“No, but I think it would make your life worse if someone is trying to kill you.”

Carly thought about that. “I was in a similar position once, but I figured out how to resolve it.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Well, when I was about fifteen, there was this little shit named Bobby Haney in my class who thought he would amuse himself by making my life hell. He hit me a couple of times, and it hurt, but I was faster than he was, so I ran. Then I got tired of running.”

“So, what did you do?”

“I got some books from the library on self-defense, read them, and practiced for about a month. I saw a couple of films on the subject, too. I got pretty good at it, I figured, but I still had a problem: my weight deficiency. I knew that if Bobby Haney hit me, he could hurt me so badly that I couldn’t defend myself, so I worked on not getting hit.”

“Did that work?”

“I had to find out using the real thing, not a dummy, so I sort of put myself in harm’s way. I went to the gym after school, when I knew the wrestling team would be working out, and I waited until they had finished and were leaving the mats, then I walked over to where Bobby Haney was toweling himself off and just stood there. He was the last to leave, but then he saw me. He said something like, ‘You little cunt.’ So I spat in his eye. I’m still a pretty good spitter.”

“And what did Haney do?”

“What I knew he would do. He ran at me. I did a little sidestep and tripped him. He fell off the mat, onto the hardwood floor and landed on his chin. I figured that was as good as hitting him there, because he bit his tongue.”

“Okay, tell me why you’re still alive.”

“When Haney got up, I kicked him in the ribs, and he went down again. He kept doing that, and so did I. Pretty soon, he couldn’t get up anymore; he was sort of helpless. So, I walked slowly over to where he sat, pulled his chin up, and hit him in the nose, as hard as I could. I felt the cartilage break. He spouted blood, but he still couldn’t get to his feet. I could hear feet behind me, running toward me, so I turned and dodged a couple of wrestlers, tripped one of them, who fell into a pool of Haney’s blood. The other one stopped, and just stood there, no doubt wondering whose blood he was seeing.”

“What happened then?”

“I just looked at Haney and said to him, ‘I don’t want to see you again, except in class. Anywhere else, and I’ll hurt you.’ ”

“And that was it?”

“I never saw him again, except in class.”

“That’s a good story, Carly, but we’re not dealing with school bullies here. So please don’t try that, if anybody bothers us.”

She shrugged. “As you wish.”

Chapter 58

Stone got a call from Bill Eggers, his managing partner. “I need you in my office for lunch with a prospective client,” he said.

“Sure, who’s the client?”

“Name of Peter Greco. He’s the CEO of a conglomerate, made up of half a dozen companies. He reckons they’ll spend about three million a year on legal fees.”

“See you at lunch.” He didn’t mention that he knew Greco and that he had declined to represent his group, something that Greco had said he understood and would respect.

Stone was on time and accepted a glass of tonic water, as he sat at the table.

“Greco is late,” Eggers said.

“How did he come to you?” Stone asked.

“He knew a guy I was at Harvard with.”

“Not much of a recommendation.”

“He mentioned three million in fees. That was enough of a recommendation.”

“Right,” Stone said.

An hour later, Eggers left the conference room then came back. “I guess he isn’t going to show. His secretary said he had left his office in plenty of time to make our lunch.” Eggers absently speared a slice of quiche and started eating it. “When are you going to send Carly back to us?”

“Maybe never. She’s turned out to be very useful. I don’t have to use a dictionary anymore.”

“She has a big vocabulary?”

“Well, yes. When she was twelve, she says, she memorized the Oxford English Dictionary.”

“How much of it?”

“All twenty volumes of it.”

Eggers stared at him. “You’re kidding.”

“I kid you not. Just ask and she’ll give you the spelling, definition, and etymology of any word in it, though I rarely need the etymology.”

“I don’t think you should let any of our clients know that,” Eggers said.

“Why not?”

“She’ll scare them to death.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

They finished eating, and Stone stood. “Thanks for the lunch. See you around. Let me know if you want to reschedule.”

Stone left the building and walked slowly back to his house, crossing the street now and then and watching the reflections in shop windows to be sure he wasn’t being followed. He seemed in the clear.

Back at his office he greeted Joan, who was hard at work, typing something on her computer. He was still hungry, so he walked back to the kitchen and found a pickle, which had just the right flavor. When he reached his office, the door was open, and a man was seated opposite his desk, his back to the door.

Stone returned to Joan’s office. “Who’s the guy in my office?”

“What guy?” she asked, mystified.