Little Italy?”
“Sure. You were famous for a day.”
“Herbie Fisher was that guy.”
“You’re right. We don’t want to know him, but since you mentioned it, how did you get him off?”
“I made a case to the DA for self-defense, which was helped by the fact that a NYPD/FBI task force had just disarmed everybody in the coffeehouse and had Dattila under electronic and visual surveillance.”
“I should have thought that would have clinched the case against your client.”
“Sure, but it would have made both the NYPD and the FBI look like asses.”
“You’re a lucky son of a bitch, you know that?”
“Sometimes.”
“You want to play tennis at the Racquet Club tomorrow, with Jim Hackett and me?”
“Sure, what time?”
“Six o’clock.”
“See you then.”
“I’ll leave your name at the door.” Eggers hung up, and so did Stone.
Joan buzzed him immediately. “Herbie Fisher called while you were on the phone and said he bought the apartment and he wants to close tomorrow.”
“Get him back for me, please.” Stone waited until she buzzed, then picked up. “Herbie?”
“Yeah, Stone. I got the apartment.”
“How much did you pay?”
“Three and a half million dollars, and I got it furnished. They wanted five and a half, but I’m a good negotiator. I want to close tomorrow.”
“It doesn’t work like that, Herbie. First we have to do a title search.”
“What’s that?”
“Have you forgotten all the questions on that bar exam you sort of took?”
“It sounds familiar.”
“It means we have to find out if the title to the apartment is good, if there are any encumbrances, like mortgages. If there are, the seller has to pay them off at the closing, so you get a clean deal. It’s going to take at least a week.”
“Can I move in now?”
“No, Herbie. You don’t own it yet.”
“But I gave them a check for ten percent.”
“You’ll have to give them the other ninety percent before you can move in.”
“Can I move in on closing day?”
“I’ll see that that’s in the contract,” Stone said. “Is anyone living there now?”
“No. They already moved out and took everything they wanted. The rest is mine.”
“Talk to your real estate agent; she’ll get the whole thing together and put me in touch with the seller’s attorney.”
“Are you sure I can’t move in today?”
“Herbie, they won’t even give you the keys until the closing.”
“I can pick a lock.”
“Don’t you do that, Herbie! You want to go back to jail for breaking and entering?”
“Can I have the living room painted? I don’t like the color.”
“Talk to your agent; maybe she can get permission.”
“Can I break a wall down?”
“Don’t even think about it, Herbie. You have to play by the rules!”
“Oh, okay,” Herbie replied, sounding dejected.
“Listen, you can go out and buy furniture and pictures and other things and have them delivered the day after closing. You might need sheets and towels, too.”
“Yeah, Sheila and I could do that.”
“I think I need to have a little chat with Sheila,” Stone said.
“What for? You trying to get laid?”
“No, Herbie. I just need to straighten her out on where her loyalties lie.”
“Her loyalties don’t lie.”
“Her loyalties to you, Herbie. Is she going to be loyal to you or to her pimp?”
“I want to marry her,” Herbie said.
“In that case, you’re going to need an ironclad prenup, and I can do that for you.”
“What’s a prenup?”
“A prenuptial agreement that sets out what’s yours and what’s hers, should you get divorced.”
“We’re not going to get divorced,” Herbie said.
“That’s what everybody who ever got married believed, until they got divorced. This is absolutely mandatory, Herbie, and I don’t want an argument about it. When is the wedding?”
“I don’t know; I haven’t asked her yet.”
“Herbie, if you get married without my having gotten her signature on a prenup, I will stop representing you, and she will take all your money.”
“She’s not like that.”
“That’s what everybody who ever got divorced said. Promise me you won’t set a date until I say it’s okay.”
“Okay, I promise.”
“Good-bye, Herbie. I’ll get your closing set up.” He hung up and buzzed Joan.
“Yes?”
“Print out a prenup for me, will you?”
“Sure. Which one?”
“The maximum-strength one.”
“Gotcha. You getting married?”
“No, but Herbie probably is.”
Stone heard a loud cackle as she hung up.
24
Stone got to Elaine’s first, and two couples he didn’t know were sitting at the table next to his. One of the men got up, walked around the table, tapped Stone on the shoulder and stuck out his hand. “Stone Barrington, I believe?”
Stone stood up and accepted the hand. “I believe, too,” he said.
“I’m Jim Hackett; I understand we’re playing tennis tomorrow evening.” Hackett was a little shorter than Stone, solidly built and had a broken nose that made him look like an ex-fighter.
“Hi, Jim,” Stone said. “I’ve heard about you from Bill Eggers, and I’m looking forward to our game.”
“So am I,” Hackett replied.
“I’m a little rusty, so I hope you’ll go easy on me.”
Hackett smiled. “Don’t count on it,” he said. “I hope Eggers told you we play for money.”
“He didn’t, so you can collect your winnings from him. I’m sure he’ll find a way to put my losses on his expense account.”
Hackett laughed. “See you tomorrow.” He went back to his seat.
Dino came in and sat down. “Where’s Felicity?”
“Working. Some sort of meeting.”
Dino waylaid a passing waiter. “Bring what’s-his-name here his usual Kentucky swill and me my usual princely Scotch,” Dino said. “And a wine list; Stone’s buying.”
“Here we go,” Stone said, rolling his eyes.
