Free Standup Guy by Stuart Woods Page B

to pay the money back.”
    “Was your mother Matilda Stone?”
    “Yes.”
    “I recognized these pictures,” Hank said, indicating the ones on the wall of the study. “I saw them in an exhibition of American painting at the Met some years ago.”
    “I loaned them.”
    “How many of her works do you have?”
    “She left me four. Over the years I’ve managed to acquire another dozen.”
    “I’d love to see them all.”
    “They’re scattered around the house,” Stone said, “most of them in my bedroom.”
    Dino laughed. “Here we go,” he said.
    Everybody laughed.
    “It’s late,” Hank said, “and I have work due in the morning. Another time?”
    “Another time,” Stone said.
    “We’ll send her home in my car,” Dino said.

19
    John Fratelli sat in a deck chair on a terrace of the Breakers, the monumental, turn-of-the-twentieth-century hotel built by Henry Flagler, the partner of John D. Rockefeller in Standard Oil.
    Fratelli was an honored guest in a small suite overlooking the Atlantic, and he had spent his time in Palm Beach well. He had obtained a birth certificate by visiting a Palm Beach cemetery and checking the birth and death dates. His name was now John Latimer Coulter. He had Googled the name and found nothing, so he had applied for and received a Florida driver’s license in that name and, through a visa expediter, a United States passport, both with the address of One South County Road, the address of the Breakers. He was also considering buying the suite that he occupied. It would put a dent in his capital, but he thought it a good investment.
    An elderly man sat down next to him and snagged a passing waiter. “A piña colada,” he said, then he turned to Fratelli. “Can I buy you a drink, my friend?”
    “Thank you, I’ll have the same.”
    The waiter trotted off to the bar, and the elderly gentleman extended a hand. “I am Winston Carnagy,” he said.
    “Like Andrew?”
    “With an ‘a’ instead of an ‘e’ and a ‘y’ instead of an ‘ie.’ No relation.”
    “I’m Jack Coulter.”
    “What brings you to Palm Beach, Jack?”
    “What brings anybody to Palm Beach?” Fratelli asked with a shrug.
    The man laughed heartily. “You’re quite right. Where are you from?”
    “I was actually born in Palm Beach,” Fratelli said, “but for many years my home was in upstate New York. I’m considering buying an apartment here in the hotel.”
    “I have already done so,” Carnagy replied. “It’s a wise move, if you can afford it.”
    “You live here during the season?”
    “The year ’round,” Carnagy replied. “I’m a retired investment banker, but I still trade a little to keep myself entertained.”
    The two chatted for a while, then repaired to the outdoor restaurant for lunch, where Carnagy’s wife joined them. Tall and elegant, perfectly coiffed and dressed in fashionable beachwear, Elizabeth Carnagy enchanted Fratelli. She revealed that they had two daughters and three grandchildren and pointed them out on the beach below. It occurred to Fratelli that these were the first civilians he had met since leaving Sing Sing.
    Soon, Fratelli began to feel that the Carnagys were old friends. Elizabeth finished her salad and went to join her daughters and grandchildren on the beach.
    “What business are you in?” Winston Carnagy asked.
    “I’m a retired entrepreneur,” Fratelli replied. “Tell me, Winston, have you any experience of offshore banking?” Fratelli, having always had an imitative ear, had already begun to adopt Carnagy’s manner of speech and some of his accent.
    Carnagy looked around furtively, as if there might be an Internal Revenue agent behind a potted palm. “I do,” he said. “Are you contemplating such an arrangement?”
    “I am, but I know nothing about it.”
    “Have you greenback dollar bills to lodge somewhere?”
    “Possibly.”
    “Here’s how you do it,” Carnagy said. “You look in the yellow pages under ‘aviation’ and