Hit List (Stone Barrington #53)(69)

“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.”

“Done,” Stone said. He turned to the woman: “Tell him what’s included.” He got out his phone and called Joan.

“Yes, boss?”

“Joan, I need twenty-five grand in cash right now.”

“Which court?”

“I don’t need bail, I’m in a motorcycle shop on Third Avenue, almost at P.J.’s.”

“The one with the Norton in the window?”

“That’s the one.”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t see it. I’ll be there in ten minutes.” Stone hung up and turned to the owner again. “Harvey, the cash will be here in ten minutes. While I’m waiting, I’d like to see the title, the original title, the registration, and the original owner’s manual—and the original tool kit. Oh, and I’d like it filled up and your best helmet and delivered to my house in Manhattan tomorrow morning at ten.”

“Doable, as soon as I see cash,” Harvey replied firmly.

“Let me speak to Gilly,” he said, turning to the woman.

“You shouldn’t have told him my name, Harvey. He’s creepy.”

“I am not creepy, I’m an attorney-at-law.”

“Yeah? A minute ago you told me you were a cop.”

“Used to be. Retired.”

“You really want to do this, Harvey? Okay.” She went to her desk, unlocked a drawer, and came out with a fat envelope and a soft leather case.

Stone pulled up a chair, shook out the contents of the envelope, and went through the paperwork. To his astonishment, it was all there. A little greasy, but there.

Then, two people entered the showroom—Joan, through the front door, carrying a bank bag, and a young man, through a rear door, carrying a five-gallon jerry can. They all met in the middle, and money changed hands. Joan left. Harvey signed the title and offered his hand. “All yours, Barrington.”

Stone shook the hand. “Was there really another buyer?”

“You bet your ass there was, but he’s late with the money, and I don’t do late.”

“What did the guy look like?”

“Six-two, wiry, beak of a nose, name of Sig.”

“Harvey,” Stone said, “I’m going to ask a favor of you.”

“You can ask,” Harvey replied.

“When Sig shows up, I want you to tell him that the bike has been sold, but the new owner is at Clarke’s, and he might deal. Tell him the guy’s name is Frank, and he’s having dinner at Clarke’s, across the street.”

Harvey looked worried. “I don’t know if I want to break that news to Sig. He looks like he knows how to handle himself.”

At that moment, a cell phone rang, and Harvey fished it out of a pocket. “This is Harvey. Oh, hi, Sig. No, I won’t wait until tomorrow. In fact, I just sold it to a guy named Frank, who’s eating a steak at Clarke’s, across the street, as we speak. You could talk to him. He says he’ll deal.” Harvey hung up to cut off the sputtering noises coming from the phone. “He’s all yours, Barrington. I’m getting out of here. You, too, babe.”



* * *



—

Stone gave Harvey his card, with his address for the delivery tomorrow morning. “Call first and tell my secretary, Joan, exactly what time you’re arriving. She’ll open the garage door. Have you got a vehicle that will hold it?”

“I’ve got a trailer.”

“Back into the garage, unload, and leave.”

“You got it,” Harvey said. He poured gasoline into the tank and with a wave, locked them out of the shop. He was last seen pushing the Norton into the back room, followed by the woman.