Read Online Thai Horse by William Diehl - Free Book Online

elluva negotiator.’ It was Sloan’s oldest trick, working the mark’s vanity. It never failed.
    Stenhauser somewhat arrogantly wiggled his head back and forth a couple of times but did not comment. He’s hooked, Sloan thought.
    ‘I do a little writing,’ Sloan said. ‘I’d like to talk about some of your cases, the tough ones. 1kight be something in it for me.’
    ‘Uh, well, I, that’s very flattering but, uh, most of my work is highly confidential.’
    ‘I don’t mean real names. Just, you know, some inside stuff. The more you know, the m o re authentic the work is.’
    ‘I suppose so. Well, perhaps some other time. I have to leave in a few minutes.’
    ‘Look, why don’t we just talk on the way up to Seventy-fourth Street,’ Sloan said, smiling as he sipped his beer.
    Stenhauser stared at him with surprise for a fraction of a second. ‘How did you. . . I’m not going home,’ he said quickly. ‘I’ve got tickets for the theater.’
    ‘That’s a shame. Your dog’s gonna bust a kidney.’ Stenhauser leaned over close to Sloan, and said between clenched teeth, ‘What the hell are you up to, anyway?’
    ‘Hatcher.’
    ‘Hatcher?’
    Sloan nodded. ‘Hatcher.’
    ‘Is that supposed to mean something to me?’
    ‘Christian Hatcher, Mr. Stenhauser. I just want him, that’s all. An address, a phone number. I’ll vanish from your life like that.’ He snapped his fingers.
    ‘I think you oughta just’ — he snapped his fingers, too — ‘vanish like that anyway, whoever the hell you are.’
    ‘No matter what happens, the game’s over, Mr. Stenhauser. It’s not going to work any m ore — the art scam, I mean, and I know you know what I’m referring to. Now, I just want to talk to Hatcher, that’s all. No big hassle. Hell, we’re old friends. I once helped him out of a bad scrape.’
    ‘Is that a fact.’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Listen, I don’t know any Hatcher, but if I did know a
    Hatcher, I wouldn’t tell you so much as his middle name. I
    wouldn’t tell you his shoe size, I wouldn’t tell you his — I
    wouldn’t tell you a damn thing about him. I don’t like you. I
    don’t like your style, or your crazy talk Is that clear?’
    Sloan nodded earnestly. He wiggled a finger under Stenhauser’s nose.
    ‘You’re going to be obstinate, I can tell,’ he said as slowly, as patiently as always, still smiling. ‘And that’s too bad.’
    ‘Really?’
    ‘Really. Obstinacy will buy you about — oh, I don’t know
    — at least ten years. Plus they’ll take every dime you’ve got, which I’d say is plenty at this point.’
    ‘I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Mr. . . . Sloan, was it?’
    Sloan nodded. ‘Listen, why don’t we just walk up to Seventy-fourth Street together. Maybe I can clarify all this for you. Nobody will pay any attention to us, and you’ve got to go up there to let your dog whiz anyway, theater or no theater. And in case you need more convincing, we could even chat about Paris, Chicago— New York.’
    They sat there, trying to stare each other down. It was Stenhauser who lowered his eyes first.
    ‘What the hell,’ he said in almost a whisper. ‘If you promise not to mug me on the way, maybe it’ll get you off my case.’
    Outside, a brisk spring wind was blowing across town. They walked over to Madison Avenue and headed north. Stenhauser said nothing. He looked at the ground while he walked and his hands were jam m ed deep in his coat pockets.
    ‘You know, maybe I’ve been a little hard on you,’ Sloan said, his smile broadening. ‘Maybe Hatch changed his name. Maybe you know him by another name.’
    Stenhauser said nothing. He walked briskly, still staring a foot or two in front of each step.
    ‘He used the same technique in all three jobs. I know his style. Down through the ceiling on a wire, pressure sensitizers on the walls when he lifts the paintings. He never goes near the floor, no worries about electric eyes, floor feelers, that kind