Hit List

49

Somebody blew a whistle, and thirty cops were on their feet, pistols pointed. The man who said he was Larkin had a pistol pointed, too: hard under Herbie Fisher’s chin.

Larkin grabbed Herbie by the collar with his free hand. “Bring the papers,” he said.

Herbie grabbed the papers and allowed himself to be dragged to the rear of the restaurant. “Guns on the floor!” Larkin yelled, and thirty cops dropped their guns, more or less as one man, even the women. “Nobody move!” Larkin yelled, and nobody did. He dragged Herbie through the kitchen and out the back door, then there was a noise of something being propped against it.

Stone and Dino ran toward the rear door and put their shoulders against it, bruising their shoulders. From outside, there was the sound of a good-sized motorcycle cranking up.

“Give me the papers, and run that way,” Larkin shouted at Herbie, indicating down the alley with his chin. Herbie handed over the papers and ran, while Larking tucked them into his pocket and got the machine into gear. He blew past Herbie, who was trying to become part of a brick wall, and headed out onto Park Avenue.

Shit,” Dino said, rubbing his shoulder. “I thought we were ready for him.”

“He was readier than we were,” Stone explained. “Get on the radio.”

Dino picked up his handheld and barked orders to stop a motorcycle in flight.

“What kind of motorcycle?” somebody asked.

“Stone?”

“Medium-sized,” Stone said. “No other description.” He called for Fred on his cell phone.

Half an hour later, Stone, Dino, and Herbie were having lunch at P.J. Clarke’s.

“We’re exactly where we were an hour ago,” Dino said, “and Larkin is in the wind again.”

“He’s probably stolen another motorcycle or car by now,” Stone replied.

“He could be in New Jersey,” Dino said.

“Did you alert New Jersey?”

“I alerted the world,” Dino said.

“Why did he want the papers?” Herbie asked.

“Because he wants the eight hundred grand and change,” Dino offered.

“From who?” Herbie asked. “I’m sure as hell not going to give it to him.”

“Gunderson, the banker,” Stone said. “In Ames, Iowa.” He dug out his phone and found a recent call from the banker.

“Jah, this is Gunderson,” the man said.

“Mr. Gunderson, this is Stone Barrington in New York.”

“Jah? And what can I do for you?”

“Hang on to Frances’s money,” Stone said.

“Too late,” Gunderson said. “The feller faxed me the paperwork, and I sent it to him.”

“You mean you wired him the funds?”

“Jah.”

“To what bank?”

“Some investment corporation in Delaware.” He read off the name and account number. “That do you, then?”

“That’ll do me. Oh, and there’s no charge.”

“I didn’t think there would be,” Gunderson replied. “You said gratis.”

“That’s right, I did.” Stone hung up. “The money went to a Delaware investment firm,” he said.

“Then call the bank and put a stop on it,” Dino said.

“That won’t happen.”

“So now Larkin is in the wind with eight hundred grand.”

“And change,” Stone replied.

“And what are our chances of laying hands on Larkin?” Dino asked.

“Slim and slimmer,” Stone said. “If he’s already left the country. I expect he’s moved the funds to an offshore bank somewhere in the world.”

“I’m going to need better geography than that,” Dino said.

“It took both of you to fuck this up this good,” Herbie observed.

“You’re the one who let him get away,” Stone pointed out.

“I make it a point to let armed men get away,” Herbie said.

“The point is, if I’m that guy and I have eight hundred grand, where would I go?”

“I’m waiting for the answer,” Stone said.

“The answer is, anywhere I like,” Herbie replied.

“Not by public transport,” Dino said. “He needs a private plane, a charter.”

“He can afford one,” Herbie said.

“So can Stone,” Dino said.

“I think our best guess is Georgetown, in the Cayman Islands. Loose banks, reachable from New York without refueling, in the right airplane.”

“I say, let’s go there,” Dino said.

“It may be our best guess,” Stone replied, “but it’s still one hell of a long shot.”

“Have you got anything better to do?” Dino asked.

“Not really.”

“Can I go, too?” Herbie asked. “I cleared my afternoon.”

“Why not,” Stone said. “Let’s take Dino’s car to Teterboro. It has a siren.”

Once aboard, Stone got out his cell phone and began issuing orders to pilots and refuelers. It took them forty minutes to reach Teterboro, and when they did the G-500 had an engine running. They boarded, and the other engine started up.

Herbie took a seat and had a look around. “How much?” he asked.

“Don’t ask,” Stone replied. “You’d have to win the lottery all over again.” Herbie had already won it once.

Dino sat down with him and buckled his seat belt. “Okay,” he said, “what does this guy look like?”

“You saw him,” Stone said.

“His back was to me. I saw a fedora, some eyeglasses, and a kind of hawk nose.”

“You can’t keep a fedora on while fleeing on a motorcycle,” Stone said, “and he looked skinnier to me than last time.”

“It’s all that running,” Dino said.

Four hours later, they set down at Georgetown.