“A little under four hundred grand,” Herbie said. “It’s the short-wheelbase model, not the limo. I don’t want to be too…” He seemed to search for the word.
“Ostentatious?” Stone offered.
“I was going to say flashy, but I guess opsenbacious will do.”
“Yes, you want to keep a low profile,” Stone said. “Why don’t you look at some penthouses today?”
“Good idea,” Herbie said, turning toward the door while reaching for his cell phone and pressing a speed-dial button. “Hello, Serena? Herbert Fisher here. I’d like to see some penthouses.” He listened for a moment. “High-up ones,” he said. “Meet you outside your office in ten minutes? I’m in the Maybach.” He snapped the phone shut. “See you, Stone.”
“Be sure and look at a lot of apartments,” Stone said. “You really want to know what’s out there before you decide. And you might ask to see apartments that are already nicely decorated.” Stone dreaded to think what sort of decor Herbie might wind up with.
“Yeah, maybe,” Herbie said. “You want to come along? It’s a nice car.”
“Can’t, Herbie; too much work to get done. Have a good day.”
“You, too,” Herbie said, and then walked out.
After he heard the outside door close, Stone walked down the corridor to Joan’s office. “You let him use my office?”
“Why? Did he disturb anything?”
“Only me.”
“Well, he’s our most important client, isn’t he? We have to treat him well.”
“Did he tell you he’s thinking of buying the house next door?”
Joan put the back of a hand to her forehead. “Oh, no.”
“If he does, he’ll be in here every day.”
“Oh, no, no!”
“Wouldn’t you be happy to see our most important client every day?”
“No, no. Please, no.”
“I’m encouraging him to go high-rise,” Stone said. “Assist me in that endeavor, will you? Help me convince him that he belongs in a penthouse in some building on the far Upper West Side or maybe New Jersey.”
“New Jersey would be perfect,” she said.
“By the way, did you happen to see the woman standing across the street?”
“Oh, God! Was it Dolce?”
“I don’t know; she was wearing a hood that obscured her face, and she walked away shortly after I spotted her. Your view must have been blocked by the car Herbie is thinking of buying.”
“The Maybach? That’s big enough.”
“We’re supposed to have one of Cantor’s people here to deal with Dolce, remember?”
“Oh, there was one here. He said he was going down to Second Avenue to look for a paper.”
“Did you offer him the Times or The Wall Street Journal?”
“I think he’s more of a Post reader,” she replied. “Oh, here he comes.”
The door opened, and a large young man walked in carrying a Post under one arm. “Hi,” he said, offering Stone a hand. “I’m Jake Musket. Everything all right?”