Deal, personally, remained low-powered socially. He contributed to good causes, even had his own foundation for that purpose, but he was not high on the dinner-party list of anyone who did not wish to borrow money from him. There were stories of dinner partners who had not heard him speak during a five-course meal.
“Sit down, Stone,” Eggers said. “Harlan has a little problem that I think you might be able to help him with.”
“Well, I’ll certainly try,” Stone replied.
“Heh, heh,” Eggers chortled. “I think you’ll find, Harlan, that Stone’s efforts are of a very high order.”
Stone stared at Eggers. What was he promising this guy? Stone had no clue as to why he was there. “Well, Bill,” he said, “let’s hear about the problem before we start making promises. Perhaps Mr. Deal will tell me about it.”
“Harlan,” Deal replied.
“Of course, Harlan, and please call me Stone.”
“What sort of work do you do, Mr. Barrington?”
“I’m an attorney, of counsel to Woodman and Weld.”
“Of counsel? What does that mean, exactly?”