Free Criminal Mischief by Stuart Woods

moved on to other places.
    Kitty rolled him over. “Your turn to be dessert,” she said.
    They spent an hour pleasuring each other then fell asleep, entwined.
----
    —
    The following morning, Kitty threw on some clothes and left the apartment for a few minutes, returning with freshly baked croissants and other pastries. She made a pot of coffee, poured some freshly squeezed orange juice into a pitcher, and brought it all to the bed where Stone was sitting up, waiting.
    “I had a call on my cell phone while I was standing in line at the bakery,” she said. “An acquaintance of mine asked me if it is true that you are trying to get my money back from Zanian.”
    “I’m hearing a lot of that, and it isn’t true. What did you tell your friend?”
    “That I know you, but the rumor is not true.”
    “Thank you for that. Another hundred people would have heard it by lunchtime. I’ve never experienced anything quite like this.”
    “Perhaps some fame would be good for your practice.”
    “Not rumor fame. It just eats up time that should be billing at a thousand dollars an hour.”
    “Is that what you get?”
    “It’s what all the senior partners at Woodman & Weld get.”
    “Is Herb Fisher a senior partner?” she asked.
    “Not yet. Soon, though.”
    “Oh, good. Why are you such a good lover?” she asked.
    “Not I, you. You bring it out in me.”
    “You are kind.”
    “I am truthful, and the truth is not always kind.” He looked at the bedside clock. “The truth is, I’d better be going. I have to shower and change before work.”
    “I don’t want you to go, but I understand.” She kissed him tenderly in a nice place.
----
    —
    Stone was back at his desk to take a call from Bob Cantor. “What are you hearing?”
    “I’m hearing how you’re going to get everybody’s money back.”
    “From whom are you hearing that?”
    “From everybody I talk to.”
    Stone looked at the stack of phone messages Joan had left on his desk. “It’s infesting my workspace, too. Anything new to report?”
    “Zanian’s Gulfstream is still at Aspen, and it’s snowing out there, so I expect they’ll be grounded for a day or two.”
    “Thanks, gotta run.” He hung up and buzzed Joan. She walked in. “What am I to do about all these calls from Zanian victims and the press on that subject?”
    “Tell them each the same thing: that while I am acquainted with a couple of victims, I am not seeking to recover funds for anyone. Refer them to the FBI.”
    “Okay.”
    “And sound convincing.”
    “Okay, I’ll try.”
    “You know how to sound convincing when you want to.”
    She closed the door behind her. The line continued to ring all morning, and Stone shut off the bell. Just before lunch, Joan announced that Bill Eggers, the managing partner of Woodman & Weld, was on the phone.
    Stone picked it up. “Good morning, Bill. And no, I have notfound, nor am I searching for, the treasure of Viktor Zanian. I don’t know how that rumor got started.”
    “I suspected you weren’t,” Eggers said. “Are you searching for the reward on Zanian?”
    “That’s different, but I’m not having any success.”
    “So, you are going after the reward?”
    “Who in his right mind, if Zanian fell into his lap, would not welcome him and turn his ass in to the FBI?”
    “But your lap is empty?”
    “Would that it was not so.”
    “My wife has a friend who had a few million with Zanian,” Eggers said.
    “My condolences to her. Refer her to Herbie Fisher. He has a lot of spare energy for that sort of thing.”
    “Not a bad idea.”
    “Success would catapult him into a senior partnership, would it not?”
    “If we got to keep the reward, sure.”
    “Tell him that, and he’ll make the search his first priority.”
    “Okay, I’ll do that right now.”
    “Thank you, Bill, and discourage rumormongers, will you? I don’t have the time.”
    They both hung up. The light on the incoming line continued to flash every minute or