A copy of that day’s Wall Street Journal sat on the desk. He folded it and opened a desk drawer, looking for an envelope and finding it exactly where he had asked her to put it. She really is a good organizer, he thought. He stuffed the newspaper into the envelope, sealed it, and wrote in large letters on its outside “Mr. Smith” and an address. He glanced at his watch, then returned to the living room. “My dear,” he said, “there is one more matter to which I must ask you to attend, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, no, Herbie,” she said. “I don’t mind at all.”
“Ach!” he exclaimed, raising a forefinger.
“Oh, I’m so sorry—Howard.”
“That’s better; you must never forget. Now come, we’ll go downstairs, and I’ll explain on the way.” He led her out of the apartment and onto the elevator. “Take this envelope,” he said, handing it to her.
She accepted the envelope. “Mr. Smith,” she said.
“Yes, and the address in Long Island City is also there. I’ve arranged a car and driver for you, and I want you to deliver this envelope to this gentleman and get a receipt. That’s very important, the receipt.”
“What sort of receipt?” she asked.
“It should read, ‘received of Mrs. Menzies, one envelope of documents,’ and be signed with his full name, which is Franklin P. Smith.”
“I understand,” she said, as they reached the lobby.
“Would you like a cab, Mr. Menzies?” the doorman asked.
“No, thank you, Jeff, I believe a car is waiting…there he is!” He waved, and a black Lincoln Town Car, like thousands of others in the city, pulled up. The driver wore a bandage on his left ear. Menzies opened the door for his wife, and she got in. “The driver has the address,” Menzies said, “and he will escort you into the building when you arrive. I’ll see you in an hour or so, my dear.”
“Of course, my darling,” she replied, waving as the car pulled away.
Mitteldorfer, now Menzies, turned and walked back into the building. As the elevator rose, he sighed deeply. Now that that little detail was taken care of, he felt free. Now he could take care of a few other little details, then begin his new life. His first order of business was to inflict pain.
24
O N MONDAY MORNING, STONE BEGAN BY calling Bill Eggers at Woodman & Weld. “Good morning, Bill; could one of your associates close a real-estate transaction for me?”
“Sure, Stone; commercial or residential?”
“Residential. I’ve bought a house in Connecticut.”
“You? The quintessential city boy?”
“I like a little grass between my toes from time to time.”
“I smell a woman.”
“You have a very good nose.”
“I want to meet her.”
“You will, soon enough. I’ve agreed to close within two weeks.”
“You want me to get you a mortgage?”
“I’m paying cash.”
“There goes that big fee from the Allison Manning case last year.”
“Some of it.”
“I’ll assign Barry Mendel to close it for you. He’ll call you, and you can give him the seller’s lawyer’s name, and he can take it from there.”
“Thanks very much, Bill.”