“Hello?”

“Good evening, Bill, it’s Stone. I hoped you’d be awake.”

“I am now. This better be good news—I don’t sleep well on bad news.”

“Have you ever heard of a beer called Cerveza Perado?”

“I have two six-packs of it in my bar downstairs. It’s hard to come by outside of Texas—you have to know somebody.”

“I chanced to meet Jose Perado, their third-generation CEO, this evening.”

“And how did you manage that?”

“I was coming out of Patroon as he was being ‘set upon by footpads,’ as Shakespeare once put it.”

“Right there in the street?”

“Yep, and the footpads were cops. I took a blackjack away from one of them and threatened to call his captain, whereupon they dematerialized. I gave Pepe, as he likes to be called, a lift to the Waldorf Towers. He’s in from San Antonio and looking for legal advice. I’m giving him some tomorrow morning. Would you like to join us?”

“In my office?”

“No, in mine, at home.”

“And that is supposed to impress him?”

“No, you’re supposed to do that. Ten o’clock?”

“See you then.” Both men hung up.

Stone went to bed with dreams of beer bottles dancing in his head.

Stone got to his desk by nine the following morning and called Dino.

“Hey.”

“Hey. After your departure last night I left Patroon and had a run-in with a couple of cops outside on the sidewalk.”

“What do you mean, a ‘run-in’?”

“They screeched to a halt in front of the restaurant and attacked a passerby.”

“Passerby? You?”

“No, someone I’d never seen before. They threw the guy against a wall and hit him, then one of them produced a blackjack and drew back on the guy.”

“Did they hit him with the blackjack?”

“No, I took it away from the cop and started asking questions.”

“I’d have paid money to see that.”

“I’m giving you a firsthand account, free.”

“Go on.”

“I asked them what precinct they were in and they said the Three-Five South, and I cowed them by mentioning their captain’s name.”

“O’Donnell?”

“Right. They backed off, and I put the guy in my car and took him to his hotel, the Waldorf Towers.”

“Good for you. Get any names?”

“One of the cops called the other ‘Ryan.’ That’s all I got.”

“Ryan from the Three-Five South—that’s a start. I’ll get back to you.”

“Thanks.”

—

Stone returned phone calls, dictated letters, and filled out time sheets until Bob Eggers arrived, early.

“So who’s this guy we’re meeting?”

“I told you last night—just replay the conversation in your mind, then we’ll start anew.”

“Okay, I’ve replayed it. What else can you tell me?”

“That’s it, that’s all I know. The guy is, potentially, a productive client.”

Joan came in with coffee and Eggers had some. Then Jose Perado arrived and introductions were made.

Stone watched as Eggers went through his potential-client dance: he started with small talk, moved on to biography and business history and, obviously to Stone, found Perado acceptable as a client.

“We’d be happy to represent you, Mr. Perado,” Eggers said.

“Please call me Pepe—everybody everywhere does.”

“Pepe it is.”

“I’d like very much to be represented by Woodman & Weld,” Pepe said.

“Then let me welcome you to our firm,” Eggers said, standing up and shaking his hand.

“Thank you, Bill.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m due for a meeting back at our real offices.” He shot Stone a glance. “So, I’m going to leave you in the hands of our favorite partner, Stone, who will assess your immediate needs. I look forward to seeing you again soon.” Eggers left.

“That was easy,” Pepe said.

“Bill knows a good client when he sees one,” Stone replied. “Now, let’s talk about your immediate needs. What are they?”

“Two, I think: a distributorship to buy, or alternately, a property where I can start one, and an ad agency.”

“Let’s start with the ad agency,” Stone said. “I recommend a firm called Kelly & Kelly, a small-to-medium firm that does good marketing and great creative work. Can I set up an appointment?”

“Please do.”

Stone looked up the number and called the agency: “Good morning, Brad, it’s Stone Barrington.”

“Good to hear from you, Stone. What’s up?”

“I have a potential client for you.” He gave the man a brief description of Pepe, including his interest in acquiring or establishing a distribution business.

“Sounds interesting. Is he in town?”

“He’s in my office.”

“Want to bring him over here after lunch? Say, three o’clock?”

“Pepe, is three this afternoon good for you?”

“Good for me.”

“You’re on, Brad. See you then.”

“Hang on, there’s something else.”

“Okay.”

“My brother-in-law, who works here, has a father with a very nice beverage distributorship who’s starting to look at retirement.”

“That’s very interesting.”

“His name is Martin Winkle, and I happen to know he’s free for lunch. You want to get the two of them together?”

“Hang on. Pepe, would you like to have lunch with a man named Martin Winkle, who’s a beverage distributor looking to retire?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Okay, Pepe’s on.”

“Marty can meet him at twelve-thirty at the Four Seasons. He had a lunch date with me there.”

Stone checked with Pepe and made the date.

He hung up. “Okay, you meet Winkle at twelve-thirty, and you and I will meet at the agency’s building at three.” He gave him the address.

“Fine with me,” Pepe said.

“Good.” They shook hands, and Pepe left.

Dino called shortly after Perado left. “I got something for you,” he said.

“Shoot.”

“The guy named Ryan is one Eugene Ryan, who got busted off the force two years ago, because he was doing strong-arm work, freelance.”

“So, he’s no longer a cop?”

“That is his condition. The other guy is probably one Al Parisi, who was a buddy of Ryan’s. He graduated from the Academy but didn’t last through the probationary period. Ryan had been his training officer, and after Ryan went, so did Parisi. His record says it was for failure to carry out his duties.”

“A catchall phrase?”

“Right. A chat with his captain revealed that Parisi has some family mob connections, too.”

“I remember a Gino Parisi from a long time ago.”

“That was his grandfather.”

“So the kid was mobbed up?”

“Reading between the lines, I think he probably was not. He doesn’t sound like the type to qualify. The old man, Gino, would probably have thought he was a wimp.”

“So he couldn’t qualify for the mob, but he could qualify for the Academy?”

“He had a clean sheet, good grades in high school, and finished a couple of years of community college. And his family connection didn’t emerge in his background check. Parisi is a common enough Italian name. How do you suppose Ryan and Parisi chose this Perado guy to beat up on?”