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Over there at that table, with an ale in your hand, Stone said. When the guy arrives and youve identified him, pull on your right earlobe, like this. Stone pulled on his earlobe. Where? He hesitated and then decided to see if the other key on the ring would open it. He didnt know why she would lock her phone up in there, but he had seen her rushing around enough times trying to find stuff at the town house. Her car keys had once ended up in the refrigerator for some odd reason. What they taught you in the world of high finance was simple really: win or lose. Eat or starve. It was a binary choice. No Taliban or Afghan soldier pretending to be your ally before banging a round into the back of your head. Here, his chief concerns were quarterly earnings projections, liquidity, free and closed markets, monopolies and oligarchies, in-house lawyers who wanted you to stick to the rules, and bosses who insisted that you didnt. And most significant of all, the persons sitting right next to Devine at the office. They were mortal foes. It was him or them in Wall Streets version of mixed martial arts. Well, listen again, Mason said, and youll find that Im simply trying to protect my client against imposition. You know what all that adds up to, dont you? Not in the cards. I dont want that, and neither does he. Hell trade me in for a younger model at some point. That got the door slammed right in his face. Yeah. No, no. I mean when did he want you to come? Who has the other? And then what? They finished lunch and went outside, where Erskine waited with the car. Stone gave Vanessa a house key, closed her car door, and the women drove away. Cadiz took the subpoena, folded it, pushed it down into his pants pocket and said, Thats the hell of getting mixed up with civilization. I thought that hundred and fifty dollars was a little too easy. Oh, Mrs. Spanner, Im sorry. I looked up the faculty at Caltech but didnt see a Tapshaw listed. So I just left a message on the department receptionists voice mail for Professor Tapshaw. Im not going to tell you what mine is, Stone said. George Lutts was a man in his fifties, with heavy, bushy eyebrows under which suspicious grey eyes peered with the intensity of a man trying to look through a thick fog. He pushed his head forward, as if by so doing he could see Perry Masons face to better advantage, and he studied the lawyers features. Blinking his eyes rapidly, he seemed almost to be sniffing the air..