Shakeup

11

Stone’s phone was ringing as he walked into his bedroom. “Hello?”

“It’s Eggers.” Bill Eggers had been a law school classmate of Stone’s and was managing partner of Woodman & Weld, the prestigious law firm in which Stone was a senior partner.

“Hello, Bill. It’s a little late. Do you need bail money?”

“Har de har,” Eggers said. “I need a traveling companion who owns a Gulfstream 500.”

“Have you been reduced to hitchhiking?” Stone asked.

“No, but I need to fly to L.A. tomorrow morning for a couple of days. The firm’s airplane is in the shop, undergoing an inspection of some sort, and I need one of the firm’s attorneys to accompany me, so naturally I chose the one who has a Gulfstream.”

“Naturally. What time do you want wheels up?”

“Ten AM. I’m not an early riser. The firm will pay for the use of the aircraft and all expenses, of course.”

“You mean, one or more of the firm’s clients is paying?”

“Same thing. You in?”

“Why not. There’s room in my house for you.”

“Thanks, but I’ve taken a large suite. There’ll be meetings all day the day after tomorrow.”

“For which my attendance will be required?”

“Only one meeting for that. I’ll explain on the way.”

“Be aboard by nine-forty-five,” Stone said, then hung up. He called his pilot, Faith Barnacle. “You’ll need a copilot and a stewardess,” he explained, “and catering for two of us and the crew — lunch and an afternoon snack. Wheels up at ten AM. I’ll do the takeoff and landing.”

“Do I get to know where we’re going?” Faith asked.

“Sorry, L.A. You can call the Arrington and arrange your usual rooms. Also, request transportation for two. There’ll be a guest aboard. Get yourself a rental car for the crew.”

“How many days away?”

“At least a couple.”

“See you tomorrow.”

The following morning, Stone was driven by his factotum, Fred Flicker, to Teterboro Airport, across the river in New Jersey. He needed only a briefcase, since he had a wardrobe at the L.A. house, which was situated on the grounds of the Arrington, a hotel named for his late wife. When he boarded the Gulfstream, Bill Eggers was already there, sipping something that looked suspiciously like a gin and tonic.

“It’s club soda,” Eggers said, suspecting Stone’s suspicions and waving him to a seat. The stewardess closed and locked the main cabin door and greeted them. “Coffee, tea, or anything else?” she asked. The sound of engines starting followed her.

“Tea,” Stone replied, and she brought a little pot and a cup.

“Tea?” Eggers said. “Really?”

“I’ve already had a strong cup of coffee this morning, and I don’t require further caffeination,” Stone explained. He sweetened the tea and squeezed lemon into it. “Also, I’m doing the takeoff and landing, and the FAA frowns on, ah, club soda, before flying.” He drank his tea as they taxied, then went forward and took the left seat from Faith, while she displaced her copilot from the right seat.

She read out the checklist to him, and he followed it meticulously. “The clearance is already loaded into the FMS,” Faith said, referring to the computer called the flight management system. Stone was given a takeoff clearance by the tower as he approached the runway; he didn’t even have to slow down to make the turn. He moved the throttles forward to the takeoff position and used the tiller to get the aircraft on the center line, then switched to the rudder pedals, when they had enough ground speed for the rudder to be effective. He rotated, and the airplane climbed. Stone performed the departure procedures, then turned over the controls to Faith and her copilot and resumed his seat in the cabin.

“Okay,” he said to Eggers. “We’re flying. What’s up?”

“Do you remember a man named Edgar Wheelis?” Bill asked.

“Vaguely,” Stone said.

“I’m going to wrap up negotiations with him for a piece of property in L.A., and I want you at the meeting.”

“Why?” Stone asked.

“Because Edgar is afraid of you.”

“Of me? Why?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care to know,” Eggers said. “All I know is that, if you’re at the meeting, I’ll get everything I want from Edgar.”

“I don’t recall ever having been used as a threat,” Stone said. “I’m just a mind-mannered attorney-at-law, with a winning way about him.”

“Especially winning, where Edgar is concerned,” Bill replied. Then he opened his Wall Street Journal and began to read, ignoring Stone.

Stone took a novel from his briefcase and read until lunch was served. Later, as they neared the landing at Burbank, Stone went forward and took the controls, hand-flying the arrivals procedures and the ILS, the instrument landing system. He needed to keep his hand in and his logbook up to date.

A Bentley, one of the fleet from the Arrington, met them at Burbank and drove them to the hotel. Eggers was dropped at the main entrance, then Stone was driven to his house, at the rear of the hotel property. He had negotiated the land sale for his late wife, who had inherited it from her first husband, the film star Vance Calder, who had included the building of the house for her in the contract. When she was murdered by a former lover, Stone had inherited it, along with a chunk of her estate. The bulk of the estate went to a trust for their son, Peter.

Stone left his suit to be pressed by the butler, stripped, got into a terrycloth robe, and walked down to the house’s pool, which was surrounded by a high hedge. He could hear splashing from the pool, which was odd, because it was private. Probably somebody’s dog having a swim, he thought.

He entered through the gate and immediately saw a two-piece swimsuit lying on a chaise.

“Excuse me,” a woman’s voice said from the other end. “This is a private pool.”

“I’m aware of that,” Stone said pleasantly, “since it belongs to me.”

“Oh. Does that mean I’m the interloper here?”

“That’s too strong a term. Let’s just call you an unexpected guest. Do you mind if I join you?”

“All right, but I warn you, I’m naked.”

“That’s all right,” Stone said, “so am I.” He shucked off the robe and dived into the water.