She laughed, and the contraction was instantly transmitted to Stone. “Keep laughing,” he said. “It feels good.”
And she did.
Joan came into Stone’s office. “I booked Arrington and Peter at Radio City Music Hall for the matinee,” she said.
“Why not me?”
“You have to work for a living these days, and your first client of the day is outside, waiting.”
“Anybody I know?”
There was a rap at the door, and Herbert Fisher stuck his head in. “Good morning. Got time for me?”
“Always,” Stone said, without the usual irony.
Herbie came in and sat down. “You wanted me to sign the documents?”
Stone handed him the stack, with the signature pages flagged, and a blue-ink pen. “You’ll note that Stephanie has already signed them.”
Herbie looked at her signature. “Don’t tell me she’s in New York.”
“Color fax,” Stone said. “Her attorney accepted service.”
“What are the chances we’ll get the feds to let go of the three million?”
“I told you before: two chances, slim and none.”
“I like slim better,” Herbie said, shoving back the signed documents.
He buzzed Joan. “Documents ready for delivery to the court and to Seth Keener.” She came and got them.
“How long before I’m a free man?” Herbie asked.
“You’re a free man now,” Stone said. “The rest is red tape. A couple of months of that, probably.”
“I’ve met a nice girl.”
“Slow down, Herbie; you always move too fast. Employ a little skepticism this time, and you’ll save on legal fees later.”
“I’ve been going to law school at NYU,” Herbie said.
“No kidding?” Stone said, playing straight man. “How come?”
“I was not entirely satisfied with the quality of my Internet legal education,” Herbie said.
“I see.”
“I’m going to pass the bar again, too.”
“Congratulations in advance.”
“Then I thought I might take you as a partner,” Herbie said confidently, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll front the money for expanding the practice.”
“I’m deeply flattered, Herbie, but you may not have heard that, for a year now, I’ve been a partner at Woodman amp; Weld.”
“I saw the announcement in the Times,” Herbie said.
“You’re reading something besides the Post these days?”
“The Wall Street Journal, too.”
“Well, you’re a man of means; that’s appropriate reading.”
“I managed to increase my net worth this year, too,” Herbie said. “A first.”
Stone laughed. “I believe you. How did you do that in the middle of a recession?”
“I bought a small office building on Lexington Avenue, and I did okay in the market, too.”
“Wow. Who closed on the real estate for you?”
Herbie handed him an envelope. “You. Here’s the sales contract.”
Stone opened the envelope and looked at the document. “That sounds like a very good price. Do you have tenants?”
“I bought it fully rented.”
“Are you going to be the new Donald?”
“Hardly, but it’s a good investment.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“I saw the two thugs again,” Herbie said.
“The ones responsible for your dip in the harbor?”
“The very ones. They were across the street from my building when I came downstairs this morning. Stone, can you get me a carry permit for a handgun?”
“Herbie, that’s the hardest document to get that the city issues. I could get you a building permit at Ground Zero more easily.”
“What are the requirements for a carry license?”
“Essentially, you have to prove that you regularly carry large amounts of cash, like a payroll, or quantities of diamonds or other jewelry on a regular basis.”
“How about having my life threatened? Does that count?”
“I’m afraid the NYPD-the issuing authority-places more value on property than life.”
“I thought the Supreme Court decision on the D.C. case changed everything.”
“Everything but the NYPD and the mayor. It could happen, eventually, but they’ll have to be dragged kicking and screaming into the new era. If you want something to do, you could get a couple of your classmates together and sue the city.”
“Not a bad idea,” Herbie said. “And in the meantime I have to fend off hired killers with my bare hands?”
Stone raised a finger and picked up the phone. “Get me Seth Keener,” he said to Joan.
“Keener,” the voice said.
“Seth, it’s Stone Barrington. My client Herbert Fisher is in my office to sign the divorce papers, but he insists on one further condition.”
“I thought we had a deal,” Keener said.
“This is an easy one: Mr. Fisher insists that his soon-to-be-former wife stop trying to have him killed.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Mr. Fisher has already experienced an encounter on a yacht in New York Harbor that required him to choose between being knifed by two thugs or taking a swim in December. The thugs are still following him.”
“I have no knowledge of anything like that,” Keener said.
“That’s what I would say, too, in the circumstances. Would you be kind enough to mention the situation to Mrs. Fisher?”
“If you insist, but I still maintain she has nothing to do with thugs following Mr. Fisher.”
“Let me know what she says, will you?”
“Sure, I will.”
Stone hung up. “I’m afraid that’s all we can do to put an end to it. In the meantime, may I suggest that you carry a roll of quarters in each coat pocket?”
“You think I can buy them off with quarters, Stone?”
“No, but holding them will more than double the weight of your fists and greatly enhance the effects of a punch in the nose. And if the cops ask, you can say you carry the coins for the parking meters.”
Herbie got up and with a little wave departed Stone’s office. “For this I pay five hundred bucks an hour?” he called out from down the hallway.
11
S tone attended a partners’ meeting at Woodman amp; Weld in the afternoon, and afterward he asked for a few minutes with his old friend and law-school classmate Bill Eggers, the firm’s managing partner.
“What’s up, Stone? You look like a man with a problem.”
“Nothing life-threatening,” Stone replied, “just a little thorny. But I think that addressing some issues now will
