Stone Barrington sat at his usual table with Dino Bacchetti and Bill Eggers. Dino was his old partner from when he had been on the NYPD, and Eggers was the managing partner of Woodman and Weld, the law firm for which Stone was of counsel, which is to say, he did the work that the firm did not wish to be seen to do, sometimes for clients the firm did not wish to be seen to represent. He did this work from a distance, at his home office in Turtle Bay.

Stone took his first sip of his second bourbon, while Dino and Eggers did likewise for their second Scotch.

“I’m hungry,” Stone said. “How long since we ordered dinner?”

Eggers glanced at his watch. “Twenty minutes.”

“I should have my green bean salad, hold the peppers, by now,” Stone said.

“Look around,” Dino said. “It’s a busy night.”

It was a busy night, Stone reflected, and then it got even busier. The front door opened, and in walked Herbert Q. Fisher with two hookers. Stone knew they were hookers, because renting was the only means by which Herbie Fisher could acquire company so attractive, not that they were all that attractive.

“Oh, shit,” Stone said.

“Shit what?” Dino asked.

“It’s Herbie Fisher.” Stone looked away from the door, so as not to catch Herbie’s eye. It didn’t work.

Herbie stopped at Stone’s table, picked up his hand and pumped it. “Hey, Stone, baby!” he yelled, forming his words carefully enough that he appeared drunk. “How’s it hanging?”

“Hello, Herbie,” Stone said. “How are you?” He immediately regretted the question.

“Well, I’m a lot better than okay,” Herbie said. “I passed the bar today.”

Stone squinted at him. “You’re going to be a bartender?” Visions came to mind of customers clutching their throats and gagging.

“No, no—the bar. You and I are now brothers in the law.”

“You’re drunk, Herbie. Go away.”

Herbie began searching for something in his inside coat pocket. “No, I’m not kidding. I’ve got it right here.” He came up with a page from a newspaper and unfolded it to reveal a list of many names in small print. A circle was drawn around one of them. “See? Right here!” Herbie pointed helpfully.

Stone looked at the name. “This is a list of night students who got their GEDs, right?”

“No! Look up at the top of the page.”

Stone followed Herbie’s finger. “Candidates Successfully Completing the Bar Examination of the State of New York,” read the title.

“It’s a joke newspaper,” Stone said.

“No, it’s not!” Herbie said indignantly.

“You’ve never been to law school,” Stone pointed out.

“I most certainly have,” Herbie said, “for the past nineteen months, at the Oliver Wendell Holmes Internet College of Law. I graduated summa cum laude.”

“Herbie, go away,” Stone said.