Son of Stone (Stone Barrington 21)

Hattie reflexively stepped between Peter and the shotgun.

“Get out of the way, young lady,” Rutledge said, “or I’ll kill you, too.”

“No, you won’t,” Joan said from the hallway, and before Rutledge could turn and look at her there was the roar of a gunshot, and he lurched forward and fell on Stone’s desk, splashing blood and gore over the desktop.

Stone reached over the desk and plucked the shotgun from his hands, then unhooked the strap and racked it until it was empty.

Joan walked into the room, still pointing her. 45 semiautomatic ahead of her, ready to fire again, but Rutledge slid slowly to the floor, taking Stone’s business papers with him.

“What the hell is going on here?” a man’s voice said.

Stone looked up to see Herbie Fisher standing in the doorway. Allison was standing next to him.

Stone stepped over Rutledge’s body and took the. 45 from Joan. “Sweetheart,” he said, “would you call Dino and ask him to send some people and an ambulance over here? And would you tell him to order them not to clog up the whole block with their vehicles? It would upset the neighbors.” He took a couple of deep breaths and worked on getting his heart rate down.

Joan picked up her phone from the floor, where Rutledge had set it, and walked quickly back to her office.

Peter spoke up. “I guess we won’t need the security guys tomorrow,” he said.

64

Stone sat in his office with Herbie and Joan. The police and the body had departed, and the special cleaning crew had done its work with the bloodstains. Peter and Hattie were upstairs in his room. Stone pressed a large scotch on Joan, then poured one for Herbie and a bourbon for himself.

“You look okay,” Stone said to Joan.

“Strangely enough, I am okay,” she said. “I’m glad I didn’t have too long to think about whether I should do it.”

“You saved all our lives,” Stone said, “and in appreciation, I’m going to make a very large contribution to your pension fund. I’m counting on you never to retire, though, because then I’d have to shoot myself.”

Herbie laughed aloud and took another sip of his scotch. “Maybe this isn’t the best time,” Herbie said, “but I came here to apply for a job as an associate.”

Stone smiled. “I think you must have passed the bar.”

“Top of the list,” Herbie said. “I didn’t tell you, but my law degree was with honors.”

“That’s better than mine,” Stone said. “As for the job, we’re jam up full here, what with Allison helping, but I’ll recommend you to Bill Eggers at Woodman amp; Weld, without reservation. Anyway, you need to work in a bigger firm, not just in my office.”

Herbie beamed. “Thank you, Stone.”

“Joan, take a letter to Eggers as soon as Herbie leaves. I don’t want to embarrass him with praise.”

“You mind if I ask who the guy was that Joan offed?” Herbie asked.

Joan choked on her scotch a little.

Stone explained.

“Well, I’m glad he’s off the streets,” Herbie said.

“So am I,” Stone said.

When Herbie had left, Stone dictated a fulsome letter of recommendation to Bill Eggers, then signed it. “Messenger it over, and write Herbie a check for the unused portion of his retainer. What is it, half a million?”

“Give or take,” Joan said. “I take it you’ve changed your mind about your inheritance.”

“I have,” Stone said, “and being out of debt to Herbie is a good cause.”

Two weeks later, Stone took Peter up Park Avenue to Janklow amp; Nesbit and introduced him to Mort Janklow and his principal associate, Anne Sibbald. Kind words were spoken about Peter’s film, and he blushed. Then Leo Goldman arrived with Peter’s contract. A little signing ceremony took place, and Leo handed a check for $20,000,000 to Mort.