Fresh Disasters (22 page)

S
tone was awoken from a sound sleep by the ringing of the phone. He tried to move but seemed to be pinned in place. He opened his eyes to a close-up of Eliza Larkin that was very close up, since they were wrapped around each other.

He freed an arm and reached for the phone. “Yeah?” he croaked.

“Rise and shine, pal,” Dino said. “It’s five-thirty in the morning. Greet the new day!”

“You sound alarmingly happy for this time of day,” Stone said. “Why are you up?”

“I never went to bed,” Dino said. “Never needed to. I never had so much fun in my life!”

“How did you spend your night, Dino?”

“Questioning Jerome Daltry,” Dino said. “Charley Sample brought a D.A. over here from Jersey, and he did a deal with little Jerry, who, I might add, is a straight-out, honest-to-God psychopath.”

“What’s the deal?”

“Jerome gets twenty to life in a New Jersey joint for the criminally insane, and, in return, he confessed to running you down with the car and killing Celia. We got it all on videotape, and we got it in writing, too—signed, sealed and delivered! He even told us he delivered Celia’s head to Devlin, put it right in his hands! Can you imagine how that’s going to play in court?”

“What did Devlin have to say for himself?”

“Oh, he was having a little trouble talking, what with his broken jaw and all, but he did manage to speak the word
lawyer
a number of times. Doesn’t matter, though, we’ve got him sewed up for Celia’s murder and for the two rapes, too!”

“There was somebody besides Genevieve?”

“Yeah, he got over on my detective before the cavalry could get there. Couldn’t be helped. She’s taking it like a champ, though, and she’ll be great in court. So will Genevieve, come to that. She’s pissed off enough to kill him, if we’d let her.”

“You did have a good night, didn’t you?”

“Sometimes I just love this job!” Dino crowed. “I’m going home and get some sleep. We’ll talk later.” He hung up.

Stone put the phone down and turned back to Eliza, who was wide awake. “That was Dino; he…”

“I could hear him shouting,” she said. “I got it all. He’s right about Genevieve; when she gets her day in court she’ll nail the guy.”

Stone kissed her. “You’re very nice to wake up to,” he said.

She shortened the distance between them. “You, too,” she said. She ran her hand down his belly. “I sense that something is going on down there.”

“You’re a perceptive woman,” Stone said, rolling her over on top of him.

“I’ll think of something to do with it,” she said, kissing him again and slipping him inside her. “It’s my day off, too, so we’re going to be here for a while.”

The phone rang again. “Fuck it,” Stone said.

“It’s probably more good news,” Eliza said. “I can wait another few seconds.”

Stone grabbed the phone. “What?”

“Well, don’t bite my head off,” Herbie said.

“Jesus, Herbie, do you know what time it is?”

“I’ve got five-forty. You really ought to invest in a watch, Stone.”

“What do you want, Herbie?”

“I just wanted to let you know that I’m taking your advice,” Herbie said. “I took a cab to Jersey, and I’m on a bus, headed south.”

“Great news, Herbie. Good-bye and good luck.”

“Oh, will you tell Uncle Bob good-bye for me?”

“Sure, I will. Good-bye.”

“And say good-bye to that nice D.A., too. You know, if I’d been able to hang around, I would have taken a shot at that. She’s cute!”

“I’ll tell her you said so, Herbie; I’m sure she’ll be devastated to lose the chance. Good-bye.”

“Hey, you think she’ll really be devastated? Maybe I’ll hang around and…”

“Good-bye, Herbie,” Stone said and hung up. He turned back to Eliza. “That was Herbie.”

“I heard. Do you think you’ve seen the last of him?”

“Dear God, I hope so,” Stone said, turning his full attention to her again.

“You know, you went down a bit when you were talking to Herbie, but now…”

Stone made a little thrust.

“You’re back,” she said, helping him.

H
erbie got off the subway downtown and began looking for a place to have breakfast. He passed a newsstand and picked up a
Daily News.
He reflected that he was going to have to start reading the
Times
, now that he was a lawyer. It looked better.

