Black Dog

Twenty-Five

Stone’s front doorbell rang a little after seven. He checked the camera, then buzzed Bridget Tierney in. He received her and gave her a welcoming hug and a kiss.

“It’s raining out there,” she said, handing him her umbrella and raincoat. “I hope you’re flexible about our dining arrangements.”

“We’re doing it in my study instead,” he said, leading the way and seating her on the sofa before the fireplace, which was ablaze. “Drink?”

“What’s the house specialty?”

“A vodka gimlet.”

“I’ll take a chance.”

Stone went to the little freezer in the bar and poured two vodka gimlets into champagne glasses, then handed her one. “Cheers.”

She sipped, then put a hand to her breast. “Oh, that’s breathtaking!”

“I’m glad you think so.” He sat down beside her. “How was your day?”

“Interesting. I made my first court appearance for Woodside & Weems. Nothing big. I hope we don’t talk about work,” she said. “It gets boring fast.”

“Agreed, no work.”

“And your day?”

“I’ve promised not to talk about work,” Stone said, “and today was work.”

“What shall we talk about then?” she asked.

“You choose. I’ll cooperate.”

“All right, give me your sixty-seconds biography.”

“Okay,” Stone said, taking a deep breath. “Born, Greenwich Village, P.S. Six, NYU prelaw, followed by NYU Law, took a ride with a couple of cops on duty, liked it, applied for the police academy. Fourteen years on the street, ten as a detective. Took a bullet in the knee, invalided out of the NYPD. How much time do I have left?”

“Enough, go ahead.”

“Inherited this house from a great-aunt, got into debt renovating it. Then a friend at Woodman & Weld offered me a job, if I took the bar exam cram course. Then I passed the exam. Lived happily ever after, so far. Your turn.”

“Born in Delano, Georgia, a small town, public schools, University of Georgia, UGA law school. Came to New York and worked as a public defender because there wasn’t any other work. Got good at it. Then got an offer from Woodside & Weems a few weeks ago. I had whipped one of theirs in court, and they were impressed.”

“Great,” Stone said. “Now what shall we talk about?”

“I’m drawing a blank. I guess we’re going to have to talk about work.”

“Okay, what would you like to know?”

“What do you work on at Woodman & Weld?”

“I started with the cases the firm didn’t want to be seen to be handling — you know, client’s wife has a DUI, client’s son accused of date rape at college, like that. Eventually, I began to make some rain, and they took me seriously. Now I’m a senior partner, handling a number of big accounts.”

“Such as?”

“Strategic Services, a big security firm. Steele Insurance Group, self-explanatory. Centurion Pictures, in L.A. I serve on those three boards, as well. What has Woodside & Weems put you to work on?”

“Cases like the ones you started out with, the ones they don’t want to know about. They didn’t have anybody with much criminal practice, so that was my first assignment.”

“What was your court appearance about?”

“Bailing out a client, or rather, somebody they hope will become a client.”

“Who was that?”

“Can’t talk about it.”

“As you wish. Did he make bail?”

“He did, to the ADA’s surprise. The judge wanted two million, cash, and my client had it. Shocked the whole courtroom.”

Stone frowned. “What was the charge?”

“Murder one.”

Stone’s jaw dropped. “And you got bail for that? How’d you do it?”

“I made the judge an offer he apparently couldn’t refuse. He was too stunned to turn me down, and the ADA was speechless.”

“How’d you come up with that number?”

“I thought that two mil had a nice ring to it. The judge thought so, too, I guess.”

“Congratulations,” Stone said. He was trying to decide what to say next when dinner was served, and he decided to talk about it later.