by Stuart Woods
Stone raised a finger and picked up the phone. “Get me Seth Keener,” he said to Joan.
“Keener,” the voice said.
“Seth, it’s Stone Barrington. My client Herbert Fisher is in my office to sign the divorce papers, but he insists on one further condition.”
“I thought we had a deal,” Keener said.
“This is an easy one: Mr. Fisher insists that his soon-to-be-former wife stop trying to have him killed.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Mr. Fisher has already experienced an encounter on a yacht in New York Harbor that required him to choose between being knifed by two thugs or taking a swim in December. The thugs are still following him.”
“I have no knowledge of anything like that,” Keener said.
“That’s what I would say, too, in the circumstances. Would you be kind enough to mention the situation to Mrs. Fisher?”
“If you insist, but I still maintain she has nothing to do with thugs following Mr. Fisher.”
“Let me know what she says, will you?”
“Sure, I will.”
Stone hung up. “I’m afraid that’s all we can do to put an end to it. In the meantime, may I suggest that you carry a roll of quarters in each coat pocket?”
“You think I can buy them off with quarters, Stone?”
“No, but holding them will more than double the weight of your fists and greatly enhance the effects of a punch in the nose. And if the cops ask, you can say you carry the coins for the parking meters.”
Herbie got up and with a little wave departed Stone’s office. “For this I pay five hundred bucks an hour?” he called out from down the hallway.
11
S tone attended a partners’ meeting at Woodman amp; Weld in the afternoon, and afterward he asked for a few minutes with his old friend and law-school classmate Bill Eggers, the firm’s managing partner.
“What’s up, Stone? You look like a man with a problem.”
“Nothing life-threatening,” Stone replied, “just a little thorny. But I think that addressing some issues now will greatly smooth things for the future.”
“Tell me about it.”
“For a start, you correctly assessed the resemblance between the photograph of my father and Arrington’s son, Peter.”
“Ahhh,” Eggers said. “So you’re finally willing to cop to that?”
“I’ve always been willing, but Arrington was slow to come to that point. Recent events have changed things.”
“Changed them how?”
“Well, Peter arrived in town a couple of days ago, a day ahead of his mother, who was under the weather. She arrived yesterday. Peter saw the photograph of my father and, apparently, considering some past suspicions, put the whole thing together in a flash. The boy is extraordinarily bright.”
“Every father thinks that, Stone, trust me.”
“Not every father has a son who is graduating from high school at sixteen and is already writing and directing his first feature film.”
“Oh, that kind of bright.”
“Yes. He’s big for his age, mature as most people get in their midthirties, and very well-spoken and well-mannered.”
“I’d like to meet him.”
“You will, in due course,” Stone said. “But now some steps have to be taken to regularize his life.”
“Regularize?”
“He’s been in a prep school in Virginia for a few months, and is now way ahead of not just his peers, but the seniors. He’s also saddled with Vance Calder’s name, and he doesn’t like the treatment he receives because of it.”
“And what’s your solution for handling it?”
“Not my solution, entirely, but Peter’s, and his mother has fully bought into it.”
“Go on.”
“Peter wants to attend a performing-arts prep school on the Upper East Side called Knickerbocker Hall, doing college-level work and attending their film school.”
“Sounds good.”
“And he wants to change his name to Barrington before he applies.”
“I see.”
“And he wants them to think he’s eighteen.”
Eggers blinked. “And how does he plan to do that?”
“Just by telling the school that he’s eighteen. When you’ve met him you’ll see that nobody will doubt him.”
“He’s currently a resident of Virginia?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll have an associated firm in Virginia do a straightforward change of name in the courts down there. They can also notify his school of the change and request that all his records there be changed to Barrington.”
“This has to be done in such a way that no one in the media catches it.”
“Legally, it will have to be advertised locally, but there are always obscure publications that can satisfy that requirement. We have to have a reason stated for the change of name in the petition to the court. What do you want to say?”
Stone thought about it. “Damned if I know.”
“How about: ‘Petitioner wishes his surname to be that of his natural father’?”
“He’s too young to be a petitioner; I suppose Arrington will have to fill that role.”
“I thought he was going to be eighteen.”
“Well, to all intents and purposes-except for legal ones, of course.”
Eggers tilted back in his chair, rested his feet on his desk, and pressed his fingertips together in a thoughtful pose. “Where was he born?”
“In Los Angeles.”
“How about we get his birth certificate reissued and his old one removed? That should solve the problem.”
“How the hell are you going to do that? You can’t just hire some clerk to steal a public record and replace it with a forgery.”
“Well, I suppose you could, but that’s messy. All we need is a judge to order a reissuing of the certificate, for the same reason as we give in Virginia, and along the way, to correct a typographical error with regard to birth date. We should still do the name change in Virginia, because of his school.”
“And what kind of judge are you going to get to do that?”
“One that you and I went to law school with. Remember Carling Steadman?”
