by Stuart Woods
“Tell you what I’m going to do,” Stone said. “I’m going to put it all right out of my mind.”
“I’m happy for you. See ya.” Dino hung up.
—
Stone turned back to Holly; she was dressed and ready to go, and she was wearing an Hermès silk scarf as a sling for her arm. “Changed your mind, huh?”
“It’s a look,” she said.
—
On the way to the UN he told her about Dino’s call. “Looks like they were after me all along,” he said. “You’ve nothing to worry about.”
“Do me a favor,” she said. “Don’t say a word about that to anybody.”
Stone laughed. “My lips are sealed.”
—
They were met at the front door of the building by a UN official, who escorted them to the General Assembly hall. Stone was escorted to a seat in the VIP gallery while Holly waited in the wings.
The president of the General Assembly introduced her, and she walked to the podium. Applause became a roar when they saw her arm in the sling. The audience of diplomats—even the Russians and Chinese—stood and cheered for a good two minutes.
Finally, Holly quieted them. She opened the notebook containing the speech, looked for the Teleprompter screens, and began to speak.
Keep reading for an exciting excerpt from the next novel by Stuart Woods, BARELY LEGAL
1
Benny Slick’s life was flashing before his eyes. It was flashing upside down because two goons were hanging him by his heels from the window of his fourteenth-floor office. The elderly bookmaker had been hit with financial reversals. A horse running at two hundred to one had finished first, a surprising number of people had bet on the nag to win, and in order to pay them off, Benny had been forced to borrow more money than he had any realistic hope of repaying.
The result was a visit from the one man in the world you didn’t want to see. Mario “Payday” Capelleti, so named for his habit of walking into the shops of those who owed him money with two thugs and proclaiming, “It’s Payday!”, had quite a reputation, and it wasn’t good. Those who didn’t pay were left with a reminder of why this behavior might not be the wisest course of action. Benny Slick was receiving such a reminder.
Mario Payday was puffing on a big cigar. He walked over to the window and blew smoke in Benny’s direction. It barely reached him, but the effect was chilling.
“Hi, Benny. Remember me? You should. You took my money. And you failed to pay me back. Not only did you fail to pay me the principal, you failed to pay me the vig. No one fails to pay Mario Payday the interest on a loan. How could you forget that?”
“I didn’t forget!” Benny cried desperately.
Mario’s eyes narrowed. “You mean you did it deliberately? Benny, you know such disrespect cannot be tolerated.”
“I didn’t do it deliberately!”
“But you do remember that you owe me money?”
“Yes, yes, I remember.”
Mario smiled and spread his arms. “He remembers. It’s amazing how quickly people remember when they’re upside down. So where is my money?”
Benny’s life was still flashing before his eyes, but then he was ninety-two years old and there was a lot to flash. From somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind the right image emerged. “I got it!”
“What have you got, Benny?”
“I got your money!”
“How much money have you got, Benny?”
“I got ninety grand!”
Mario nodded approvingly. “Pull him up.”
Mario’s goons pulled Benny back into the office. His legs were weak and he could barely stand.
Mario’s glare was not helping. “Ninety grand, Benny? You have ninety grand and you couldn’t pay me?”
“It’s not in cash.”
Mario snapped his fingers, pointed to the window. “Put him back.”
Benny put up his hands. “No, no, no. You don’t have to do that. I have a marker for ninety grand. It’s good as cash. You can have it.”
“What marker?”
“Vinnie the Vig owed me money, and he didn’t have the cash so he gave me a marker.”
“Vinnie the Vig is dead.”
“It’s not his marker. Vinnie was holding another guy’s marker for ninety grand. When he went into my debt, he transferred the marker to me, and I will now pass it on to you.”
“You have a marker for ninety grand and you never cashed it?”
“I couldn’t. I was in prison.”
“Where’s this marker now?”
“It’s in my desk.” Benny hurried to his desk and began rifling through the drawers, praying he could find the marker he’d promised was in them. He hadn’t cashed it because he’d forgotten it was there. Shortly after he’d received it he was sent off to the state penitentiary for indulging in his chosen profession. By the time he got out he’d forgotten all about the marker, and only recalled it with eternity staring him in the eye.
