Stuart Woods - Two-Dollar Bill (Stone Barrington Novels)

TWO-DOLLAR BILL

F I C T I O N

Heat

The Prince of Beverly Hills

Dead Eyes

Reckless Abandon+

L.A. Times

Capital Crimes

Santa Fe Rules

Dirty Work+

New York Dead+

Blood Orchid*

Palindrome

The Short Forever+

Grass Roots

Orchid Blues*

White Cargo

Cold Paradise+

Deep Lie

L.A. Dead+

Under the Lake

The Run

Run Before the Wind

Worst Fears Realized+

Chiefs

Orchid Beach*

Swimming to Catalina+

A Romantics Guide to the Country

Dead in the Water+

Inns of Britain and Ireland (1978)

Dirt+

Choke

Imperfect Strangers

Blue Water, Green Skipper

*A Holly Barker Book

+ A Stone Barrington Book

A Will Lee Book

TWO-DOLLAR BILL

G . P . P U T N A M S S O N S

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Two-Dollar Bill

Putnam Book / published by arrangement with the author All rights reserved.

Copyright 2005 by Putnam Book.

This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability. For information address:

The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is http://www.penguinputnam.com

ISBN: 0-3991-5251-2

PUTNAM BOOK

Putnam Books first published by Penguin Publishing Group, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. Penguin and the "P" design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Putnam Inc. Electronic edition: May 2005

This book is for Emma Sweeney.

E L AI N ES, L ATE. For some reason no one could remember, Thursday nights were always the busiest at Elaines. Stone Barrington reflected that it may have had something to do with the old custom of Thursday being Writers Night, an informal designation that began to repeat itself when a lot of the writers who were regular customers gathered on Thursdays at the big table, number four, to bitch about their publishers, their agents, the size of their printings and promotion budgets, their wives, ex-wives, children, ex-children, dogs and ex-dogs.

The custom had withered with the imposition of smoking rules, when Elaine figured that number four needed to be in the smoking section, and since the new, no-smoking-at-all law came into effect, Writers Night had never been revived. Anyway, Stone figured, every night was Writers Night at Elaines, and that was all right with him. On this particular night, every table in the main dining room was jammed, and the overflow of tourists and nonregulars had filled most of the tables in Deepest Siberia, which was the other dining room. The only times Stone had ever sat in that room were either when Elaine had sold the main dining room for a private party, or when he was in deep shit with Elaine, something he tried to avoid.

Tonight, however, Elaine was fixing him with that gaze that could remove varnish. He had been to a black tie dinner party and had stopped by for a drink afterward, just in time to secure his usual table, the last available. Now he was sitting there, sipping a brandy, and not eating dinner. Elaine strongly preferred it if, when one sat down at a table, especially on a night as busy as this, one ordered dinner. She didnt much care if you ate it or not, as long as it got onto the bill.

To make matters worse, Dino had wandered in, having also dined elsewhere, and had sat down and also ordered only a brandy. Suddenly, Elaine loomed over the table. You fucking rich guys,

she said.

Huh? Stone asked, as if he didnt know what she meant. She explained it to him. You go out and eat somewhere else in your fucking tuxedos, then you come in here and take up a table and nurse a drink.

Wait a minute, Dino said, Im not wearing a tuxedo.

And Im not nursing this drink, Stone said, downing the rest of his brandy and holding up his glass, signaling a waiter for another.

And you may recall, we were in here last night, eating with both hands.

A new night begins at sunset, Elaine said. Now get hungry or get to the bar. She wandered off and sat down at another table.

You feeling hungry? Stone asked.

Yeah, a little, Dino replied.

Stone handed the waiter his glass. Bring us an order of the fried calamari, he said, and get some silver and napkins on the table, so itll look like were ordering.

You think thatll work? Dino asked, looking sidelong at Elaine.

Maybe shell get distracted, Stone said. Bring us a bottle of the Frascati, too, instead of the brandy, he said to the waiter. And some bread.

TWO-DOLL AR B I LL

The bread is a good move, Dino said. You dont think she really meant that about going to the bar, do you?

The bar crowd and the restaurant crowd at Elaines were occupied by different tribes, each of whom acknowledged the presence of the other only when eyeing their women. Neither Stone nor Dino had ever had a drink at the bar.

Nah, Stone replied. Its just her sense of humor. He looked up and was elated to see Bill Eggers, the managing partner of Woodman

& Weld, the law firm to whom Stone was of counsel, coming in the front door. Stone waved him over and pumped his hand.

Sit down and order dinner, Stone said.

Eggers sat down. I already ate, he said.

Shhh, Elaine will hear you. Order something for Christs sake.

Stone shoved a menu at him.

Why?

You want to drink at the bar?

Eggers opened the menu. I guess I could eat some dessert.

Good.

Ive been out with a new client, Eggers said. Hell be here in a minute; he went to get his limo washed.

Huh?

He wants to make sure its hand washed, Eggers explained, and he doesnt trust his driver to do it right.

And you want this guy for a client?

Actually, you want this guy for a client, because he wants you for his lawyer.

You mean he asked for me?

Eggers nodded. Go figure.

A new client did not usually ask for Stone; he first came to Eggers with some embarrassing, awful problem: a private detective in the employ of his wife had photographed him in bed with a bad woman; his son had been accused of the date-rape of his headmasters daughter; 3

his wife, drunk, had driven his Mercedes through a liquor-store window. Like that. Eggers then hunted down Stone, whose lot it was to handle the sort of thing that Woodman & Weld did not want to be seen handling. In return for this service, the firm would occasionally hand him a nice personal-injury suit that could be settled quickly.

Whats his problem?

He doesnt have one, that I know of, Eggers said. Hes a rich Texan, which may be redundant; hes a good-looking guy who attracts women like blackflies on a May day in Maine; and hes unmarried.