Lucid Intervals (2010)

I’m not betting anymore.”
    “Then Moe has no motive for killing you.”
    Herbie thought about this. “That’s important, isn’t it?”
    “I think you’re getting the picture,” Stone said.
    “Then I can’t sue him?”
    “Not until you can prove that he has tried to kill you, and if you’re in a position to do that, it would be much faster to let the police take care of it.”
    “Why?”
    “Because, Herbie,” Stone said with all the patience he could muster, “lawsuits take months or years, but when the police have good evidence, they make an arrest immediately. That’s also cheaper than a lawsuit.”
    “But he could get bailed out, couldn’t he?”
    “Not if we can prove that he might try again to kill you.”
    Herbie nodded gravely. “That makes a lot of sense, Stone.”
    “Thank you, Herbie. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other work to do.”
    Herbie stood. “Yeah, okay, I understand. But . . .”
    “But what?” Stone asked and was immediately sorry that he had.
    “But what if he hires somebody else to kill me while he’s in jail?”
    “Herbie,” Stone said, “whether it’s a civil or a criminal matter, that’s a chance you’re going to have to take.”
    “Okay,” Herbie said, then left.
    Stone took deep breaths, trying to compose himself.

12
    J oan came to Stone’s office door. “How’d it go with Herbie?” she asked.
    “Joan,” Stone said, “I’m having a great deal of trouble impressing upon you my desire not to see or speak to Herbert Fisher.”
    “Oh, I completely understand,” she said.
    “Not completely; otherwise you would not have allowed him into my office only a few minutes ago.”
    “No, I understand completely,” Joan reassured him. “It’s just that we have certain ethical obligations to Herbie now.”
    “Ethical obligations?”
    “Yes. We’ve taken his money, so we owe him our time.”
    “And just how much of our time do you reckon we owe him?” Stone asked.
    “Well, your time, really. About a year: all day, every day, five days a week.”
    “So you think I should spend all of the next year with Herbie?”
    “It’s what he’s paid you for,” she said.
    “He didn’t pay me, he paid you,” Stone pointed out, “and you rashly put the money in the bank and paid all my bills. I’m innocent of this, really.”
    “You think it’s rash to put money in the bank, pay taxes and pay bills?”
    “Not usually,” Stone admitted. “Just when the money comes from Herbie.”
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t see the difference between Herbie’s money and that of other clients. I mean, he didn’t print it himself, did he?”
    “I’ve been assured it’s real,” Stone replied. “If it weren’t, the bank would have sent the Secret Service over here by now.”
    The office doorbell rang, and Joan looked over her shoulder. “I hope to God that’s not Dolce,” she said.
    “Can you see who it is?”
    “Yes. It’s two men in business suits.”
    “Is there a woman with them?”
    “No.”
    “Then please go and see who they are.” Stone rearranged the papers on his desk to appear busy. A moment later, Joan was back with the two men.
    “Mr. Barrington, two gentlemen from the Secret Service to see you,” she said, and hastily closed the door behind them.
    The two men flashed IDs, and Stone shook their hands and offered them seats. “What can I do for the Secret Service this morning, gentlemen?” Stone asked cheerfully, but his stomach didn’t feel just right.
    “Mr. Barrington,” one of them said, “did you make a large cash deposit at your bank recently?”
    “No,” Stone replied.
    “You did not deposit a million dollars in your bank account?”
    “Oh, that deposit. My secretary did that.”
    The man removed a plastic envelope containing a banknote and placed it on Stone’s desk. “Do you recognize this?” he asked.
    Stone leaned forward and examined the note. “I believe I do,” he replied. “It appears to be a fifty-dollar bill, United States currency.”
    “That’s what it appears to be, certainly, but it is not.”
    “Then what is it?” Stone asked innocently.
    “It’s an extremely good counterfeit note,” the man replied.
    “You could have fooled me,” Stone said.
    “Have you ever seen it before?”
    “I’ve seen many fifty-dollar bills,” Stone replied, “but I don’t recall ever having seen this one.”
    “What was the source of the cash your secretary deposited in your bank account?”