Unnatural acts sb-23 Read online

  “No, in between I started my own consultancy. That’s how Mike found me-we were competitors. It was smart of him to buy me out.”

  “When do you start getting your first students?”

  “Next week, as soon as construction is complete on the barracks and the indoor ranges.”

  “Can I be in your first class?”

  “What sort of shape are you in?” Josh asked.

  “Pretty good. I work out five days a week at the gym in my building.”

  “How far can you run without passing out?”

  “I have no idea,” Herbie said. “I’m a city boy-we don’t do a lot of running, except in Central Park.”

  “We’ll see how you do.”

  Herbie was beginning to regret volunteering for Josh’s first class. “Running until I pass out would be an unnatural act for me.”

  “We’ll see,” Josh said.

  “Josh, forgive my asking, but what is the point of your boot camp approach? Are your students, in their professional lives, going to be required to run two miles without fainting?”

  “Probably not,” Josh admitted.

  “Do you think you might be requiring all this exertion because you can do it yourself?”

  “Maybe.”

  “My advice is to treat them like professionals, not Marine recruits. You’ll use their time better, and they’ll leave better equipped to do their work.”

  “That makes a lot of sense,” Josh said.

  “Good. Now let me make myself clear. I’m not running anywhere for any distance while I’m at your facility. I’m there to learn, not faint.”

  “Okay, Herb, okay,” Josh said. “You won’t have to run.”

  “Thanks.” Herbie felt that he had drawn a line in his relationship with this guy and that, in the future, he’d get more respect.

  “Now,” Herbie said, “let’s go through the list of what I need to set up for you.” He began checking off items, and he got Josh’s full attention.

  19

  Bobby Bentley met his father for dinner at his club, the Brook, on East Fifty-fourth Street in Manhattan, a monthly occurrence. They sat down in the library for drinks. Bobby was his father’s only son, a surprise product of his second marriage to a much younger woman, with the result that Robert Eaton Bentley II (Bobby was III) was old enough to be his son’s grandfather.

  “Well, my boy,” II said. “How are things at the venerable firm of Woodman and Weld?” This was an ironic question, since II regarded the firm as a bunch of wild-eyed, liberal arrivistes, mainly because its birth did not predate his own. Still they represented him in some things. “You’ve been there, what, all of a week?”

  “Ten days, Dad,” Bobby replied. “And I’ve had a wonderful break.”

  “I would be interested to know what you regard as ‘a break,’” his father said.

  “Instead of being assigned to work for a partner, I’ve been assigned to the firm’s newest senior associate, a young man named Herbert Fisher.”

  “If you had let me know, I could have made a call and put that right,” his father said.

  “Although he’s thirtyish, Herb Fisher graduated from law school two years ago, and he’s the first associate ever to make senior associate in less than three years.”

  “He sounds green as grass,” II said. “Why would any client hire him?”

  “He was promoted three days ago, and he’s already brought in two important clients.”

  “What do you mean by ‘important’?”

  “A hot software start-up, backed by Marshall Brennan, and a new subsidiary of Strategic Services.”

  II blinked. “Marshall Brennan and Mike Freeman, of Strategic Services, are both members of this club.”

  “That’s what I meant by important,” Bobby said. His father did not impress easily, and he was enjoying the moment. “I think this software firm is something you should keep an eye on,” he said. “They’ll eventually have an IPO, and it could be a big one.”

  II withdrew an alligator-clad jotter from his pocket and uncapped his fountain pen. “Herbert Fisher, you say?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And the name of the software company?”

  “High Cotton Ideas.”

  II displayed a small smile. “I like the name.”

  “The great thing about working for Herb,” Bobby said, “is that instead of learning to be an associate, I’ll be learning to be an attorney, and Herb has a broad idea of what that means.” He told him about the experience of watching his boss get High Cotton organized.

  II regarded his son with an expression of wonder. “I rather thought that you’d be laboring in the law library and logging sixty billable hours a week for five or six years.”

  “As I said earlier, I got a break.”

  “I would like to meet Herbert Fisher,” II said. “Can you arrange that?”

  Bobby glanced at his watch. “I rather thought you would like to meet him. He’ll be joining us for a drink about…” Bobby looked up to see a retainer showing Herb Fisher into the room. “Now.”

  II swiveled his head to take in the door. “My goodness,” he said, rising to greet his unexpected guest.

  Bobby made the introduction, and they sat down again.

  The retainer hovered.

  “Knob Creek on ice,” Herbie said to the man, “if you please.”

  “That’s what I’m drinking,” II said to Herbie.

  “It’s the patriotic thing to do,” Herbie replied, echoing what Stone had once said to him. “A fine American whiskey.”

  “My son has been telling me of your exploits at Woodman and Weld,” II said.

  “‘Exploits’ is a colorful word to describe such a short career,” Herbie said.

  “There’s nothing wrong with a young man’s being in a hurry, Mr. Fisher,” II said, “as long as he doesn’t take too many shortcuts along the way.”

  Herbie smiled. “Choosing one’s shortcuts carefully is always a good idea. I wouldn’t like to get caught off base.”