Benny pulled out his petty cash box, took out the money tray, and searched through the papers in the bottom.
Mario watched him with growing skepticism. “You have a marker for ninety grand and you keep it with the petty cash receipts?”
Benny hoped he did, but it was looking less likely.
And then, suddenly, victory.
Benny clutched the slip of paper and held it up. “Here! Here!”
Mario took the marker. “All right, let’s see who owes me ninety thousand dollars.”
He held it up, read the name.
“Herbie Fisher.”
2
Stone Barrington and Dino Bacchetti were having dinner at Patroon, one of their usual haunts since Elaine’s had closed. Their entrées had just arrived when Dino looked over Stone’s shoulder and his eyes widened. “Uh-oh.”
“What?”
“Look who’s here.”
Stone was contentedly inspecting his steak. “I’m busy. Who is it?”
“Herbie Fisher.”
“Oh, great.”
“Not necessarily.”
“Oh?”
Stone turned and looked. The young man approaching their table was indeed Herbie Fisher. He was impeccably dressed in a suit and tie. He looked like a corporate lawyer, which indeed he was.
Herbie Fisher, the youngest lawyer ever to make senior partner at Woodman & Weld, was a shining star, as adept at attracting clients as he was at handling their legal problems. It was hard to believe he had once been Stone’s client, and not in the most savory of cases. Were it not for Stone’s legal gymnastics, Herbie probably would have been in jail.
Stone had taken Herbie under his wing, and the young man had flourished under his mentorship. Not only had he straightened out his life, but Stone had taught him where to buy the right suits, where to get the right haircut—in short, how to be a respectable member of high society.
Since turning his life around, Herbie had never caused Stone a moment’s concern. On the contrary, he was the attorney to whom Stone was most likely to refer important clients.
At the moment Herbie was grinning from ear to ear, and the cause was undoubtedly the young woman with him. Her beauty was enough to turn any man’s head. Though as conservatively dressed as any third-grade schoolteacher, her radiant smile exuded more than a hint of mischief.
Herbie ushered her up to the table.
“Herbie,” Stone said.
Herbie shot him a look. Since joining the law firm of Woodman & Weld he had adopted a less juvenile appellation.
Stone quickly corrected himself. “Herb. And who is this charming young lady?”
Herbie positively beamed. “Yvette, these are the men I’ve been telling you about. Allow me to introduce Stone Barrington and Dino Bacchetti. Gentlemen, this is Yvette Walker, my fiancée.”
The young couple exchanged glances.
So did Stone and Dino. It was momentary, however. Then they were greeting Yvette enthusiastical
ly, congratulating young Herbie, and hoping the two would be happy together.
Dino took the lead. “Yvette, I’m so happy for you. How did you meet? Are you a lawyer, too?”
She smiled. “Heaven forbid. I have nothing against lawyers, I just don’t want to be one.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m an actress.”
“Really? What have I seen you in?”
“You probably haven’t. I’m just getting started.”
“You acted in college?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you go?”
“Yale drama school.”
Dino smiled. “Well, that’s a coincidence. Our sons went to Yale. Ben Bacchetti and Peter Barrington. Perhaps you knew them.”
“It’s a big school.”
“They were in the theater department. Peter got a play produced while he was still in school.”
“I know of them. Award-winning Hollywood director and the head of Centurion Studios. They were way before my time.”
“Not necessarily. Our kids started young.”
Yvette’s eyes twinkled. “If you think I’m going to tell you my age in front of my fiancée, you can forget it. I’ve told him just as much as he needs to know, no more, no less. If you prove I’m older than I said I was and he dumps me, I’ll sue you for damages.”
“And I’d handle the case,” Herbie said with a smile. “But that’s not going to happen. We’re very happy.”
“Would you care to join us?” Stone said.
Yvette and Herbie looked at each other. They clearly wished to be alone.
Yvette politely declined. “Thanks, but we’ve got a lot to talk about. Come on, Herbie.”