He found an early-opening restaurant and ordered eggs, bacon and pancakes. He had lost weight in that lousy hotel, and now he was going to gain it back. He ate slowly and turned to the paper. There was a front-page story: Carmine Dattila released from jail. That pissed him off all over again. He checked his watch frequently; he didn’t want to be too early.

A
t nine o’clock he paid for his breakfast and took a walk. He found a street vendor selling cheap raincoats, and he bought one, along with a rain hat and some sunglasses. It did look like rain after all, and he could use a disguise of sorts. Dattila’s people were still out there, looking for him.

He walked slowly downtown, window-shopping and looking at the career girls on their way to work. He was going to specialize in career girls after he got his law office open. He stopped and looked for a long time in the window of an expensive men’s store. He was going to buy good suits like that and get a better haircut, too. Also shoes. Alot of men who were trying to look good stinted on the shoes. He hated cheap shoes; they made the whole outfit look cheap.

He continued downtown, checking his watch from time to time. Just after ten would be perfect, he reckoned, and this had been confirmed by what he had read in the paper.

He reached Mott Street and increased his pace a bit. He turned and walked quickly down to where he could see the sign for the La Boheme coffeehouse. A black Cadillac sedan sat at the curb, its engine idling.

He had it all worked out; he knew exactly what to do, from start to finish. He opened the door to the coffeehouse and walked quickly in; the door closed itself behind him. He kept walking at the same pace, not hurrying, heading for the table at the rear. He walked straight up to it, raised his hand and fired two shots at Carmine Dattila’s head, then he spun around, waving the cop’s pistol he had borrowed at people who were half out of their chairs. He was surprised not to see any weapons; he had half expected to be shot himself. He went quickly to the door and backed out into the street, still holding the gun out before him.

Half a dozen men fell on him from different directions. He dropped the gun and offered no resistance. A moment later he was handcuffed and in the back of a police car. “Hey, where did you guys come from?” he asked the driver.

“We’re all over town, pal,” the driver replied.

S
tone lay on his back, breathing deeply, emptied of the ability to do anything about his desire for Eliza Larkin. She sat up in bed, naked, eating a piece of toast from a tray and reading the newspaper.

“How many times was that?” Stone asked.

“I don’t know exactly,” she replied, “but you will astonish me if you have anything left.”

“But you do?”

“I don’t have to get an erection,” she explained. “And I’m in pretty good shape, so I expect I could go all morning, if you have any interest.”

“Interest, yes; strength, no.”

“Interest is good,” she said, patting his belly.

Joan’s voice came from the intercom. “Assistant District Attorney Monahan is on line one,” she said, articulating the title carefully. Good Joan.

Stone held a finger to his lips for Eliza to see, and she nodded. He picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Stone,” Dierdre said, “I hardly know what to say to you. I would have thought, just thought, that you would have been able to keep Herbert Fisher out of trouble, after his close call at the hotel.”

“Herbie is on a bus to Florida,” Stone replied, careful not to use her name. “He called me from the road early this morning.”

“Maybe from the road,” Dierdre said, “but not the road to Florida. Try the road to Little Italy.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“You should be hearing from Herbie again soon,” she said, “when it finally dawns on him that he needs a lawyer.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Stone said. “What was Herbie doing in Little Italy?”

“Killing Carmine Dattila.”

“What?”
He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“At ten minutes past ten this morning, Herbie walked into the La Boheme coffeehouse and shot Dattila the Hun twice in the head, and actually got out of the place alive, because half an hour before, the police had gone in there and arrested everybody who had a gun. We still had a whole bunch of people hanging around the block in plain clothes, and they managed to disarm and handcuff Herbie before he could hurt himself.”

“Where is he now?”

“In the lockup downstairs. Frankly, we’re a little undecided as to what to do with him: charge him with first-degree murder or give him a medal for his service to the community. Could you get your ass down here as quickly as possible, please?”

“I’ll be there in an hour,” Stone said. He hung up.

“I couldn’t hear that one,” Eliza said. “I guess nobody was shouting.”

“It’s just as well; you wouldn’t have believed it. I certainly don’t.”

A
n hour and ten minutes later Stone presented himself at the district attorney’s office and was ushered into a conference room where Dierdre Monahan and the chief deputy D.A. were already seated. Simultaneously, Herbie was brought in through another door, wearing shackles, his hands cuffed to a chain around his waist.

