Lucid Intervals (Stone Barrington 18)

“Yes.”

Felicity continued.

32

Stone had his bill typed up and handed it to Felicity on her way out. “You’ll expedite it?” he asked.

“I said I would.”

“Paid in days, not weeks?”

“Probably.”

“What?”

“I can do only so much. As it is, I’ll have to phone the foreign minister personally. I may not be available for dinner tonight.”

“You know where to find me.”

“Thank God I like the food at Elaine’s,” she said, and headed for the ambassador’s Rolls.

Stone walked back to his office to find Joan waiting for him.

“Here,” she said, placing a pile of papers on his desk, “these are the closing documents for Herbie’s new penthouse.”

“When is the closing?”

She looked at her watch. “In eight minutes.”

“Does Herbie know?”

“He’s waiting outside, clutching a cashier’s check for three million one hundred fifty thousand dollars. He wanted to bring cash, but I wouldn’t let him.”

“Why did he want to bring cash?”

“He had some idea that the IRS would find out about the apartment.”

“Why would they care?”

“I tried to explain that they wouldn’t be interested, but he wouldn’t believe me.”

“Send him in.”

Herbie appeared at the door in another new suit, and his hair had grown out enough to make him look like a normal person. “Hey, Stone,” he said.

“Come in, Herbie, and sit down.” Herbie sat down. “What’s all this about the IRS?”

“I just don’t want them to know that I own an expensive apartment.”

“Why not?”

“What if they try to take it away from me?”

“Why would they do that?”

“To make me pay my taxes.”

“Herbie, when the lottery people gave you the check, they paid both the state and federal taxes on that income in full.”