“I didn’t authorize you to redecorate,” Eggers said.
“No, and you didn’t pay for it, either,” Herbie pointed out.
“In that case, I’ll have a seat.” He settled into an armchair and looked around. “I didn’t know you had taste this good, Herbert.”
“I don’t,” Herbie said, “but I have good taste in secretaries. She’s out in her cubicle right now setting up a real estate closing for Friday.”
“We have a department for that,” Eggers said.
“She’ll use their checklist, but she can do it faster and cheaper. You can bill High Cotton Ideas for your department.”
“You only got this piece of business yesterday, didn’t you?”
“That’s right, but it’s not a business yet, just a collection of ill-groomed computer geeks. I’m turning it into a business.”
“So I heard. And I hear you’ve got Strategic Services involved, and an architect, too. Are we going to make any money out of this?”
“I billed fifteen hours yesterday, and my associate as many. By the way-thanks. I like Bobby Bentley.”
“Good.” Eggers stood up.
“Oh, and I got a new piece of business this morning.” Herbie told him about his conversation with Mike Freeman.
Eggers listened, nodding, his face not betraying much. “Herbert,” he said, when Herbie had finished. “How much did this new stuff cost?”
Herbie picked up the bill and handed it to him.
Eggers folded the bill and tucked it into his coat pocket. “I’ll take care of this,” he said.
Herbie smiled. “Thank you, Bill. Oh, and I’d like to give my secretary a fifteen percent raise.”
Eggers nodded. “I’ll take care of it,” he said, then he turned and walked back down the hall.
“Cookie!” Herbie yelled. “Get in here!”
18
Herbie Fisher was sitting in his new office, letting the past two days wash over him, luxuriating in his new status, his new clients, and a new kind of self-regard that had always been out of his reach until this moment. His phone buzzed.
“Mr. Joshua Hook to see you,” Cookie said.
“Send him right in,” Herbie replied. He got to his feet as his new client entered his office. The man was six-two or — three, two-twenty, thick salt-and-pepper hair, tanned, and very fit-looking. He looked around Herbie’s office. “Holy shit!” he muttered, half to himself.
“Josh, I’m Herb Fisher. Please have a seat.”
The man gave Herbie a bone-crushing handshake, settled into a big chair, and set his briefcase and a cardboard tube on the coffee table. “This is the first lawyer’s office I’ve ever felt comfortable in,” Josh said.
“Would you like some coffee?”
“If it’s very strong,” he replied.
Herbie poured him a mug. “Try this.”
Josh sipped it. “A man after my own heart,” he said. “This stuff would eat its way through the stomach wall of an ordinary human being.”
Herbie thought the statement said as much about the man himself as about the coffee. “I’m glad you like it. And congratulations on your new job at Strategic Services.”
“I work at Strategic Defense,” Josh said. “Strategic Services just owns me.”