Two-Dollar Bill

4

STONE WAS WAKENED by the smell of seared meat. He rolled over and checked the bedside clock: 8:30 A.M. He had overslept. He struggled out of bed, got into a robe and walked downstairs to the kitchen.

Billy Bob Barnstormer was standing before the Viking range, turning over a thick strip steak on the integral gas grill, while stirring something in a saucepan on an adjacent burner. He looked over at Stone. "Hey! G'mornin'! I didn't wake you up, did I?"

"You did. What are you doing?" Stone looked at the steaks; he had bought them at Grace's Marketplace, at hideous expense, with the idea of cooking them in the company of a woman he knew.

"Why, I'm just rustlin' up some grub for us," Billy Bob said. "I had to go with what I could find in the icebox, 'cept for the grits. I brought those with me."

"You travel with grits?" Stone asked.

"Only when I go north," Billy Bob explained. "You cain't get 'em up here. How you like your beef cooked?"

"Medium to medium rare," Stone said, annoyed with himself for cooperating in this endeavor. "I'm not sure I can eat a steak at this hour of the day."

"Don't worry, you'll have the grits and some eggs to cut the grease. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, y'know." Billy Bob picked up a bowl of what looked like a dozen eggs, whisked them briefly with a fork and dumped them into a skillet holding a quarter pound of melted butter. "Have a seat," he said. "Oughta be two minutes, now." He turned the steaks again.

Stone got a container of fresh orange juice out of the Sub-Zero and poured two glasses, put some coffee on, then set the table and sat down. Reconsidering, he got up and found two steak knives, then sat down again.

Billy Bob forked the steaks onto the two plates, then scooped out some grits, then filled the unoccupied portion of the plates with scrambled eggs. He took a bottle of Tabasco sauce and sprinkled it liberally over his eggs, but when he tried for Stone's plate, Stone snatched it away.

"Hold the Tabasco," Stone said. "You're trying to put me in the hospital, aren't you?"

"Aw, it's good for you." Billy Bob sat down and sawed his steak in half. It was blood rare, blue in the middle.

So was Stone's. He got up and put it back on the grill, then sat down and started on his eggs and grits.

"You like your meat burnt, then?" Billy Bob asked through a mouthful of food.

"I like it medium to medium rare," Stone said, getting up and flipping the steak. He waited another couple of minutes, then removed the meat to his plate.

"Real nice morning out there." Billy Bob said. "I brought in your paper."

"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.