“Steadman is a judge in L.A.? I didn’t know that.”
“Then you must not read the alumni journal.”
“I guess not.”
“The firm has had some dealings with him the past few years; he’s always ruled in our favor. And I had dinner with him and his wife when I was in L.A. a few weeks ago. Carling has started a foundation dedicated to the defense of indigents in L.A. County. He doesn’t know it, but I’m going to make a twenty-five-thousand-dollar donation at a fund-raising dinner they’re having next week.”
“The media are going to be a bigger problem in L.A. than they would in Virginia,” Stone pointed out.
“We’ll petition that the boy’s old birth certificate be permanently sealed. No reporter is going to be looking for one belonging to a Peter Barrington.”
“Good point.”
“Leave it with me. How do you want the name to appear on the certificate? You don’t want Calder there, do you?”
“No.” Stone thought for a minute. “Make it Malon Peter Barrington.”
“Your father’s name, as I recall. A happy coincidence.”
“Correct. Better make it Malon Peter Barrington the Second.”
Eggers wrote it down, along with Peter’s new birth date. “I’ll get on it,” he said. “Will Peter need any help with getting into the school? I’ll see if anybody here has a connection.”
“Thank you, yes. I can get Leo Goldman to write a recommendation, too, based on what he’s seen of a film Peter is working on.”
“At a film school, that couldn’t hurt.”
“And he wants to go to Yale Drama School after Knickerbocker.”
“I can get half a dozen letters to back him there. Just tell him to make outstandin
g grades, join some school organizations, and do some charity work.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem.”
“I’ll call you when I have a grip on this,” Eggers said. The two men shook hands and Stone headed for home, a ten-minute walk.
As Stone walked into his office Joan called out, “Bill Eggers on line one.”
Stone went to his desk and picked up the phone. “Did I forget something?”
“No. I spoke to Carling Steadman. His order will be issued tomorrow, and you’ll have a dozen certified copies of the new birth certificate by FedEx on Monday. Peter will need them for school applications, et cetera. A couple of other things: we’ve got a partner here, Willard Powers, who is an alumnus of Peter’s school in Virginia and who is a trustee. He’s going to speak with the headmaster about changing the name on Peter’s records. He knows of another case where this was done, so he doesn’t think it will be a problem.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“And do you know of a grand dame actress named Letitia Covington?”
“The new Helen Hayes? Of course.”
“She’s the mother of a client of ours, and she was a founding board member of the performing arts program at Knickerbocker Hall. Peter has an appointment to meet her on Monday afternoon at three o’clock. Tell Peter to bring some sort of example of his film work.” Eggers gave Stone the address.
“Wow, Bill,” Stone said, “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“All part of being a partner of the firm,” Eggers said. “This won’t be the last time the relationship will work for you.”
Stone hung up. Joan came in and handed him a FedEx package from Leo Goldman. “This just arrived,” she said.
12
L ater in the afternoon, Herbie Fisher called.
“Yes, Herbie?”
“Stone, the two guys are still outside. I can see them from my terrace. If I can’t get a carry license, I’m going to have to carry anyway.”
“Herbie, if you have ambitions to practice law, then you do not want a felony weapons charge on your record. You can understand that, can’t you? It would mean no law license, and the one you illegally obtained would be shredded.”
“Oh.”
“Exactly.”
“Then what can I do?”
“We can call your uncle Bob and get a couple of his guys put on the job. They can watch your back.” Herbie’s uncle Bob was Bob Berman, a retired police officer who often did technical and security work for Stone.
“I don’t want to bring Uncle Bob into this,” Herbie said. “He’s getting used to my being a straight character, and I want nothing to change his mind.”
“Very well, I’m on the board of a very large, very able security company called Strategic Services. I can arrange for them to supply you with anything from a bodyguard to a fleet of black helicopters, bristling with air-to-ground missiles.”
“Sounds good. Let’s talk to them about something at the low end of that range.”
“I’ll get right on it,” Stone said, then hung up and dialed Mike Freeman.
“Yes, Stone?”
“Mike, I have a small security job for you.”
“How small?”
“Two armed men, round the clock?”
“Tell me about it.”
“A client of mine, a wealthy young man named Herbert Fisher, a law student, is attempting to disentangle himself from a poor decision called marriage. Although his wife has agreed to the terms of the divorce, she appears to be having him followed by two men who, on one occasion, have driven him off a yacht at knifepoint into New York Harbor. They’re still on him.”
“Is Mr. Fisher presently operating as a single man?”
“Yes, he likes women.”
“Then I have an idea,” Mike said, and told him about it.
“I think he would be very pleased,” Stone said.
“Eight o’clock tonight be a good starting time?”
“Yes, and I think it might be useful if your two men at some point had a conversation with the two sinister men regarding their intentions.”
“Of course. Tell Mr. Fisher to expect three operatives at eight o’clock this evening. They will identify themselves properly.”
