Lucid Intervals (Stone Barrington 18)

The three men filed out, and Joan appeared at the door. “Herbie Fisher is here to see you,” she said, then raised a hand to stop his response. “He knows you’re here, because he just saw his uncle Bob come out of your office, and he’s paid for your time in advance.”

Stone sighed. “All right, send him in, but interrupt me after five minutes. Make up a meeting or something.” He sat down and awaited his fate.

6

Herbie Fisher walked into Stone’s office wearing a surprisingly good suit. “Hey, Stone,” he said. “Thanks for taking my case.” ingly good suit. “Hey, Stone,” he said. “Thanks for taking

“What case?” Stone asked.

“My case,” Herbie said plaintively. “I told you last night.”

“You told me somebody was trying to kill you.”

“Right,” Herbie said. “That’s my case.”

“Herbie,” Stone said with as much patience as he could muster. “You are an attorney, are you not?” Herbie had gotten some sort of degree from an Internet diploma mill and had actually passed the bar exam-or, more likely, had paid someone to take it for him.

“Yeah, sure,” Herbie said, “I’m a bona fide lawyer.”

“Well, you’re a member of the bar,” Stone said. He had seen evidence of the fact in a list of those passing the exam in a legal newspaper. “And as such, you should know that people trying to kill you is not a legal case.”

“Sure, it is,” Herbie replied, with the confidence of a newly minted pseudo-attorney.

“How is it a case?” Stone asked. “Are you suing somebody? Is somebody suing you?”

“Not yet,” Herbie said, failing to choose an option. “But I’ll sue, if I can find out who’s trying to kill me.”

“Well, Herbie, you let me know when you find out, and I’ll sue them for you.”

“Great!” Herbie said, as if his prayers had been answered.

“Anything else?” Stone asked, looking at his watch.

“That’s a nice watch,” Herbie said. “What kind is it?”

“It’s a Cartier,” Stone said.

Herbie produced a small notebook and took a pen from his pocket. “How do you spell that?”

“T-H-A-T.”

“No, that Cardeay name.”

Stone spelled it for him.

“Where did you buy it?”

“From Cartier,” Stone replied. “They have a big store on Fifth Avenue and Fifty-seventh Street.”

Herbie wrote that down, too.

“Is that an English suit you’re wearing?” Stone asked.

“Yeah, do you like it?” Herbie replied.

“It’s very becoming. Who made it for you?”

“An English tailor.”