“Too neat,” Butch said.

“Relax, okay? I’m just getting started.” Curly drew the signature again and again, a little faster each time.

“Looking good,” Butch said.

Curly continued until he got half a dozen signatures he liked, each a little different from the others. “Got it,” he said. “You see a checkbook anywhere?”

Butch went through the drawers and came up with a large one. “Here you go.”

“How much do you want to steal?”

“Well, we can’t cash a check for all of it.”

“Any bank statements?”

Butch looked. “Not yet. He’s new in town and probably hasn’t been sent one yet. And we can’t just walk into his bank and cash it. We’ll have to open an account somewhere and deposit the check and wait for it to clear.”

“We need a company name to open the account,” Curly said. “The bank is unlikely to just pay a check to some John Doe.”

Butch thought about it. “I know, we’ll create a corporation, using an online legal service. It’ll cost a few hundred bucks, but we’ll have incorporation papers to use to open the account.”

“We’ll need a credit card to do that,” Curly said. “I’ve got a better idea. I know a disbarred lawyer from prison who’s out now. We’ll track him down and get him to do the legal stuff.”

“Then you’d better forge some checks now.”

“Nah,” Curly said. He flipped to the back of the checkbook and tore out two pages of three checks each, then found an envelope and tucked them inside, along with the copy of the financial document. “We’ll just hang on to these until we have our ducks in a row.” He picked up a small metal box. “Look, it’s a check-writing machine.” He ran a sheet of paper through it and printed out an amount. “We’ll pick up one at an office supply store.” He wrote down the name and model number.

They shut off the lights and went into the living room. “Hey,” Butch said, “those paintings on that wall weren’t here the first time I came. The guy’s buying art. We’ll create an art gallery, and he’ll buy pictures from us—expensive ones. We ought to be able to grab a few hundred grand, if we do it right.”

“I like the way you think, Butch. You keep doing that.”

They turned off the lights, locked up, and took the elevator to the garage. Soon they were looking for a cab uptown.

13

STONE AND DINO were having dinner at P.J. Clarke’s, Viv being out of town on business, as she frequently was.

“How’s your new client the rich kid doing?” Dino asked.

“Pretty good, by his own account. He’s actually enjoying himself at Flight Safety, which I always find to be a grind. He even likes the flight simulator, which I detest.”