Dino dipped into the bag and came out with a hundred-dollar bill. He held it up to the light, snapped it a couple of times and laid it on the table. “Entirely genuine,” Dino said, then he turned to Herbie. “They don’t hand out millions in cash at the lottery office, you know. Where did you get it?”

“I cashed a check,” Herbie replied.

Stone flagged down a passing waiter. “David,” he said, “would you please go and find me a good-sized paper bag?”

“Sure,” David replied. He went into the kitchen and came back with a plastic shopping bag. “No paper bags. Will this do?”

“Yes,” Stone said, accepting the bag and handing it to Dino. “Will you please put one million dollars of Herbie’s money into this bag, Dino?”

“That okay with you, Herbie?”

“Sure, go ahead,” Herbie replied.

Dino held the plastic bag close to the purse and counted out ten of the bundles. He handed the bag to Stone. “There you go.”

“Just put it on the floor beside me,” Stone said, and Dino did so. Stone looked at Herbie for the first time. “All right, you’ve got my attention; I’ll listen for one minute.”

“They’re trying to kill me,” Herbie said.

“Who is trying to kill you?”

“People who want my money.”

“Are these people aware that you walk around with two million dollars of it in a woman’s handbag?”

Herbie shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Herbie, you’ve been flashing this money around, haven’t you?”

“Well, sort of.”

“The hooker must know about the money, since it’s in her handbag.”

“What hooker?”

“The one you walked in here with.”

“She’s not a hooker.”

“Herbie, she’s with you; she is, ipso facto, a hooker.”

“Part-time, maybe,” Herbie admitted.

“Who do hookers work for, Herbie?”

“Me?”

“Besides you?”

“Madams? Pimps?”

“And who do madams and pimps work for, Herbie?”

“They’re self-employed, aren’t they?”