Stone looked at him askance. “Reputation?”
“Yeah, my reputation.”
“Herbie, I don’t think your bookie is going to worry about your reputation, as long as you pay your losses. Who else would give your reputation a thought?”
“You know, people.”
“What people?”
“People who know the Gunns, who know Stephanie.”
“Herbie, you don’t work for Gunn, and neither does your wife, yet.”
“Well, you know: lie down with dogs, get up with fleas.”
“You’re worried about getting fleas?”
“Yeah, on my reputation, as it were.”
“As it were? Where did you pick up that little phrase, Herbie? Have you been hanging out at the New Yorker?”
“The New Yorker?”
“Maybe in the cartoon department?”
“I don’t get it, Stone.”
“Neither do I, Herbie. Any more news from David Gunn?”
“Stephanie talked to him at breakfast time. He called.”
“Where did he call from?”
“He wouldn’t tell her. She told him he’d better get his ass back here to help out with this.”
“And how did he reply to that request?”
“He said he’d think about it. She’s really pissed off at him.”
“I’m not surprised. Have you had any dealings with David?”
Herbie shrugged. “Not much. I did recommend him to my bookie.”
“Swell,” Stone said. “The bookie who wanted to murder you?”
“We got past that,” Herbie said.
“Is David big into the ponies?” Stone asked.
“More like sports betting.”
This was not good, Stone thought. “Does he lose a lot?”
“He says he wins; says he’s got a system.”
“A system? That means he loses. Does his being in the islands have anything to do with your mutual bookie?”
“Come to think of it, I did get a call from him asking about David, but of course I couldn’t tell him anything because I didn’t know anything.”