“Stone, you gotta help me,” Herbie panted. “They’re trying to kill me.”
Stone sighed. “Okay, Herbie, who’s trying to kill you?”
“My bookie, I think. Last night when I came home there were two guys in a black Lincoln waiting for me. I had to run like hell for nearly a mile before I lost them in an alley.”
“Where did you spend the night?”
“At my girlfriend’s.”
“You have a girlfriend, Herbie?”
“Sure, doesn’t everybody?”
“Then what were you doing with those two hookers at Elaine’s?”
“Oh, that was a celebration.”
That did not compute. “Are you at your girlfriend’s now, Herbie?”
“No, I’m in a candy store. She made me leave when she left for work.”
“She’s afraid to leave you in her apartment?”
“Well, we had this little problem once, with some money.”
“You stole money from her?”
“I borrowed it, but she noticed before I could pay her back.”
“I’m surprised she let you in the door last night.”
“Well, she won’t tonight, and I need someplace to hide from those guys.”
“Try one of your hookers.”
“Stone, can I stay at your house? You’ve got a lot of room.”
Stone thought fast. If he merely said no, Herbie would be on his doorstep in half an hour. “My house is the first place they’d look for you, Herbie; you wouldn’t be safe.”
“Oh, yeah, I guess you’re right. So where can I go?”
“Call your Uncle Bob.”
“Well, there’s kind of a problem there, too.”
“It seems there’s a problem with everybody who knows you, Herbie. Think of somebody who doesn’t know you well, and go there.”
“There isn’t anybody like that, Stone. You’ve gotta help me; I’m homeless!”
“That’s it, Herbie! Go to a homeless shelter! And don’t call me again.” Stone hung up.
Joan came into his office and laid a newspaper on his desk. “You’d better take a look at Page Six,” she said.
Stone picked up the Post. “Is this the thing you got in the paper?”
“Nope.” She tapped a finger on a boxed part of the page.
TWO LAWYERS IN BROUHAHA AT FOUR SEASONS