28
STONE WAS WAKENED by the phone again a little after eleven. “Hello?”
“Hi, it’s Mitzi,” she said.
“Good morning.”
“You don’t sound up yet.”
“I’m awake-up would be too strong a word.”
“Rough night?”
“Not exactly.”
She gave a low laugh. “I got my fake financial statement from Daddy’s office this morning. You’ll be happy to know I’m worth thirty million dollars-on paper, at least.”
“Whose letterhead is it on?”
“William H. Barrow, CPA.”
“Not your father’s. Good.
“Should I just give this to Sharpe?”
“Why don’t you call him and tell him you’d like to meet with him and Sig Larsen again?”
“Okay.”
“Give him your statement and ask how he would handle it.”
“Right.”
“Does it have individual stocks listed?”
“Yes, about forty of them.”
“Good. Tell him you want his plan in writing.”
“Wouldn’t that put him off?”
“You don’t want to be too easy a mark; that would put him off. Con men get special satisfaction from screwing smart marks.”
“That wasn’t quite what I had in mind.”
“All right, fooling smart marks.”
“Actually, I did have that in mind, but with you, not Sig.”
“What a nice idea. What’s the setup this time?”
“Not a threesome; I’d rather have you to myself.”
“I’m a little under the weather,” Stone said. “How about later this week?”
“I’ll call you,” she said.
“And you can give me a full report then.”