“Hey, Stone,” he said. “I…”

“Shut up, Herbie, and don’t say another word, or I’ll borrow a gun and shoot you.”

“I’ll loan you a gun,” Dierdre said.

Stone sat down opposite her and her boss, while Herbie was pressed into a chair at the end of the table. A uniformed policeman stood behind him, glowering.

Dierdre shoved a sheet of paper across the table. “That’s your client’s signature at the bottom of a waiver of his right to an attorney,” she said. She held up a cassette. “And this is the videotape of his full confession to the murder of Carmine Dattila.”

“Well, I don’t know why I had to come all the way downtown,” Stone said. “Why don’t you just electrocute him and get it over with?”

“Hey!” Herbie said.

“Shut up, Herbie, or I’ll have your mouth duct-taped.”

Herbie muttered something about free speech.

“Do you have any duct tape?” Stone asked Dierdre.

“I’ll send out for some,” she replied. “Stone, as I mentioned on the phone, we’re in a bit of a quandary here. We’d like your views on how to handle this.”

Stone looked back and forth between the two prosecutors. He had time to reflect that no D.A. had ever asked his advice about prosecuting a client of his. Then he got the picture. “Oh,” he said. “Right. My client, Mr. Fisher, has been hounded and abused by Carmine Dattila and his employees for weeks. They have beaten him, kidnapped him and his murder has been ordered by Mr. Dattila, a tape of which statement is in your possession. Additionally, after the only other witness against Mr. Dattila was murdered in jail, Dattila sent a hired assassin to the hotel where Mr. Fisher was being held in protective custody, where he murdered the two police officers guarding him and would have murdered Mr. Fisher, had he not had the presence of mind to escape the hotel suite before the assassin found him.

“These events convinced Mr. Fisher that the District Attorney and the police could not
ever
protect him, so, while the balance of his mind…may have been disturbed by these events, he found himself in the presence of Mr. Dattila and did the only thing he could do to protect himself in the circumstances and entirely in self-defense.” Stone stopped and took a breath. “That’s what I’d say to a jury, and I’d get an acquittal.”

Dierdre nodded. She looked at her boss questioningly, and he nodded. “All right,” she said. “You understand we can’t have people walking around the city armed and shooting people. How about he pleads to one count of illegal possession of a weapon and gets a year, suspended?”

“Done,” Stone said.

“A year?” Herbie asked, sounding horrified.

“Suspended, Herbie. Shut up.”

“There’s a judge waiting for us in his chambers,” Dierdre said, getting to her feet.

H
alf an hour later, Stone and Herbie stood on the steps of the courthouse in the sunshine. Herbie was examining the contents of an envelope that had been handed to him on the way out of the judge’s chambers.

“Do you have any money, Herbie?” Stone asked.

“Yeah, all my stuff is in here, except the cop’s gun. I guess they kept that.”

“Well, yes, they would have,” Stone said. “Do I have to explain to you that there are friends and employees of Carmine Dattila out there who would still like to squash you like a bug, even though the contract on your head may have expired with Dattila? And that you should go back to your aunt’s in East Hampton or any other place you like and lie very low for as long as possible, and that you should never again go near a bookie or a loan shark or Little Italy? Did I explain that to you?”

“I think you just did,” Herbie said.

“Then get your ass into a cab,” Stone said, clapping Herbie on the back. “And don’t ever, ever call me again.”

“Wait a minute,” Herbie said. “What about my civil action against Dattila? We could go for his estate.”

“Estate? You think Dattila had an estate? Like on paper? If he did, the IRS would get there first, believe me, and you’d find yourself in small claims court.”

“Oh,” Herbie replied.

“Get lost, Herbie.” Stone ran down the steps, waving at a taxi, and he did not look back.

S
tone got out of the cab and ran up the stairs into the house, avoiding the office door. Eliza was upstairs, still in bed, waiting.

Before he could get into the elevator, he heard Joan’s voice calling to him over the phone’s intercom.

“Stone,” she said, “there’s a client here to see you. I think you’re going to want to take this meeting.”

