My finger scrolls up the page. “A AAAA Attorneys.” On the next line are the words, “All Your Needs – Lowest Prices.”

“Not bad,” Shep says.

“I got it!” Charlie shouts. Shep and I both shush him down to a whisper. “Sorry… sorry,” he says, barely audible. He spins his book around and shoves it in front of my face, knocking my own phonebook straight into my lap. His pointer finger jabs right to the spot. All it says is “A.” Under it, the text has one word: Lawyer.

“I still vote for mine,” I say. “You gotta like the low price guarantee.”

“Are you on crack?” Charlie asks. “All. Mine’s. Using. Is. An. A.”

“Mine’s got five As – all in a row.”

Charlie looks me straight in the eye. “Mine’s from Jersey.”

“We have a winner,” Shep announces.

This time, Charlie’s the one who leaps for the phone. Shep pounds him in the knuckles. “Not from here,” Shep says. Heading for the door, he adds, “That’s why God invented payphones.”

“Are you crazy?” I ask. “All three of us hovering over a payphone? Yeah, that’s inconspicuous.”

“I suppose you have a better idea?”

“I work with rich people every day,” I say, stepping in front of Shep and taking a quick glance at the clock. “You think I don’t know the best places to hide money from the government?”

“Hi,” Charlie coos with a beauty pageant smile as he glides up to the black granite reception desk. We’re on the fourth floor of the Wayne & Portnoy building, a sterile cavernous structure that, even though it has all the architectural charm of an empty shoebox, still has two redeeming qualities: First, it’s across the street from the bank, and second, it’s home to the largest stuffed-shirt law firm in the city.

Behind the desk, an overdressed, overexcited receptionist is yammering into her headset, which is exactly what Charlie’s counting on. Sneaking in may be my idea, but we both know who’s better face-to-face. We all play to our strengths. “Hi,” he says for the second time, knowing it’ll charm. “I’m waiting for Bert Collier to come down… and I was wondering if I could use a phone for a quick private call.” I smile to myself. Norbert Collier was just one of a hundred names listed on the firm directory in the lobby. By calling him Bert, Charlie has them sounding like old friends.

“Back past the elevators,” the receptionist says without even hesitating.

Still hiding out of sight around the corner, Shep and I wait for Charlie to pass, then fall in line behind him. I point him to the wood-paneled door and usher them into a small conference room. The words Client Services are on a brass nameplate just outside the door. It’s not a huge room. Small mahogany table, a few upholstered chairs, bagels and cream cheese on the sideboard, a fax machine against the wall, and four separate telephones. Everything we need to do some damage.

“Nice choice,” Shep says, dumping his pea coat on the back of a chair. “Even if they trace it…”

“… all they’ll find are some Wayne & Portnoy clients,” I add, throwing my coat on top.

“You’re all geniuses,” Charlie adds. “Now can we get going on our stutterer? Tick-tock, tick-tock.”

Shep slides into a seat, pulls the number from his pocket, and grabs the phone in a meaty paw. As he dials, Charlie hits the Hands-Free button on the starfish speakerphone system that’s at the center of the table. Everybody loves conference calls.

It rings three times before someone picks up. “Law offices,” a male voice answers.

Shep keeps it cool and calm. “Hello, I’m looking for a lawyer and was wondering what type of law Mr… uh… Mr…”

“Bendini.”

“Right… Bendini…” Shep repeats, writing it down. “I was wondering what type of law Mr. Bendini specializes in.”

“What type of law are you looking for?”

Shep nods to the two of us. The only thing fishier is Starkist. Here’s our man. “Actually, we’re looking for someone who specializes in keeping things… well, we’re hoping to keep things low-profile…”

There’s a short pause on the other line. “Talk to me,” Bendini says.

Bam, Shep’s out of his seat. He paces slightly, though his big frame makes it look more like lumbering. I can’t tell if he’s thrilled or scared. I’m betting thrilled. All those years behind the desk, he’s feeling his inner James Bond. “I’m gonna put on my associate,” he tells Bendini. Shep nods to me as I strain to get as close as I can to the speakerphone.

“You lean in any more, you’re gonna start humping it,” Charlie teases.

“Mr. Bendini…?” I ask.

No one answers.

Shep shakes his head. Charlie laughs and pretends it’s a cough.

Catching on, I start over. Without using names. “Here’s the story: I want you to listen carefully, and I want you to call the following number…” I want, I want, I want, I say, driving home my point. Charlie sticks his chest out at my newfound tone. He’s happy to see me strong… more demanding. At least I learned something from Lapidus after all these years.

“The place is called Purchase Out International, and you want to ask for Arnie,” I explain. “Don’t let them give you anyone else. Arnie’s the only one we deal with. When you get him on the line, tell him you need a same-day four-layer cake, endzone in Antigua. He’ll know what it is.”

“Believe me, kid, I know how to stack corporations,” Bendini interrupts in a brickyard Jersey accent.

“Don’t back down,” Charlie whispers. I’m not. My eyes are sharp, my face is flushed. I’m finally feeling my pulse.

“What name you want to put it in?” Bendini adds.

“Martin Duckworth,” all three of us say simultaneously.

I swear, I hear Bendini roll his eyes. “Fine – Martin Duckworth,” he repeats. “And for initial ownership?”

He needs another fake name. This one doesn’t matter – everything’s ultimately owned by Duckworth. “Ribbie Henson,” I say, using the name of Charlie’s imaginary friend from when he was six.

“Fine – Ribbie Henson. Now how do you wanna pay Arnie’s bill?”

Damn. I hadn’t even thought of that.

Charlie and Shep both go to jump in, but I wave them back. “Tell him we’ll pay when we request the original paperwork – right now all we need is a fax,” I decide. Before Bendini can argue, I add, “It’s what he does with the big fish – they don’t pay until the money hits. Tell him we’re whales.”

Charlie looks at me like he’s never seen me before. “Now we’re talking,” he whispers to Shep.

“And when do you need it by?” Bendini asks.

“How’s a half-hour sound?” I reply.

Again, there’s a short pause. “I’ll do what I can,” Bendini says, unfazed. Clearing his throat for emphasis, he adds, “Now how’m I gonna get paid?”

I look at Charlie. He looks to Shep. Bendini doesn’t sound like the kinda guy you just say “bill me” to.

“Tell me your rates,” Shep says.

“Tell me what it’s worth,” Bendini shoots back.

Smacking the Hands-Free button, I shut off the speakerphone. “Don’t dicker!” I hiss. “We’re running out of-”

“I’ll give you a thousand cash if you can do it in a half-hour,” Shep says as he turns the phone back on.

“A grand?” Bendini asks. “Boys, I don’t piss for a grand – even when I have to. The minimum is five.”

Shep shoots a panicked look to me, and I go back to Charlie. My brother shakes his head. His cookie jar’s always empty. As my eyes drop down to my watch, I press my lips together. Takes money to make money. Looking back at Shep, I can’t help but nod. Charlie knows what it means. There go some B-school funds – and hospital bills.

“Don’t worry,” Charlie whispers with a hand on my shoulder. “It’s another staple we’re gonna put in Lapidus’s head.”

“Okay, you got it,” Shep tells Bendini. “We’ll wire it as soon as we hang up.” Reading from the white sticker on the fax machine, Shep relays our phone and fax numbers, thanks the price-gouger, and hangs up the phone.