  “That’s a good way of putting it,” Bentley said. “I know it’s short notice, but do you think you could join Bobby and me for dinner here?”

  “Thank you, sir, I’d like that.”

  Bobby excused himself and went to the men’s room.

  “Your son is a very bright young man,” Herbie said. “He doesn’t have to be told twice what to do. I think he’s going to do very well.”

  “It pleases me to hear you say that, Mr. Fisher. I worried when he decided to go into the law. I suppose I had some hopes of his joining the family firm.”

  “What is the family firm?” Herbie asked.

  “The Bentley Company. We manufacture precision machine parts for the oil, aircraft, and aerospace industries.”

  “Of course,” Herbie said. “I think I read something in Fortune a few months ago about the company.”

  “I’m the third generation,” II said.

  “Perhaps Bobby will be the fourth yet,” Herbie said, “but I think he needs to prove himself in an unconnected field first.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “No, I surmised it.”

  “Well, Mr. Fisher, you’ve given me new hope.”

  Bobby returned.

  “Shall we go in to dinner?” II asked, rising. The two younger men followed him to the dining room, where they were given a corner table.

  Herbie noticed that Mr. Bentley took the gunfighter’s seat, facing the room. They received menus and ordered, and Bentley chose an expensive French claret for them.

  “Tell me, Mr. Fisher,” II said, “what would you do if a client of yours found themselves faced with an unjust and potentially dangerous lawsuit? Do you have any experience with commercial litigation?”

  “We’re a large enough firm to have people experienced in every area of the law,” Herbie said. “I think of myself as a generalist. If my client were faced with such a problem I would assemble an expert team from the firm’s partners and act as
liaison between them and my client.”

  “That’s a very sensible way to proceed for someone in your position,” II said.

  Their dinner arrived, and II led the discussion from one subject to another for an hour. When coffee arrived, he said, “You know, I had hoped that when Bobby had acquired some experience at his firm, I might ask him to represent the firm in some area or other. I had thought that some years might pass before I had the opportunity to do that, but since he’s obviously found a good place to be in the firm, maybe I can make it happen more quickly.”

  “I would be happy to help in any way I can,” Herbie said, “and I’m sure Bobby would, too. We can put the best of Woodman and Weld at your disposal.”

  “I’m very glad to hear that,” II said, then ordered them a fine brandy.

  20

  Stone was having a sandwich at his desk when the phone rang. Joan had gone to the bank, so he answered.

  “Hi, Stone,” a silken and very familiar voice said. “It’s Tiffany.”

  Tiffany Baldwin was the United States attorney for the Southern District of New York, and something of an old flame of Stone’s. He did not wish to hear from her, but he didn’t want to alienate her, either, given her position. “Hi, Tiff,” he said, as pleasantly as he could manage.

  “Something came across my desk involving a client of yours,” she said.

  “Oh? Which client?”

  “One Herbert Fisher. Seems Mr. Fisher got the funds in a brokerage account as part of a divorce settlement.”

  “Oh, yes, I remember,” Stone said. “I believe I wrote to you about it some months ago.”

  “Some months ago releasing the funds would have been out of the question, given the criminal history of the former Mrs. Fisher, but things may have changed. Now, discussing the matter is not out of the question.”

  “I would be very pleased to discuss that at your convenience,” Stone said.

  “I would find it convenient to have dinner at Daniel tonight, then have a drink at your place.”

  Stone hoped she didn’t hear him grit his teeth. “Of course, Tiff. May we meet at Daniel at eight?”

  “We may,” she said. “See you there.”

  Stone hung up and called Daniel immediately. The place was, arguably, the most expensive restaurant in New York and was packed every night, but he managed to get to the maitre d’ and finagle a table, which would cost him. He hung up, relieved, and wondered what the hell had suddenly moved Tiffany to call him about this now, months after she had ignored his written request.

  Stone arrived on time and ordered a drink in the bar. Tiffany, who was reliably late by nature, joined him twenty minutes later, and he had a second drink with her. The bourbon in his veins led him to appreciate her appearance more than he might have when sober. She was a tall woman, slim, with long blond hair and a particularly fetching shape, including impressive breasts, which were on display this evening, barely contained by a tight black dress with a precipitous decolletage.

  “How is the fighting of crime going?” Stone asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep his gaze at eye level.

  Tiffany leaned in on her elbows, which allowed her breasts to pretty much roam free. “Tough, but we’re winning.” They sat at a small table, which allowed her to run a fingernail up his inner thigh.

  “That’s encouraging to hear,” Stone replied, crossing his legs in self-defense. This was a voracious woman, and he knew he was not going to make it through the evening without feeding her pleasure.

  The maitre d’ materialized and led them toward the main dining room, pausing long enough to palm the C-note that Stone dangled in his fingers for the man to snag.

  “I’m impressed that you could get this table on short notice,” Tiffany said, arranging herself so that she could cast an eye over the room for familiar faces.

  “So am I,” Stone said.

  Menus arrived, and they ordered dinner.

  “May we have champagne?” Tiffany sort of requested.