“Thank you so much, Mike.” Stone hung up and called Herbie. “What are your plans for the evening, Herbie?”
“I was going to go to Elaine’s for dinner, but I don’t want to leave the house, so I’m just going to order in.”
“Reschedule,” Stone said, “and don’t bother getting a date, just be ready at eight.” Stone hung up.
Arrington and Peter bustled in from Radio City, shaking snow off their coats and rubbing their red cheeks. “I need a drink,” Arrington said.
“Right this way,” Stone replied, leading them to his study. He poured Knob Creeks for them, then made a hot cup of tea and honey for Peter. They all sat down.
“How was the show?” Stone asked.
“Spectacular!” Peter replied. “They even had three-D! And the Rockettes, wow!”
“There’s an old Jack Douglas story,” Stone said, “-he was a comedy writer for The Tonight Show -about a young couple who went to Radio City Music Hall on their honeymoon, and during the stage show, the young man got up to go to the men’s room, took a wrong turn, and was kicked to death by the Rockettes.”
Peter collapsed in laughter; it took Arrington a moment to get it, then she laughed, too.
“I’m going to tell all my friends that happened when we were there,” Peter said.
“Always attribute,” Stone replied. “It’s good manners.”
“Will you take us to Elaine’s tonight?” Arrington asked. “Peter is dying to go.”
“Of course.” Stone picked up the phone and made the reservation.
“We have some news,” Arrington said, glancing at Peter, who smiled broadly.
“What is it?” Stone asked, puzzled.
“You are looking at the most recent high school graduate of Peter’s school,” she said, pointing at her son.
“I don’t understand.”
“I had a call this afternoon from his headmaster. Peter neglected to tell me that he had a major oral examination just before the holidays.”
“It was more like a conversation with half a dozen faculty members,” Peter said, looking sheepish.
“I think that’s how they meant it to seem,” Arrington said. “Apparently, there was some concern among the faculty about Peter’s advanced state in all his courses, so they decided to test in depth his knowledge and comprehension of the high school curriculum. Long story short, he knocked the oral out of the park, and as a result they agreed, after he left, that the school had nothing further to offer him of any value. So, they have issued him a high school diploma, with honors, and recommended that he either be privately tutored or attend a good university with a program for exceptional students.”
“Congratulations, Peter,” Stone said, clapping him on the back.
“Well, it would have been boring to spend the rest of the academic year there, except for my film, of course, but I can work on that anywhere. All the footage is shot; I just have to edit and score it.”
“And,” Arrington said, “it looks as though Peter himself has already scoped out his next few years of education.”
“That, I have,” Peter said.
“Well, I have news, too,” Stone said. “Woodman amp; Weld are arranging for a petition for Peter’s name change to be lodged with a Virginia court, and also-this surprised me greatly-a Los Angeles judge is directing that Peter’s original birth certificate be reissued with his new name… and age.”
Peter was jumping up and down, now. “Yes, yes, yes,” he kept shouting.
“If you approve,” Stone said, “you will be named after your grandfather: Malon Peter Barrington the Second.”
“I love it!” Peter shouted.
They finally managed to calm him down. “Now, Peter,” Stone said, “does the name Leti
tia Covington mean anything to you?”
“Sure,” Peter said, “she’s the great old actress. Mom and I saw her in a big production at the Kennedy Center in Washington last year.”
“Well, Ms. Covington is a founder of the performing arts program at Knickerbocker Hall, and you have an interview with her on Monday afternoon at three.”
Peter’s jaw dropped. “How did you do this?”
“The lady is the mother of one of Woodman amp; Weld’s clients, and a phone call was made on your behalf. She wants you to bring with you what you have of your screenplay and film.”
Peter fell back onto the sofa, clutching his chest. “I’m having a heart attack!”
“Relax, and drink your tea,” Stone said.
“Oh, listen, I’d like to get my driver’s license,” Peter said.
“Peter!” his mother interjected. “You’re only sixteen!”
Peter smiled. “Not anymore,” he said.
“Oh, God,” Arrington moaned, “we’ve created a monster!”
13
A rrington was stretched out on the bed in her slip. She took A a deep breath and let it out. “There’s something I have to tell you,” she said.
Stone sat down on the bed. He didn’t like the sound of this. “All right.”
“I’ve been seeing someone for the past year. Back in Virginia.”
Stone allowed himself to think about all the women he’d been out with during that time. “All right,” he said.
“You’re not jealous?” she said with mock concern.
“Well, of course, but you’re a free woman. Are you having some sort of problem with him?”
“He’s the architect for the new house,” she said, seeming to evade his question. “The relationship began to sour a few weeks ago, but I didn’t want to cut him off at the knees while he was still working on the house.”
“That’s a reasonable decision to make,” Stone said. “I assume you will eventually get around to answering my question.”
“What question was that?” she asked, innocently.
“Is he giving you trouble?”
“Sort of.”
“Sort of how?”
