The Maybach glided to a halt next to where they were standing, and the chauffeur got out and opened the rear door.
“I think I found the right penthouse,” Herbie said. “It’s on Park Avenue, up in the nineties.”
Stone thought that was probably far enough from his house. “Sounds great, Herbie.”
“You want to come and take a look?”
“Can’t do it today; I had to leave an important meeting to uncan you.”
“I’m going to pick up Sheila and take one more look,” Herbie said.
“I’m sure Sheila will give you sage real estate advice,” Stone said, “but if I were you, I wouldn’t ask her opinion on decor.”
“Why not?”
“I think Sheila’s tastes might run more to the Bronx than to Park Avenue.”
“There you go again, misjudging people,” Herbie said. “Sheila is from Queens.”
“Of course she is,” Stone said.
“By the way, I’ve got a witness to an assault on me that was instigated by the Wilds,” Herbie said.
“Who’s the witness?”
“Sheila.”
“Herbie, Sheila probably works for someone close to the Wilds.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because she’s a hooker, and the Wilds are probably her pimp’s loan shark and bookie, respectively.”
“I hadn’t thought about that,” Herbie said.
“Go buy your apartment,” Stone said. “If you like, I’ll do the closing.”
“Closing?”
“That’s where you and the seller meet, he gives you documents transferring the apartment to you and you give him money. I should think that an Internet attorney like yourself would know that.”
“I knew that,” Herbie said. He got into the Maybach and was driven away.
Stone hailed a cab.
23
Joan was on the phone as Stone walked into his offices. “Bill Eggers for you on one,” she said.
Stone walked back to his office, sat down and picked up the phone. “Hey, Bill.”
“What do you mean walking out on us that way?” Eggers demanded.
“I had a client in the tank at the Nineteenth Precinct, and, anyway, I was of no use to you in a conversation about clubs and real estate. By the way, I noticed you and Wight don’t have the Royal Yacht Squadron in common.”
“Wight was blackballed,” Eggers said.
“I figured. How did the meeting go?”
“He’s selling a building he owns in town, and we’re doing the legal work.”
“Congratulations! I’m glad to have been able to make some rain for you.”
“I made my own rain, no thanks to you. You just pointed me at him.”
“I introduced you and rather warmly, I believe.”
“All right, all right, you introduced us. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I get a referral fee, don’t I?”
“Don’t press me, Stone; you’ll get something when the sale closes and Wight’s bill is paid.”
“Your word is good enough for me, Bill.”
“Which one of your clients was in jail?”
“One Herbert Fisher, who stupidly got into an altercation with a cop during a traffic stop.”
“You’re handling that kind of crap?”
“He paid me a very nice retainer to do all his legal work. He’s buying a penthouse apartment on Park Avenue as we speak.”
“Maybe you should introduce him to us,” Eggers said.
“Believe me, Bill, you don’t want to know him, and I don’t want anybody to know that I know him.”
“Oh, that kind of client.”
“You remember when I represented that guy who shot Carmine Dattila, aka Dattila the Hun, in a coffeehouse in Little Italy?”
“Sure. You were famous for a day.”
“Herbie Fisher was that guy.”
“You’re right. We don’t want to know him, but since you mentioned it, how did you get him off?”
“I made a case to the DA for self-defense, which was helped by the fact that a NYPD/FBI task force had just disarmed everybody in the coffeehouse and had Dattila under electronic and visual surveillance.”
“I should have thought that would have clinched the case against your client.”
“Sure, but it would have made both the NYPD and the FBI look like asses.”
“You’re a lucky son of a bitch, you know that?”
“Sometimes.”
“You want to play tennis at the Racquet Club tomorrow, with Jim Hackett and me?”
“Sure, what time?”
“Six o’clock.”
“See you then.”
“I’ll leave your name at the door.” Eggers hung up, and so did Stone.
Joan buzzed him immediately. “Herbie Fisher called while you were on the phone and said he bought the apartment and he wants to close tomorrow.”
“Get him back for me, please.” Stone waited until she buzzed, then picked up. “Herbie?”
“Yeah, Stone. I got the apartment.”
“How much did you pay?”
“Three and a half million dollars, and I got it furnished. They wanted five and a half, but I’m a good negotiator. I want to close tomorrow.”
“It doesn’t work like that, Herbie. First we have to do a title search.”
“What’s that?”
“Have you forgotten all the questions on that bar exam you sort of took?”
“It sounds familiar.”
“It means we have to find out if the title to the apartment is good, if there are any encumbrances, like mortgages. If there are, the seller has to pay them off at the closing, so you get a clean deal. It’s going to take at least a week.”
“Can I move in now?”
“No, Herbie. You don’t own it yet.”
“But I gave them a check for ten percent.”
“You’ll have to give them the other ninety percent before you can move in.”
“Can I move in on closing day?”
“I’ll see that that’s in the contract,” Stone said. “Is anyone living there now?”
“No. They already moved out and took everything they wanted. The rest is mine.”
“Talk to your real estate agent; she’ll get the whole thing together and put me in touch with the seller’s attorney.”
“Are you sure I can’t move in today?”
“Herbie, they won’t even give you the keys until the closing.”
“I can pick a lock.”
“Don’t you do that, Herbie! You want to go back to jail for breaking and entering?”
“Can I have the living room painted? I don’t like the color.”
“Talk to your agent; maybe she can get permission.”
“Can I break a wall down?”
“Don’t even think about it, Herbie. You have to play by the rules!”
“Oh, okay,” Herbie replied, sounding dejected.
“Listen, you can go out and buy furniture and pictures and other things and have them delivered the day after closing. You might need sheets and towels, too.”
“Yeah, Sheila and I could do that.”
“I think I need to have a little chat with Sheila,” Stone said.
“What for? You trying to get laid?”
“No, Herbie. I just need to straighten her out on where her loyalties lie.”
“Her loyalties don’t lie.”
“Her loyalties to you, Herbie. Is she going to be loyal to you or to her pimp?”
“I want to marry her,” Herbie said.
“In that case, you’re going to need an ironclad prenup, and I can do that for you.”
“What’s a prenup?”
“A prenuptial agreement that sets out what’s yours and what’s hers, should you get divorced.”
“We’re not going to get divorced,” Herbie said.
“That’s what everybody who ever got married believed, until they got divorced. This is absolutely mandatory, Herbie, and I don’t want an argument about it. When is the wedding?”
“I don’t know; I haven’t asked her yet.”
“Herbie, if you get married without my having gotten her signature on a prenup, I will stop representing you, and she will take all your money.”
“She’s not like that.”
“That’s what everybody who ever got divorced said. Promise me you won’t set a date until I say it’s okay.”