“Thank… you,” the voice said.
Hickock hoped to God Bianchi was wearing his beeper. He sat back to wait for the call. A moment later, his pocket phone rang. “Yes?” he said.
“Dick, it’s Amanda. I’ve been doing some thinking and believe that before this business goes any further, you and I should sit down and talk about a new contract.”
“Amanda, we’ve just signed a contract,” he said, astonished. Then he began to see.
“Yes, but I think the circumstances call for something much more substantial, don’t you? After all, you and I have become something like partners, haven’t we?”
“Tomorrow,” he said, resignedly.
“Lunch? Twenty-One? Twelve-thirty?”
“I’ll be there.” He hung up. The phone rang again.
“Hello?”
“This is Mr. Crown. Do you wish to meet?”
“There isn’t time,” Hickock said. “Listen to me…”
“Stop, don’t talk. Same place as last time. One hour.”
“Yes,” Hickock said. The connection was broken.
Hickock struggled into his coat, headed for the door, then stopped and went back to his desk. He dialed a London number.
“Hello?” a familiar voice said.
“It’s Dick,” Hickock said. “Your son-in-law in L.A. has talked too much; he may have blown the lid off everything.”
There was much swearing at the other end of the line.
“Yes, I feel pretty much the same way. I may be able to head this off, but I thought you should know about Peebles. I’ll leave it to you how to handle him.”
“I know exactly how to handle him,” the man said.
Hickock hung up and ran for his meeting with Bianchi.
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?”