Stone Barrington is caught between a clever con man-who's just become his client-and a beautiful prosecutor in this stylish thriller in the bestselling series.Two-Dollar Bill delivers all the storytelling twists and whip-smart banter readers have come to love in Stuart Woods's thrillers. In this latest, Stone Barrington, the suave Manhattan cop-turned-lawyer, is back on his home turf facing down a brilliant Southern flimflam man.The fun-and action-begins with what Stone believes will be a quiet dinner with his ex-partner, Dino, but they are interrupted by Billy Bob, a filthy rich, smooth-talkin' Texan, who strolls in and parks himself at their table. He's in town "to make money," he says, unwrapping his wad of rare two-dollar bills, and in need of an attorney-namely, Stone-though he won't say why or when such representation will be necessary. As they leave the restaurant, however, an unknown assailant shoots at Stone and his cohorts-and the wily Southerner has spread his two-dollar bills around to everyone like confetti.
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June 06, 2005
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Excerpt from Two-Dollar Bill (Stone Barrington Series: #11) by Stuart Woods
ELAINE'S, LATE. For some reason no one could remember, Thursday nights were always the busiest at Elaine's. Stone Barrington reflected that it may have had something to do with the old custom of Thursday being Writer's Night, an informal designation that began to repeat itself when a lot of the writers who were regular customers gathered on Thursdays at the big table, number four, to bitch about their publishers, their agents, the size of their printings and promotion budgets, their wives, ex-wives, children, ex-children, dogs and ex-dogs.
The custom had withered with the imposition of smoking rules, when Elaine figured that number four needed to be in the smoking section, and since the new, no-smoking-at-all law came into effect, Writer's Night had never been revived. Anyway, Stone figured, every night was Writer's Night at Elaine's, and that was all right with him.
On this particular night, every table in the main dining room was jammed, and the overflow of tourists and nonregulars had filled most of the tables in Deepest Siberia, which was the other dining room. The only times Stone had ever sat in that room were either when Elaine had sold the main dining room for a private party, or when he was in deep shit with Elaine, something he tried to avoid.
Tonight, however, Elaine was fixing him with that gaze that could remove varnish. He had been to a black tie dinner party and had stopped by for a drink afterward, just in time to secure his usual table, the last available. Now he was sitting there, sipping a brandy, and not eating dinner. Elaine strongly preferred it if, when one sat down at a table, especially on a night as busy as this, one ordered dinner. She didn't much care if you ate it or not, as long as it got onto the bill.
To make matters worse, Dino had wandered in, having also dined elsewhere, and had sat down and also ordered only a brandy.
Suddenly, Elaine loomed over the table. "You fucking rich guys," she said.
"Huh " Stone asked, as if he didn't know what she meant.
She explained it to him. "You go out and eat somewhere else in your fucking tuxedos, then you come in here and take up a table and nurse a drink."
"Wait a minute," Dino said, "I'm not wearing a tuxedo."
"And I'm not nursing this drink," Stone said, downing the rest of his brandy and holding up his glass, signaling a waiter for another. "And you may recall, we were in here last night, eating with both hands."
"A new night begins at sunset," Elaine said. "Now get hungry or get to the bar." She wandered off and sat down at another table.
"You feeling hungry " Stone asked.