  “Of course,” Stone said, opening the wine list and running an eye over the right-hand column, the one with the prices. He chose one that was only $250.

  The next hour and a half were spent in hyper-expensive gorging, and then they stumbled out into the street and lucked into a quick cab. It took less than ten minutes to drive to Stone’s house, go upstairs, strip, and dive into the sack.

  “I trust there are no cameras present this time,” she said from her perch atop him. She alluded to an occasion when, without Stone’s knowledge, a bad person had wired his bedroom for both video and audio, then sent a copy of a tryst between himself and Tiffany to Page Six at the New York Post. Fortunately, the angle of the camera’s view had made it impossible to entirely identify either of them, though some accurate guessing took place.

  “We are entirely alone,” Stone said, lying back and letting her do the work. He waited until she had come three times and exhausted herself before rolling her off him and sitting up on one elbow. “Now to business,” he whispered in her ear.

  “I released the account this afternoon,” she said. “Your client is now three and a half million dollars richer. Oh, and you can thank your friend Mike Freeman, who called the attorney general on your client’s behalf.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me that at dinner?” he asked.

  “Because if your wish had been granted too early, you might have been less interested in the latter part of the evening,” she said. “And I’m staying the night.”

  “I hope you won’t mind if I get some sleep,” Stone said, rolling over and pulling up the covers.

  “Not at all,” Tiffany said. “I’ll let you know when you’re needed.”

  And she did.

  The following morning, suffering from soreness, Stone called Herbie Fisher.

  “Herbert Fisher’s office,” a female voice said.

  “Good morning. It’s Stone Barrington.”

  “Mr. Barrington, this is the receptionist. Mr. Fisher and his secretary are in a real estate closing at the moment. I’ll tell him you called.”

  “Thank you.” Stone hung up, wondering what real estate sale Herbie was closing.

  An hour later, Herbie called. “Sorry about not taking your call, Stone.”

  “Not at all, Herbie. What were you closing?”

  “A new client of mine, High Cotton Ideas, bought an old building in SoHo for its headquarters.”

  “Oh, this is Marshall Brennan’s software start-up?”

  “One and the same. I’ve already got a construction crew in the building, making it habitable for a shiny new corporation.”

  “Then you’re a full-service attorney.”

  “You betcha.”

  “I have good news, Herbie.”

  “By the way, it’s Herb, remember?”

  “Of course, negligent of me.”

  “What’s the good news?”

  “Mike Freeman called his friend, the attorney general, on your behalf and yesterday the U.S. attorney released your ex’s brokerage account. You may now do what you will with the money.”

  “That’s great news, Stone. After what I’ve seen and heard downtown, I’m going to put it all into High Cotton Ideas. My client is so happy with my services that he has offered me an investment opportunity.”

  “I won’t ask you for details, to avoid having to explain myself to the SEC after the IPO takes place.”

  “You give yourself good legal advice, Stone.”

  “I do, thank you. And you owe me a very good dinner for what I had to do last night on your behalf.”

  “I think I know exactly what that means,” Herbie said, “and I take the position that your lack of virtue was its own reward.”

  Stone hung up, laughing.

  21

  Herbie oversaw the signing of the last of the closing documents, then invited Mark Hayes back to his office for a cup of coffee.

  “How does it feel to own commercial real estate?” Herbie asked.

  “It feels
just great,” Mark said, “and I want to thank you for suggesting that I buy the building personally and lease it back to the company.”

  “And I want to thank you for your invitation to invest with you,” Herbie said.

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Mark said. He took a notebook from his pocket and did some scribbling, then ripped out the page and handed it to Herbie. “That’s the number of my shares you’ll get for investments of one, two, or three million dollars.”

  Herbie took a quick look at the numbers and made a quick decision. “I’ll do the three million. I’ll draw up the documents, move the money today, and have a cashier’s check for you tomorrow.”

  Mark nodded. “I’m impressed that someone your age can come up with that kind of cash on short notice.”

  Herbie smiled. “I’m impressed that someone your age can start a company that’s worth the investment.”

  “I suppose you’re wondering why I’m willing to sell you these shares,” Mark said.

  “I expect you can use the cash for the renovation of your new building. That way, you won’t need to mortgage it.”

  Mark nodded. “My new architect and builder tell me it’s going to cost a million dollars a floor to make the space habitable, and I’m going to reinforce the roof, so that I can build myself a penthouse up there.”

  “What a great idea! I live in a penthouse, and I can tell you, you’re going to love it.”

  There was a rap on the door and Bill Eggers stepped in.

  “Good morning, Bill,” Herbie said.

  “I understand our new client is here,” Eggers said, offering his hand to Mark.

  “Mark,” Herbie said, “this is our firm’s managing partner, Bill Eggers.”

  “Good to meet you.” Mark rose and took Eggers’s hand.

  “I’ve wanted to meet you since Marshall Brennan told me about your start-up,” Eggers said. “Are we meeting all your legal needs?”

  “More than meeting them,” Mark said. “Herb has given me a wealth of good advice in a very short time.”

  “That’s what we’re here for,” Eggers said.