Lucid Intervals (Stone Barrington 18)

“Sure, go ahead,” Herbie replied.

Dino held the plastic bag close to the purse and counted out ten of the bundles. He handed the bag to Stone. “There you go.”

“Just put it on the floor beside me,” Stone said, and Dino did so. Stone looked at Herbie for the first time. “All right, you’ve got my attention; I’ll listen for one minute.”

“They’re trying to kill me,” Herbie said.

“Who is trying to kill you?”

“People who want my money.”

“Are these people aware that you walk around with two million dollars of it in a woman’s handbag?”

Herbie shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Herbie, you’ve been flashing this money around, haven’t you?”

“Well, sort of.”

“The hooker must know about the money, since it’s in her handbag.”

“What hooker?”

“The one you walked in here with.”

“She’s not a hooker.”

“Herbie, she’s with you; she is, ipso facto, a hooker.”

“Part-time, maybe,” Herbie admitted.

“Who do hookers work for, Herbie?”

“Me?”

“Besides you?”

“Madams? Pimps?”

“And who do madams and pimps work for, Herbie?”

“They’re self-employed, aren’t they?”

“They work for or associate with bad people, Herbie. If a hooker knows you’ve got two million dollars in her handbag, then her madam and her pimp know it too, and if they’ve had a moment, they’ve already sold that information to someone who wants to take it from you.”

“Sheila wouldn’t do that,” Herbie said. “She loves me.”

At that moment, as if for punctuation at the end of Herbie’s sentence, a fist-sized hole appeared in the front window of Elaine’s, and a loud report rent the air. This was quickly followed by two more shots.

Everybody hit the floor.

Stone raised his head an inch. “Are you sure Sheila loves you, Herbie?”

2

Dino was up and running at the door, clawing at the gun on his belt. He disappeared into the street.

People began cautiously to pic