“I’ll be back as soon as humanly possible,” he said to Eliza.

“Sooner than that,” she said.

Stone sighed and started down the stairs. If Herbie had beat him here, well, there was a gun in his office safe. He walked into his office and found Bernice Finger sitting on his leather sofa.

“Why, Mrs. Finger,” he said, extending his hand. “How nice to see you.” It really was very nice to see her; she had obviously come to her senses. He sat down next to her. “How can I help you?”

“Well,” she began, then stopped. “First, I have something to give you,” she said, opening her handbag.

Stone watched her, baffled, as she came up with a gold-plated .38 Detective Special with a snub-nosed barrel.

“Could you do something with this, please?” she asked, pointing it at him, as if to shoot.

Stone grabbed the weapon. “Bernice,” he said, “please don’t tell me you…” He flipped open the cylinder of the gun and found it fully loaded. Two of the cartridges had been fired. “Oh, no,” he said, half to himself.

“I shot them both,” she said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

“Oh, no,” he said, this time aloud.

“But I missed,” she said. “I scared the shit out of them, though.” She smiled.

Stone let go the breath he had been holding. “I expect you did,” he said. “Did Bernie call the police?”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “That was a couple of hours ago, and nobody’s tried to arrest me.”

Stone nodded. “And what are your intentions now?”

“I believe I’m ready to proceed with the divorce.”

“Really? No backing out this time?”

“I give you my word.”

Stone looked at his watch. “Just a moment.” He rose, went to his desk and picked up the phone. “Get me Sam Teich at Bernie Finger’s office,” he said to Joan. A long moment passed, then Joan came back. “He’s on line one,” she said.

Stone picked up the phone and pushed the button. “Good afternoon, Sam.”

“Good afternoon, Stone. I’ve been expecting your call; Bernie’s here with me. I want you to know, up front, that Bernie has no intention of pressing criminal charges.”

“That’s awfully sweet of Bernie,” Stone said.

“Are the figures we talked about before still acceptable?”

“Hardly,” Stone said, “but I’ll tell you what I’ll do: Add fifty percent to the cash amounts in the agreement, have it retyped, have Bernie sign it before a notary, send the signed deeds for the real estate and a cashier’s check for the money over here by close of business, and we’re done.”

“Just a minute.” He covered the phone with his hand for a minute, then came back. “We’ll need a nondisclosure agreement,” he said. “Bernie doesn’t want to read about this on Page Six of the
Post
.”

“That’s acceptable,” Stone said.

“I already have everything but the cashier’s check and the retyped agreement. You’ll have it all in two hours.”

“Thank you, Sam. Best to Bernie.” He hung up and turned to Bernice Finger. “We have a firm agreement,” he said. “Everything will be here in a couple of hours. We’ll process the check, deduct our fee, according to our agreement, and issue you a cashier’s check from my account first thing tomorrow morning. All we need do then is present the signed agreement to a judge with a joint petition for a decree. And remember, you can’t tell a soul what you got in the agreement. It’s big trouble if you do.”

Bernice Finger pressed a hand to her ample bosom. “Oh, that’s such a relief,” she said. She stood up. “Well, I’ll look forward to receiving my check in the morning.”

Stone walked her to the front door. “Bernice, I hope I don’t have to put you under armed guard to prevent another trip to Vegas.”

She laughed aloud. “Fat chance!” she said, then walked to her waiting car, where the chauffeur was braced with the door open, got in and was driven away.

Stone went back inside. “Were you listening on the phone?”

“Oh, yes,” Joan said. “That was thrilling.”

“Call the bank and tell them we’re making a late deposit, a cashier’s check, and we want the funds cleared immediately. When it clears, deduct our fee and messenger Mrs. Finger a cashier’s check for the balance, along with the property deeds, then write yourself a bonus check for ten thousand dollars.”

Joan came to attention and saluted. “Yes,
sir
!”

Stone walked back through his office, up the stairs and into the elevator. A moment later, he was walking into his bedroom, where Eliza was sitting up in bed, doing the
Times
crossword puzzle.

“Hello, sailor,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

“Revitalized,” he replied, working on his buttons.