Carnal Curiosity by Stuart Woods Read Free Book Online

the track, and then he saw something inviting. In a clearing a few yards away a man was hitting baseball grounders to half a dozen kids with baseball gloves. There was a bag on the ground holding three or four bats, and a pile of balls at his feet. “Good morning,” he said to the man.
    “Good morning,” the man replied.
    Stone, jogging in place, dug into his pocket and came up with a $100 bill. “I’ll give you a hundred bucks for one of your bats. Your worst one.”
    The man stopped hitting balls. “What do you want it for?”
    “There are two large men waiting for me at Eighty-sixth Street, and I think I might need it. They seem to be up to no good.”
    “Take your pick,” the man said. “No charge.”
    Stone selected a badly scarred softball bat and dropped the C-note into the bag. “Buy some new balls on me.”
    “No problem,” the man shouted. “Smack one of them for me!”
    Stone went on his way, bat in hand. As Eighty-sixth Street hove into view, he saw the two men standing in the middle of the track, waiting for him. He pulled up five yards short of them. “Okay, fellas,” he said, swinging the bat back and forth, “who’s first? Or do you want to try it together?”
    The man to his right came at him with a rush; Stone sidestepped and caught him smartly on the back of a knee. The man yelled and went down onto the cinder track like a bag ofpotatoes. Stone didn’t hesitate going after the other one, but the man pulled a Glock from his waistband, pointed it, and started backing away.
    “Go ahead,” Stone said, “take a shot at me, and let’s find out how long it will take the cops to get here. I’ve already called them.” He hadn’t even brought his cell phone.
    The man started toward him, the gun out ahead.
    Stone swung and caught the gun and part of a hand. The weapon spun away into the grass, while the man held on to his injured hand and swore.
    “Now,” Stone said, “you want to get out of here before the cops come, or shall I try a few head swings?”
    “Awright, awright,” the man said, making to look for his pistol.
    “Forget the gun, or I’ll scatter your brains.”
    The other man struggled to his feet and made for the van, limping badly. “Come on, Skip!” he yelled. “Let’s get outta here!” The two made it back to the van and drove quickly away.
    Stone turned to look for the gun and found the hitter behind him, his bat in one hand, a cell phone in the other. “You want me to call the cops?” he asked.
    “I guess not,” Stone said, looking through the grass for the gun and finding it. “They’re gone.”
    “Were they muggers?”
    “Maybe,” Stone said, popping the magazine from the gun and racking the slide to eject one in the chamber. “I didn’t ask them.” He drew back and threw the gun as far as he could into the reservoir, then followed it with the magazine. “I don’t think they’ll be back, though.” He handed his bat over. “Please return that to your collection, and thanks for your help.”
    He ran on before the man could respond. On Eighty-sixth Street, there was no sign of the van, nor was there when Stone popped out of the park at Central Park South.
    He ran over to Madison, which was one-way uptown, then down to his street before turning left and heading for home.
    There was no sign of the van on his block as he let himself into the house.
    He wasn’t sure what he had accomplished by dealing with the two men, but at least Don Dugan would know that he wasn’t going to sit still for a beating.
    He went upstairs and got into a hot shower. He supposed that he should start packing a weapon, until this was over.

12
    C rane turned up on time and rang his bell.
    Stone picked up the phone. “I’m downstairs, in the kitchen.” He buzzed her in.
    “On my way!” she yelled back, and he heard the door close.
    She came into the kitchen wearing a short black sleeveless dress and gave him a big kiss. “Smells good,” she said. “What is