Dirt

Chapter 56

Arrington saw her editor at The New Yorker, and they had lunch at the Royalton Hotel; then she did some shopping at Bloomingdale’s. It was growing dark when she got out of a cab in front of her apartment building.

“Good afternoon, Miss Carter,” the doorman said, holding the cab door for her. “We haven’ seen you for a while.”

“I’ve been staying with a friend, Jimmy; I just came by to pick up some things.”

“I’ve been keeping your mail for you,” Jimmy said. “You want it now?”

“I’ll pick it up on the way out,” she said. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

“Very good, Miss.”

Arrington took the elevator to her floor, rummaging in her bag for the key. She kept a key in each of her bags, and today she had taken the big one. The key was at the very bottom, as usual. She inserted the key into the lock and opened the door. To her astonishment, there was someone sitting at her desk. Then something struck her on the side of the head, and she fell to the floor, only half-conscious.

“Jesus Christ, Tommy!” she heard somebody say. “You never said she might come home!”

“I didn’t think she would,” Jonathan Dryer’s voice replied. “There’s a roll of duct tape in my bag, Charlie; hand it to me, will you?”

She was rolled onto her back, and before she could focus on the face above her, a wide strip of tape was slapped across her eyes, and another across her mouth.

“What are we going to do with her, Tommy?” the first voice said. “We can’t leave her here alive.”

“I guess not,” Tommy replied, “but we’re going to be here until tomorrow. Wouldn’t you like to fuck her while we wait to hear from the bank?”

Arrington was rolled roughly onto her stomach. and her hands were taped behind her back. She was blind and dumb, but her head was beginning to clear, and she digested what she had just heard.

“Sure,” Charlie said, and he sounded greedy.

“She’s hot stuff, take it from me,” Tommy said. “I won’t tape her feet.” He hauled her to her feet and dumped her on the sofa. “You’ll want to be able to spread her legs, won’t you?”

“Right,” Charlie said, chuckling. “Just let me finish this fax to the Luxembourg bank.”

Out on Fifth Avenue, Detective Ernie Martinez was on foot, doing a patrolman’s job. It was beneath him, but Martinez had his own reasons for working so hard that day. He saw a doorman standing outside an apartment building, at least the fiftieth he had talked to that day. “How y’doing?” he asked the man, flashing his badge.

“Pretty good, officer. Can I help you?”

Martinez produced the two photographs. “You ever seen either one of these guys before?”

The doorman looked carefully at the two photographs, then glanced back at Martinez. “Maybe, one of them,” he said.

“There’s twenty in it for you, if you do me some good here,” Martinez said.

“Yeah, I know this guy,” the doorman said, holding up one of the photographs. “He’s spent a lot of time with the lady in Nine-A, Miss Carter.”

“That’s Nine-A?” Martinez asked.

“Yeah. Pretty lady, Miss Carter.”

“You think he might be up there right now?”

The doorman hadn’t seen any money yet, so he played the detective along. “Could be,” he said.

“Thanks,” Martinez said, turning away.

“Hey, what about my twenty?”

Martinez stopped, produced a twenty, but snatched it back when the doorman grabbed for it. “You don’t say nothing to nobody about this, right? I was never here.”

“Right,” the doorman said, “you were never here.” This time he was allowed to grab the twenty.

Martinez hoofed it around the corner and found a pay phone.

“Yeah?” a voice said.

“This is Ernie Martinez. You know those two guys you’re looking for?”

“Yeah.”

“I just might have them for you.”

“Yeah? Where?”

“You’ll tell the big guy that Ernie Martinez phoned it in?”

“Yeah, sure, Ernie.”

“Ten-eleven Fifth Avenue, Apartment Nine-A. Doorman says they might be up there right now.”

“Thanks, Ernie; we’ll be in touch.”

“I’ll have to phone this in, but I’ll wait an hour, okay?”

“Yeah, that’s good, Ernie.”

“Don’t forget to tell him.”

But the man had already hung up.

