Shoot First(Stone Barrington #45)(58)
“No, he was trying to shoot a different friend, or at least, his girlfriend was.”
“Jungle Jane? No shit?”
“None at all.”
“There’ve been rumors around the Keys for years that Dirty Joe and Tommy were doing hits on the side. They were living too well for their business to support their lifestyle. And it doesn’t surprise me much that Jungle Jane was helping out. They both got killed, didn’t they?”
“With a single bullet.”
“By accident?”
“No, on purpose.”
“Jesus, nice shot.”
“Yes, it was.”
“So, you want me to do something to Tommy Chang?”
“No. I didn’t know you did contract work, Paul.”
“I don’t, but I can get him arrested for you, if you’ve got a charge that’ll stick. I’m not going to try and beat him up, either, because he’s a martial arts nut. I saw him kick a guy’s ass in a bar one time who was twice his size and mean as a snake. Did Tommy do something to you?”
“To a client of mine,” Stone half-lied.
“Down here or up there?”
“Up here, last night.”
“Well, the guy’s got that Baron, I guess he can go wherever the work is.”
“I guess so.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I haven’t got a charge that will stick,” Stone said, “so nothing, for the time being. I’ll get back to you when I know more, and I’ll send you a check.”
“Just joking about the fifteen hundred. I wouldn’t charge an old client for top-of-the-head info. Buy me a steak the next time you’re in town.”
“I’ll do that,” Stone said. “See you around.” They both hung up.
Stone called Dino.
“Bacchetti.”
“Dino, can you run a name for me? Criminal record, wanted list?”
“What’s the name?”
“Tommy Chang—residence, Florida Keys, probably Islamorada.”
“Hang on,” Dino said, and Stone could hear computer keys. “Here we go—juvie record in California, two arrests out there for burglary, charges dropped. Another for assault, no weapon. Then nothing.”
“Nothing in Florida?”
“Nope. He must have kept his nose clean after he moved.”
“Is it a crime to put cameras and microphones in a hotel room in New York?”
“Whose room?”
“Meg’s, at The Pierre.”
“That’s what she gets for moving out on you.”
“She’s back now.”
“Well, it’s breaking and entering, if he got into her room. Also, if he made a recording of what he saw—without her permission, of course.”
“He didn’t have that.”
“What did this character see in her room?”
“Meg.”
“Naked?”
“Yes.”
“Were you present at the time?”
“Yes.”
“Naked?”
“Well, yes.”
“We could pick him up, but he would probably plead down to a misdemeanor and get a suspended sentence. If he was trying to sell tapes, then it would be a bigger deal.”
“I’ve no evidence of that, so far.”
“Is he in New York?”
“Probably back in Florida.”
“Well, the DA isn’t going to extradite him for that—again, unless he’s selling tapes.”
“I’ll let you know.”
“Sure. If he is selling tapes, I’d like to buy one.”
“Oh, fuck off.” Stone hung up.
44
Stanislav Beria appeared at Selwyn Owaki’s apartment building at noon, the appointed hour. He identified himself to a receptionist with his diplomatic passport, then submitted to a stroll through a metal detector and a body search so thorough that he was uncomfortable with it. His laptop computer was thoroughly checked, then he was allowed to board an elevator that swept him at high speed to the top floor, where he submitted to another search, and was admitted to the enormous living room of Selwyn Owaki’s multistory penthouse.
A man in a white jacket settled him on a sofa and brought him a small bottle of San Pellegrino mineral water and a saucer containing half a dozen canapés. He had finished them all before Owaki finally made his appearance, walking down a curved staircase while his eyes swept the cavernous room. He was a tall, thickly built man of indeterminate national origin, wearing what Beria was certain was a $25,000 suit.
Beria stood to greet him. “Selwyn, how are you?”
Owaki motioned for him to sit down, and he did. “I thought I would ask you that,” he said in mid-Atlantic English. “Do we have the material?”
Beria tapped the computer. “Right here.”
Owaki picked up a telephone and murmured something. Shortly, a young man appeared. “Give him your laptop,” Owaki said. “And the file name.”
Beria did so, and the young man took the computer to a table, opened it, and switched it on.
“I understand you found it necessary to rid yourself of the source and his wife.”