Black Dog

Thirty-Six

Eddie went back to the Y with Mac, his buddy. “There’s that thing you said you were going to teach me,” he said to Mac.

“You mean how to pick a lock?”

“That’s what I mean.”

Mac took a pouch from his pocket and unzipped it. “You’ll need a set of these,” he said.

“Where do I get a set of those?”

Mac grinned. “From me, of course.”

“How much?”

“Two hundred bucks.”

“I’ll give you a hundred.”

“One seventy-five or get them somewhere else.”

“And that includes instruction?”

“That’s another twenty-five.”

“Oh, all right.”

They began by taking apart the lock on the door to their room so Mac could show Eddie how it worked. They moved on to a more challenging lock on the weight room door, then tried another. A couple of hours later, Eddie was picking locks. He packed a bag.

“Where you going?” Mac asked.

“Out of town.”

“Without me?”

“I got all I need from you.”

“You won’t survive a day on the street without me.”

Eddie thought about that. “Have you got any decent clothes?”

“I got a blue blazer and some khakis. Those’ll work for me just about anywhere.”

“Get packed,” Eddie said.

Mac started packing.

“You know anything about cars?” Eddie asked.

“I know how to drive ’em and fix ’em. Why?”

“I want to buy one.”

“What kind?”

“A Mercedes.”

“You got a hundred grand?”

“A used Mercedes.”

“Let’s check the want ads.”

Joan knocked on Stone’s door.

“What can I do for you?”

“I want to take a couple of days off.”

“Sure. You going out of town?”

“I thought I’d take a look at Annetta’s place in the Hamptons.”

“Going alone?”

“I thought I’d ask my friend Betty,” she said.

“Taking the train?”

“I own three cars, remember?”

“Oh, right. Sure, take the time.”

“You can reach me on my cell,” she said. “It’ll be almost like having me here.”

“I’ll manage.”

“Yeah, sure,” she muttered to herself. “See you soon.”

Eddie left town in a four-year-old Mercedes station wagon with only thirty thousand miles on the odometer. He and Mac drove the Long Island Expressway to the end, then used the GPS to guide them.

“What’s the address?” Mac asked.

“Further Lane, East Hampton.”

“What number?”

“I’ll know it when I see it.”

Mac entered Further Lane into the GPS. “We’re off and running,” he said.

By mid-afternoon they were in East Hampton. They picked up some groceries and drove to Further Lane. “That one,” Eddie said as they drove past.

“You want to wait until dark?” Mac asked.

“Nah, we can park where the car won’t be seen from the street.” Eddie made a left turn and drove into the driveway.

“Very nice,” Mac said. “Is there a security system?”

“What if there is?”

“I might be able to deal with it, if it’s one I know.”

Eddie pulled into a parking spot. “Okay, deal with it.”

Joan and her friend Betty left Joan’s new house in Annetta’s Mercedes-Benz S550 convertible. “Pretty snazzy car,” Betty said.

“If you’re inheriting, why not go for snazzy?”

“I can’t argue with that.”

Joan headed for the LIE.

Mac got them into the house without setting off any alarms, and they unloaded their things and the groceries.

“You cooking?” Mac asked doubtfully.

“Nah, let’s go into the village and get something. There are restaurants still open, off season.”

“As long as you’re buying,” Mac said.

“I’m buying,” Eddie replied. His trust fund was working again, and he had plenty of cash, a credit card, and a checkbook.

They got into the car and drove away. As they turned toward the village, another Mercedes, a convertible, passed them going the other way.

“I guess a Mercedes is pretty good camouflage out here,” Mac said.

“Yep. One thing, Mac.”

“What’s that?”

“We don’t want to get into any scrapes out here. We want to fit in. The cops don’t bother you when you fit in.”

“Does my blazer look okay?”

“Yeah, everything works, except your haircut.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Grow some hair.”

“Right away?”

“As soon as possible.”

Joan pulled into the driveway. “There’s a light on in the kitchen,” she said. “One upstairs, too.”

“The maid, maybe?”

“She doesn’t come until the first of the week.”

“She must have left it on the last time she was here.”

Joan put the car in the garage, and they carried their things inside.

“Wow!” Betty said, looking around. “I’ve always wanted a friend with a house like this.”

“Well, now you’ve got one.”

“Pity you’re not an eligible bachelor.”

“You had one of those, and you divorced him,” Joan said.

Betty looked in the fridge. “There’s eggs, bacon, and orange juice here,” she said.

“I’d better speak to the maid when she comes back,” Joan replied.