“How many lawyers are at this table?”

“I am not a seedy lawyer; I just take seedy cases. There’s a difference.”

“Whatever you say,” Dino said, standing up and reaching for his raincoat. “Let’s get out of here.”

“I don’t want to,” Stone grumbled.

“You don’t want to do anything, you desolate fuck, and I can’t stand it anymore. Now put your coat on and come with me, or I’ll just shoot you here and now. Nobody would ever prosecute me; it would be justifiable homicide.”

“Oh, all right,” Stone said, struggling to his feet and grabbing his coat. “One drink, if the guy serves decent booze. Then I’m out of there.”

The apartment was a duplex in the East Sixties, definitely not the preserve of an assistant DA.

“You’re right,” Stone said, as they handed their coats to a maid. “He’s got money. There’s at least a million dollars of art hanging in this room.”

“What are you, his insurance agent?” Dino whispered. “Try and have a good time, okay?”

“Tell me more about this guy,” Stone said.

“Word is, he’s up for chief deputy DA, and he’s going to run for DA, if the old man ever retires.”

“He’ll grow old waiting,” Stone said.

A handsome man of about forty spotted Dino and came across the room, towing a tall blond woman in a Chanel suit.

“Dino,” he said, shaking hands. “I’m glad you could make it. You remember Dana.”

The woman shook Dino’s hand. “Who’s this?” she asked, turning her gaze on Stone.

“This is Stone Barrington, Dana. Stone, this is Martin and Dana Brougham.”

“How do you do?” Stone said mechanically, shaking their hands.

“I’ve heard of you,” Brougham said, steering Stone and Dino toward the bar. “You were Dino’s partner at the Nineteenth Precinct a while back, weren’t you?”

“A while back,” Stone echoed. “After I left the force they had to kick him upstairs; nobody else would ride in the same car with him.”

“You’re over at Woodman and Weld, aren’t you?”

“I’m of counsel, to them,” Stone replied, “but Woodman and Weld would probably rather you didn’t know it.” It was a remark he wouldn’t have made if he had been entirely sober.

Brougham laughed. “What are you drinking?”

“Wild Turkey on the rocks, if you have it.”

Brougham grabbed a bottle that looked like a crystal decanter and poured Stone a double. “This is Wild Turkey, but it’s got a leg up on the standard stuff.”

Stone tasted the whiskey. The man was right. This stuff cost thirty bucks a bottle; he was beginning to like Brougham.

A couple arrived at the front door, and Brougham went off to greet them. “Wander around,” he said. “Meet some people.”