“Never better,” Dino said.

“Same here,” Stone echoed. “Got your invitation for the High Cotton event. I’ll be there with my girl.”

“Me too,” Dino said.

“Why don’t you invite Viv?” Stone said. “It’s the least you can do.”

Dino squirmed a little. “I don’t know.”

“There won’t be anyone from the department there,” Stone pointed out.

Dino shrugged. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

“What have you been up to, Herb?” Stone asked.

“I’ve got a new client I’m nervous about,” Herbie said.

“Who’s that, and why are you nervous?”

“Dink Brennan.”

Dino put down his wineglass. “I thought we put him away for at least a year.”

“He got himself out and convinced his father that he’s a reformed character,” Herbie said. “He didn’t convince me.”

“Then why is he your new client?”

“Because of his father. If there’s any chance that the kid has turned a new leaf, I want to help him, for Marshall.”

“How screwed up is he?” Dino asked.

“How about psychopathic sociopath with violent tendencies? Or diseases to that effect.”

“Is that your diagnosis?”

“It’s what his shrink thinks.”

“Herb,” Stone said, “he’s already tried to ruin you once. Why don’t you just stay away from him? Marshall would understand your wanting to do that.”

“I guess he would,” Herbie said.

“Where are those two friends of his, Parker and Carson?” Dino asked.

“At a place called The Refuge, up in Westchester. Dink doesn’t know where they are.”

“Is he back in New Haven?” Stone asked.

“No, his father gave him the keys to a company apartment on the East Side. He says he’s going back to Yale in the fall, then to law school after graduation.”

“Well, he needs his father’s goodwill to live, doesn’t he?”

“Not really. A trust his mother left him became available to him last week, when he turned twenty-one. He’s got the money to do whatever he wants without Marshall’s help.”

Dino shook his head. “If there’s anything I hate worse than a violent psycho, it’s a violent psycho with money.”

“I know how you feel,” Herbie said. “I think the kid is a walking time bomb.”

“How big is he?” Dino asked.

Herbie shrugged. “I don’t know, six-three, two-twenty, maybe.”

“And you’re what? Five-seven, a hundred and sixty?”

“Good guess.”

“Do you own a firearm?” Stone asked.

“No, but I got a carry permit from the city in today’s mail, courtesy of Strategic Defense. And a very nice certificate that qualifies me to take a bullet for somebody else.”

“There’s a gun shop downtown, near headquarters,” Dino said. “All the cops shop there. Now that you’ve got your permit, why don’t you amble down there tomorrow and pick out something for yourself?”

“What do you recommend?”

“Nine millimeter, at least—something that won’t make a bulge under that beautiful suit.”

“That’s not the worst idea I ever heard,” Herbie said.

“You’re the second person this week to say that to me,” Dino replied. “I must give good advice.”

“Not always,” Stone said, “but this time, you’re right.”