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“I’m afraid not, Herbie. Good day.”
“Good day,” Herbie repeated. “I like that-‘Good day.’ ”
“Good day,” Stone said again. “It means you’re leaving.”
“Oh, okay,” Herbie said, as if the thought had just occurred to him.
Stone stood up and offered his hand. “Good day. I’ll see you when you have a legal problem to discuss.”
Herbie shook his hand. “Good day, Stone.”
“Good day and good-bye,” Stone said. He pointed at the door. “That’s the way out.”
“Won’t I run into your client if I go out that way? That would be a breach of confidentiality, wouldn’t it?”
“I’ll just have to risk it,” Stone said. “Joan!” he shouted. “Show Mr. Fisher out!”
Joan emerged from her office. “This way, Mr. Fisher,” she said, and Herbie followed her to the door like a puppy.
Stone picked up the phone and dialed Bob Cantor.
“Cantor.”
“Bob,” he said, “do you have some special technique for getting rid of your nephew?”
“I just tell him to get the fuck out,” Cantor replied.
“I don’t know why I didn’t think of that,” Stone said. “Herbie was wearing a very nice suit.”
“Yeah, he’s dressing better since he got rich.”
“He said his suit was made by a tailor named Sam Leung at Lexington and Sixty-fourth. You might show Mr. Leung the photo of Stanley Whitestone.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll call Willie. He and Peter are canvassing tailor shops right now.”
“Any luck with the Seagram Building security tapes?”
“I got somebody running them down right now.”
“Let me know if you come up with anything.”
“Well, yeah, Stone. What else did you expect?”
“Bob, was Herbi
e dropped on his head as a baby?”
“I’ve often wondered that myself,” Cantor replied. “See ya.”
Stone hung up. Then Joan came in again.
“I’ve got news,” she said.
“What news?’
“Dolce is hanging out across the street again. You want me to shoot her?”
Stone thought for a moment. “No, but call Eduardo Bianchi’s secretary and find out if he’ll see me for lunch tomorrow.”
