"The forecast for this morning was six degrees Fahrenheit," Stone said.
"Yeah, I guess it's about that," Billy Bob agreed.
"You call that a real nice morning?"
"Well, the sun's shining bright," Billy Bob said. "That's good enough for me."
"Did you come to New York without an overcoat?" Stone asked.
"I never really needed one," Billy Bob said. "I spent a week in Nome, Alaska, on an oil deal once, in the middle of the winter, and I got by all right without one. What'd you do with my gun?"
"I locked it in my safe," Stone said. "You can have it back when you're on your way out of town."
"You folks sure are fussy about what a man carries," Billy Bob said.
"It's not us folks; it's the NYPD."
"You're my lawyer; get me a license for the thing."
"You have no idea what you're asking," Stone said. "The process is so long and drawn out that most people stop when they see the forms. And in the end, you only get it if you can prove you carry diamonds or large amounts of cash."
"How large is a large amount of cash?"
"I don't know, fifty grand, maybe."
"Well, shoot, I'm carrying that right now. I mean, it's in my briefcase. That's pocket money where I come from."
"In New York it's an invitation to get hit over the head. You think that had anything to do with your getting shot at last night?"
"You know, I've been thinking on that, and you know what? Them bullets was fired at your side of the car."
Stone stopped eating. "They were not fired at me."
"Well, we just don't know that, do we? You made any enemies lately?"
"I'm a lawyer," Stone said. "People don't shoot at lawyers."
"Why, shucks," Billy Bob said, "in Texas, every lawyer I know is packin'. Don't you ever pack?"
"Sometimes, when it's called for."
"Well, there you go."
"They weren't shooting at me. Nobody has ever shot at me, except when I was a cop."
"Maybe there's bad people you put in the pokey; maybe they're all pissed off about it."
There had, in fact, been such a case in Stone's past, but only one, and he was not about to admit it to Billy Bob Barnstormer. "Nope."
"Well, how 'bout that feller with the German name that got after you and Dino that time?" Billy Bob asked.
"How'd you hear about that?" Stone asked.
"I got my sources. You think I'd hire you without checking you out?"
"You haven't hired me, Billy Bob, and it's my considered opinion that there's no reason why you should."
"I don't see how you figure that," Billy Bob replied. "I needed a lawyer last night."
"Not really; all you needed was somebody to disarm you. I just made the investigation go a little faster."
"Funny, I thought it was when I mentioned Mike Bloomberg that things got to going faster."
"Right, you see? You don't need a lawyer."
"Well, I think I'm going to be the judge of that," Billy Bob said, taking an envelope from a pocket and laying it on the table.
"What's that?"
"Your retainer," Billy Bob said.
"My retainer for what?"
"For representing me as my lawyer. It's a check for fifty grand."
Stone gulped and washed down some eggs with some orange juice. "What are you involved in, Billy Bob?"
"Why, I don't know what you mean."
"I mean, you got shot at last night, and you seem real anxious to have a lawyer."
"Just in case."
"Just in case of what?"
"You know what I mean."
"No, I don't know what you mean."
"Everybody ought to have a lawyer. I have a lawyer ever' place I do business."
"And how many lawyers is that?"
"A whole mess of 'em."
"At fifty grand a pop?"
"Well, I pay less in the boondocks, but when you're in a place like New York, you got to go first class."
"I appreciate that, Billy Bob, but if I'm going to be your lawyer, you're going to have to level with me."
"Stone, I promise you, the second there's something to level with you about, I'll level with you."
Stone eyed the envelope with the check. He had been prepared to instruct his secretary to sell some stock this morning, since he was cash poor.
"Well, all right, I'll represent you, but you've got to keep me up-to-date on what you're doing, if I'm going to be effective."
"Why, sure I will," Billy Bob said soothingly.
Stone didn't feel soothed. He felt stuffed like a pig, having just eaten the biggest breakfast of his life. All he needed now was an apple in his mouth. He read the Times and tried to forget his stomach.
The phone rang, and Stone picked up the kitchen extension. "Hello?"
"Good morning," a man said. "May I speak with Billy Bob Barnstormer, please? This is Warren Buffett calling." Stone was stunned into silence for a moment.
"Hello?" Buffett said.
"Sorry, just a moment." Stone held out the phone to Billy Bob. "It's for you."
Billy Bob took the phone. "Hello? Hey, Warren, how you doin'? Just fine thanks. We ready to go? Shoot, I been ready for a month. You want some money? How much? Thirty? That gonna be enough to give us a decent cash reserve? You sure you don't need more? Well, it's there if you need it. I'll get it to you this morning. Nah, I got your account number from last time. Great, you take care now." Billy Bob hung up. "Mind if I make a long-distance call on your phone? I'll pay, of course."
"As long as it's not to Hong Kong, be my guest."
Billy Bob dialed a number. "Hey, Ralph. You up yet? Okay, when you get to the office wire Warren Buffett thirty million dollars. Yeah, same account as last time and the time before that. You know the drill. Okay, talk to you later." Billy Bob hung up. "Well, we're off!"
Stone stared at him, wondering. Well, he'd seen Buffett on television lately, and it had sounded like him.
5
STONE WORKED in his office most of the day, clearing his desk of papers that had piled up over the past couple of weeks. It went like that, usually-he neglected things, then got them done in a rush. He had his secretary, Joan Robertson, deposit Billy Bob's check, and she looked relieved to have the money in the bank.
Late in the afternoon he went upstairs and looked for Billy Bob, but he had, apparently, checked out of the Stone Hotel. For a moment, Stone was confused by the pile of alligator luggage still in the guest bedroom. Then he found a note: "Thanks for the sack, Stone. Keep the luggage as a house present. I got some more. Billy Bob B."
Stone gazed at the cases in disbelief, pushing at them with a toe as if they might bite. They felt empty. He'd leave them there and argue with Billy Bob about it later.
He had a big event, starting at six o'clock-Woodman amp; Weld's annual firm party at the Four Seasons restaurant. He got out a fresh tuxedo, shirt, shoes, jewelry and a bow tie, then shaved and got into a shower. He had just finished and turned off the water when he heard a noise from the direction of his bedroom and the murmur of voices.
He grabbed a terry-cloth robe and walked toward the sounds. Two men in suits were having a look around his bedroom. "Who the hell are you?" Stone demanded.
The two men turned and looked at him, unsurprised. "FBI," one of them said, and they both flashed IDs.
"What are you doing in my bedroom?"
"Your secretary let us in and told us to wait."
"She didn't tell you to wait in my bedroom."
"She wasn't specific."
"What do you want?"
"The United States Attorney wants to see you."
"Well, tell him to call and make an appointment."
"Wants to speak with you now."
Stone checked the bedside clock. "At this hour of the day?"
"Get dressed," the man said.
What the hell could the U.S. Attorney want with him? Stone wondered. He went back into the bathroom, dried and combed his hair, then went back into the bedroom. The two FBI agents were still standing there, looking bored. He went into his dressing room and got his clothes on.