The happy couple chose a table for two in the back and out of earshot.
“I notice she can call him Herbie,” Dino said.
“Was that nice?” Stone said.
“Was what nice?”
“You were vetting her.”
“Was I?”
“You know you were.”
Dino shrugged. “Force of habit.”
“No, it wasn’t. You’re suspicious of her.”
“Well, can you blame me?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you kidding me? Ten years ago Herbie was a total fuckup, couldn’t tie his shoe. He’d make the worst choices, often endangering his life.”
“So?”
“That was nothing compared to his taste in women. He was always showing up with some hooker or other he was madly in love with, despite the fact that he had just met her.”
Stone conceded the point. “He even went so far as to marry one.”
Herbie’s ex-wife had run off to Aruba with her brother, not to mention a few million dollars of company assets, leaving Herbie holding the bag.
“I remember it well. So, here he is, popping up again with a new fiancée. If that’s not déjà vu, I don’t know what is.”
“At least this one isn’t a hooker. She looks like a very nice young girl.”
“I hope so,” Dino said.
“You’re really concerned.”
“Well, I’d hate to see Herbie get his heart broken. Is that bad?”
“It’s kind of sweet,” Stone said.
Dino threw a napkin at him.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I am happy to hear from readers, but you should know that if you write to me in care of my publisher, three to six months will pass before I receive your letter, and when it finally arrives it will be one among many, and I will not be able to reply.
However, if you have access to the Internet, you may visit my website at www.stuartwoods.com, where there is a button for sending me e-mail. So far, I have been able to reply to all my e-mail, and I will continue to try to do so.
If you send me an e-mail and do not receive a reply, it is probably because you are among an alarming number of people who have entered their e-mail address incorrectly in their mail software. I have many of my replies returned as undeliverable.
Remember: e-mail, reply; snail mail, no reply.
When you e-mail, please do not send attachments, as I never open these. They can take twenty minutes to download, and they often contain viruses.
Please do not place me on your mailing lists for funny stories, prayers, political causes, charitable fund-raising, petitions, or sentimental claptrap. I get enough of that from people I already know. Generally speaking, when I get e-mail addressed to a large number of people, I immediately delete it without reading it.
Please do not send me your ideas for a book, as I have a policy of writing only what I myself invent. If you send me story ideas, I will immediately delete them without reading them. If you have a good idea for a book, write it yourself, but I will not be able to advise you on how to get it published. Buy a copy of Writer’s Market at any bookstore; that will tell you how.
Anyone with a request concerning events or appearances may e-mail it to me or send it to: Publicity Department, Penguin Random House LLC, 375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014.
Those ambitious folk who wish to buy film, dramatic, or television rights to my books should contact Matthew Snyder, Creative Artists Agency, 9830 Wilshire Boulevard, Beverly Hills, CA 98212-1825.
Those who wish to make offers for rights of a literary nature should contact Anne Sibbald, Janklow & Nesbit, 445 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10022. (Note: This is not an invitation for you to send her your manuscript or to solicit her to be your agent.)
If you want to know if I will be signing books in your city, please visit my website, www.stuartwoods.com, where the tour schedule will be published a month or so in advance. If you wish me to do a book signing in your locality, ask your favorite bookseller to contact his Penguin representative or the Penguin publicity department with the request.
If you find typographical or editorial errors in my book and feel an irresistible urge to tell someone, please write to Sara Minnich at Penguin’s address above. Do not e-mail your discoveries to me, as I will already have learned about them from others.
A list of my published works appears in the front of this book and on my website. All the novels are still in print in paperback and can be found at or ordered from any bookstore. If you wish to obtain hardcover copies of earlier novels or of the two nonfiction books, a good used-book store or one of the online bookstores can help you find them. Otherwise, you will have to go to a great many garage sales.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Stuart Woods is the author of more than sixty-five novels. He is a native of Georgia and began his writing career in the advertising industry. Chiefs, his debut in 1981, won the Edgar Award. An avid sailor and pilot, Woods lives in Florida, Maine, and New Mexico.
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