Martinez found a coffee shop on Madison and settled himself on a stool with his paper, a cup of coffee, and a doughnut.

It was dark now, and Arrington hadn’t returned. Stone was getting worried. He found her diary with the name of her appointment at the magazine, and he called the editor.

“This is Stone Barrington; I’m a friend of Arrington Carter. I believe she had an appointment with you this morning.”

“That’s right,” the woman said. “We had lunch after that.”

“What time did she leave you?”

“Sometime after three. She said she was going to Bloomingdale’s.”

“Thanks very much,” Stone said, then hung up. He looked at his watch. Bloomingdale’s had been closed for forty-five minutes. She had said she was going to her old apartment, hadn’t she? He dialed the number, but only got her answering machine. He heard the beep. “Hello, Arrington? Are you there? If you’re there, pick up.” He waited a moment, but she didn’t answer. “If you get this message, call me at home.” He hung up. He’d wait a few minutes, then call again.

Richard Hickock rode up in the freight elevator, and when he emerged onto the empty factory floor it was dark. A moment later, half a dozen low-wattage bulbs came on, and Enrico Bianchi stepped from behind a column.

“You’re late, Dick,” Bianchi said. “I’ve been waiting over an hour.” He did not sound happy.

“I’m sorry, Ricky, we were stuck in the Midtown Tunnel the whole damned time; there was a big pileup. When we got out I called your beeper, but there was no answer.”

Bianchi ran a hand over his hair. “I don’t like to wait, Dick.”

“I apologize, Ricky; there was nothing I could do.”

Bianchi did not seem mollified. “So what’s the big emergency?”

“I want to call off the search for those two men,” Hickock said. “Something has happened, and it would be very bad for me if anything happened to them.”

“Dick, what is this on-again, off-again thing? You should know I don’t do business that way. What has happened?”

“They’re blackmailing me, that’s what. They’ve threatened to turn me in to the IRS and to send incriminating information to the media.”

“How much do they want?”

“Three million dollars. I’ve already wire-transferred the money.”

Bianchi looked astonished. “Dick, you shouldn’t have done that; you should have come to me and let me handle it.”

“I only had until close of business, Ricky, and they said that they had left the documents with other parties, and if anything happened to them it would be sent out. That’s why you have to call off the search; I can’t afford for anything to happen to them now.”

“Dick, don’t you know that’s what all blackmailers say? That they’ve left the pictures or the documents or whatever with a lawyer who has instructions if anything happens to them? They never do it; they never believe anything will happen to them. I think it would be best if we just leave things as they are. I’ve already had a tip that they might be in an East Side apartment. Someone is on the way there now.”

“Ricky, you’ve got to stop them; I can’t afford to find out the hard way if they’re lying. I’d rather pay them the money.”

“Then they’ll want more, Dick, don’t you know that? If you’re willing to pay them three million dollars on the basis of an unsubstantiated threat, they’ll bleed you again and again for years to come, until there’s nothing left. You just let me handle these two guys.”

“I can’t do that, Ricky. You’ve got to call off your men.”

Bianchi shrugged. “I’m afraid that’s impossible, Dick; it’s too late. You’ll just have to take your chances.”

Hickock slumped. “I hope to God you’re right about their bluff.”

“Trust me, I’m right. Is there anything else?”

“There is one more thing; the third name I gave you.”

“I remember.” He patted his pocket. “It’s right here. You want me to push the button?”

Hickock took a deep breath. “Push the button. I don’t care whether it looks like an accident, just do it.”

“It will be done,” Bianchi said. “But this is going to cost more money. This search has turned into an expensive operation.”

“Of course,” Hickock said. “Anything you want, just name the amount.”

Bianchi smiled for the first time that day. “That’s the way I like to hear you talk,” he said.

Stone phoned again, got the answering machine again. He had the awful feeling that something was very wrong. He’d go over there; maybe the doorman would let him in. Then he remembered. He found her handbag in the bedroom, opened it, and shook the contents out onto the bed. There was the key. He put it in his pocket, got a coat, and left the house.