Stuart Woods: Son of Stone

“Thank you, Dad,” Peter said.

“He never called Vance that,” Arrington said.

“He asked me to call him Vance,” Peter said.

“Yes, he did,” she admitted. “I wondered why he did that.”

“Because he knew something I didn’t,” Peter said.

The captain came with menus, and the subject was put aside while they ordered. Then, when the menus had been taken away, Peter said, “Next subject: my new school.”

“Oh?” Arrington said. “What about it?”

“I want it to be Knickerbocker Hall.”

“That has a familiar ring,” she said. “Where is it?”

“Right here, in New York,” Peter said. “On the Upper East Side.”

“A boarding school on the Upper East Side?”

“It’s not a boarding school,” Peter pointed out.

Stone intervened. “Peter now has a home in New York,” he said.

Arrington was looking back and forth between them, her brow furrowed.

“It has a performing arts program, including a film school. I want to do college-level work there and then go to Yale Drama School.”

“Was this your idea?” she asked Stone.

“Only the part about his living with me while he’s in school. The rest is entirely his; I didn’t know about Knickerbocker.”

“Let me think about it,” Arrington said.

“And I want to be eighteen,” Peter said.

“You will be, in two years,” his mother pointed out.

“I mean, when I go to Knickerbocker, I want them to think I’m eighteen. I don’t want to be the only sixteen-year-old among a bunch of eighteen-year-olds.”

Arrington looked at Stone questioningly.

“I think he can pull it off,” Stone said. “Look at him; listen to him. I don’t know any eighteen-year-olds that grown up.”

“But I would miss sixteen and seventeen,” Arrington said, plaintively.

“I wouldn’t miss them,” Peter said.

They put all this aside and dined well. When they had finished their entrees and ordered dessert, Arrington sighed deeply. “All right, I agree,” she said.

“Agree to which things?” Peter asked.

“All of them. You’re Peter Barrington, you’re eighteen, and you can go to Knickerbocker what’s-its-name.”

“Hall,” Peter said.

“And to Yale, too. That’s assuming you can get into these places.”

“I can,” Peter said.

“He never lacked confidence,” she said to Stone.

“Sometimes confidence is justified,” Stone said.

They had a birthday cake for dessert. It had eighteen candles.

S tone woke the following morning with someone fondling his crotch. “Is that you?” he asked.

“It had.” better be,” Arrington replied. “And it seems to be working.”

“I can vouch for that,” he said.

She climbed onto him and took him inside her.

“You’re all wet,” he said.

“Normally, I would take that statement amiss, but on this occasion, you’re perfectly correct.” She moved gently up and down. “I liked the way things went last evening,” she said.

“So did I, and I like the way things are going now.”

She laughed, and the contraction was instantly transmitted to Stone. “Keep laughing,” he said. “It feels good.”

And she did.

Joan came into Stone’s office. “I booked Arrington and Peter at Radio City Music Hall for the matinee,” she said.

“Why not me?”

“You have to work for a living these days, and your first client of the day is outside, waiting.”

“Anybody I know?”

There was a rap at the door, and Herbert Fisher stuck his head in. “Good morning. Got time for me?”

“Always,” Stone said, without the usual irony.

Herbie came in and sat down. “You wanted me to sign the documents?”

Stone handed him the stack, with the signature pages flagged, and a blue-ink pen. “You’ll note that Stephanie has already signed them.”

Herbie looked at her signature. “Don’t tell me she’s in New York.”

“Color fax,” Stone said. “Her attorney accepted service.”

“What are the chances we’ll get the feds to let go of the three million?”

“I told you before: two chances, slim and none.”

“I like slim better,” Herbie said, shoving back the signed documents.

He buzzed Joan. “Documents ready for delivery to the court and to Seth Keener.” She came and got them.

“How long before I’m a free man?” Herbie asked.

“You’re a free man now,” Stone said. “The rest is red tape. A couple of months of that, probably.”

“I’ve met a nice girl.”

“Slow down, Herbie; you always move too fast. Employ a little skepticism this time, and you’ll save on legal fees later.”

“I’ve been going to law school at NYU,” Herbie said.

“No kidding?” Stone said, playing straight man. “How come?”

“I was not entirely satisfied with the quality of my Internet legal education,” Herbie said.

“I see.”

“I’m going to pass the bar again, too.”

“Congratulations in advance.”

“Then I thought I might take you as a partner,” Herbie said confidently, leaning back in his chair. “I’ll front the money for expanding the practice.”

“I’m deeply flattered, Herbie, but you may not have heard that, for a year now, I’ve been a partner at Woodman amp; Weld.”

“I saw the announcement in the Times,” Herbie said.

“You’re reading something besides the Post these days?”

“The Wall Street Journal, too.”

“Well, you’re a man of means; that’s appropriate reading.”

“I managed to increase my net worth this year, too,” Herbie said. “A first.”

Stone laughed. “I believe you. How did you do that in the middle of a recession?”

“I bought a small office building on Lexington Avenue, and I did okay in the market, too.”

“Wow. Who closed on the real estate for you?”

Herbie handed him an envelope. “You. Here’s the sales contract.”

Stone opened the envelope and looked at the document. “That sounds like a very good price. Do you have tenants?”

“I bought it fully rented.”

“Are you going to be the new Donald?”

“Hardly, but it’s a good investment.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“I saw the two thugs again,” Herbie said.

“The ones responsible for your dip in the harbor?”

“The very ones. They were across the street from my building when I came downstairs this morning. Stone, can you get me a carry permit for a handgun?”

“Herbie, that’s the hardest document to get that the city issues. I could get you a building permit at Ground Zero more easily.”

“What are the requirements for a carry license?”

“Essentially, you have to prove that you regularly carry large amounts of cash, like a payroll, or quantities of diamonds or other jewelry on a regular basis.”

“How about having my life threatened? Does that count?”

“I’m afraid the NYPD-the issuing authority-places more value on property than life.”

“I thought the Supreme Court decision on the D.C. case changed everything.”

“Everything but the NYPD and the mayor. It could happen, eventually, but they’ll have to be dragged kicking and screaming into the new era. If you want something to do, you could get a couple of your classmates together and sue the city.”

“Not a bad idea,” Herbie said. “And in the meantime I have to fend off hired killers with my bare hands?”

Stone raised a finger and picked up the phone. “Get me Seth Keener,” he said to Joan.

“Keener,” the voice said.

“Seth, it’s Stone Barrington. My client Herbert Fisher is in my office to sign the divorce papers, but he insists on one further condition.”