Hit List

54

Dino picked him up on schedule, and they were driving up Third Avenue when Stone suddenly yelled, “Stop!!!” The driver slammed on the brakes and the big SUV skidded to a halt.

“What the hell!” Dino shouted.

“Look at that!” Stone said, pointing at a brightly lit showroom.

“At a store window?”

“At what’s in the window.”

“A motorbike?”

“It’s not a motorbike. It’s a 1951 Norton. I’ve wanted one all my life.”

“But you know nothing about motorcycles,” Dino pointed out.

“The hell I don’t!” Stone snorted. “Before I met you I rode one to work every day, but it was only a Honda 180.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Dino said.

“Wait here, I’ll be right back.”

Stone went to the shop’s door, but it was locked. A lone woman was seated at a desk across the room. He tapped his signet ring on the glass, and she drew a finger across her throat. Closed, she mouthed.

Stone dug out his police badge and held it so she could see it. She got up, approached the door, and peered at the badge.

“Police!” Stone said helpfully.

She unlocked the door, but the chain was still on. “What do you want?” she asked.

“I want that motorcycle,” Stone said, “if the price is right.”

“The price is not right — not for a cop’s wallet, anyway.”

“Let’s have a look at it up close.”

“You’re sure you’re a cop?”

“See that man in the back seat of the SUV with the light on top?”

“Yes.”

“Ask that man. He’s the police commissioner of New York City.”

She waved at Dino and beckoned him over. He got out of the car and approached. “I’ve got a crazy person here who says you’re the police commissioner,” she said. “Anything to that?”

“Well,” Dino said. “He’s crazy, but he’s not lying.”

“Lemme see some ID.”

Dino pulled back his coat to reveal his badge and his piece.

“Oh, all right,” she said, unlocking the chain, “but believe me, you can’t afford it.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Stone said, stepping into the showroom and approaching the bike reverently. He reached out to stroke the metal.

“Ahh!” she said. “No touching.”

“I can buy it only if it’s real,” Stone said.

“Okay, one finger.”

Stone stroked the gas tank with one finger. “How much?”

“I told you, you can’t afford it.”

Stone whipped out his cell phone and did a search on Norton prices. “Says here seventeen thousand five hundred dollars.”

“In your dreams,” she said.

“All right tell me your dream.”

“My boss’s dream is twenty-five grand.”

“Call your boss and tell him you’ve got an offer for twenty grand, cash, right now.”

Doubtfully, she got out her phone and pressed a number. “Harvey, I’ve got a cash offer for twenty grand for the Norton in the window.” She listened for a moment, then covered the phone. “Harvey says twenty-five grand, cash, and it’s yours. I warn you, don’t lowball him, or he’ll hang up.”

“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.

“See you tomorrow, Harvey,” Stone called after them. “Let’s go,” he said to Dino, “I’m hungry.”

“We’ll need another chair at our table,” Dino said, “since you’ve invited Sig.”