Pirate: A Thriller by Ted Bell

Author:Ted Bell [Bell, Ted]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Thriller, Suspense, Adventure
ISBN: 1416510796
Amazon: B000FCKBR0
Publisher: Atria Books
Published: 2005-08-16T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-three

New York City

AMBROSE CONGREVE ARRIVED AT 21 WEST FIFTY-SECOND Street in a sunny mood. Why not? He was dining at the “21” club, his favorite watering hole in all of New York. The leisurely stroll down Fifth Avenue in the warm twilight had been delightful. He had suitable accommodations, having been satisfactorily installed in a nice corner room at the Carlyle up on Seventy-sixth and Madison. Plenty of cozy chintz and overstuffed furniture. And there’d been a huge arrangement of hydrangeas waiting in his room when he’d checked in that afternoon.

The scented blue envelope from the Park Avenue florists, now safely tucked inside his waistcoat pocket, would have to wait. He knew who it was from and that was sufficient.

He was saving the card. He envisioned ordering an ice-cold martini and then reading her words while standing at the bar waiting for his dinner companion. He was deliberately early. He wanted time to savor Diana’s note laced with gin.

“Good evening, Mr. Congreve,” the debonair gentleman standing at the entrance to the dining room said. He offered his hand as Ambrose entered the familiar room, chockablock with model boats, aircraft, and sports memorabilia hung from the ceiling. “It’s good to have you back with us again.”

Congreve shook the man’s hand warmly. Bruce Snyder, as far as he was concerned, was the heart and soul of the legendary old speakeasy. A tall and good-looking chap with slicked-back hair and impeccable tailoring, Bruce managed to combine an elegant New York sophistication with an easygoing manner that was part and parcel of his Oklahoma upbringing.

Still, Snyder was the keeper of the flame in this very clubby atmosphere; the arbiter of social stratification within these hallowed walls. It was he who decided whether you were seated at one of the cherished banquettes in the front room or banished to Siberia behind the bar. But Ambrose knew that, unlike many in his position, Snyder was a good man who wore his mantle of power lightly and with genuine bonhomie.

“I’m meeting someone, Bruce,” Congreve said. “I’m a little early. And thirsty. I thought I might have something cold and clear at the bar first.”

“Good idea. I’ve saved the banquette table in the corner whenever you’re ready,” Snyder said. “Business or pleasure bring you to New York this trip, Chief Inspector?”

“Both. Two items are on my personal menu this evening, Bruce. Your delicious lobster and that tough old bird Mariucci. A sort of ‘Surf and Turf,’ I suppose one might say.”

“He’s not so tough.” Snyder laughed. “Matter of fact, he was in with his granddaughter just the other night. Her birthday.”

“Moochie didn’t shoot out the candles?”

Snyder laughed again and walked with him toward the bar. “We make him check his six-shooter at the door. Just give me a shout when you’re ready to sit down.”

Ambrose ordered a very dry Bombay Sapphire straight up and pulled the small pale blue envelope from his pocket. It was the same shade as the hydrangeas that Diana had sent to the Carlyle.

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