by Stuart Woods
“Objection, Your Honor.”
“On what grounds?” Judge Buckingham said.
“Already asked and answered.”
“Sustained. Mr. Grover, move it along.”
“Yes, Your Honor. And when he refused, what did you do?”
“I placed him under arrest and searched him myself.”
“What did you find?”
“In his jacket I found an envelope containing three small plastic bags. Each plastic bag contained a gram of a white powdery substance which subsequently proved to be cocaine.”
“Did the defendant say anything at the time?”
“Yes. He said, ‘That’s not mine.’”
“‘That’s not mine?’”
“Yes.”
“With regard to the envelope you found in his jacket pocket?”
“That’s right.”
“Was that an outside pocket?”
“No, it was an inside pocket.”
“Let me be perfectly clear. The defendant was wearing the jacket at the time?”
“That’s right.”
“What kind of jacket was it?”
“A sports jacket.”
“Like he’s wearing now?”
“Yes, only more casual. The one he’s wearing now appears to be part of a suit. This was merely a sports jacket.”
“But essentially the same type of jacket, with inside breast pockets?”
“That’s right.”
“And it was in the inside breast pocket that you found the envelope containing the packets of powder?”
“That’s right.”
“The defendant had the envelope in the front interior pocket of his sports jacket?” Grover shook his head, let the jury share his incredulity. “The envelope of which he said, ‘That’s not mine’?”
“That’s right.”
“After the envelope had been removed from his pocket, what did you do with it?”
“I placed it in a plastic evidence bag and wrote my name on it.”
“And was that evidence bag sealed?”
“It was.”
“What did you do then?”
“I handcuffed him and took him in.”
“And did you make any subsequent inspection of the defendant’s possessions?”
“I searched his dorm room and his locker.”
“What did you find?”
“I found nothing of significance in his dorm room. In his locker, however, I found approximately half a kilo of a substance which later proved to be cocaine.”
ADA Grover nodded his approval. “And, going back to the envelope you found in the defendant’s jacket pocket, the one containing the three small packets of a white powdery substance. When the defendant said the envelope wasn’t his, what did you say?”
“I asked him whose it was.”
“And what did he say?”
“He said he didn’t know.”
Again, ADA Grover let the jury see his skepticism. “He claimed he didn’t know whose envelope it was he was carrying around in his pocket?”
“That’s right.”
“Did you ask him anything else about the envelope?”
“Yes. I asked him what the white powder in the packets was.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he had no idea.”
“Let me be sure I have this perfectly clear. There was white powder in the gram bags in the envelope in the defendant’s interior breast pocket of his sports jacket, and the defendant said he didn’t know what it was?”
“That’s right.”
ADA Grover favored the jury with an incredulous shake of the head before turning to the defense table.
“Your witness.”
11
HERBIE WAS MOMENTARILY taken aback. Cross-examine a key witness in a criminal case? Where one slipup could send his client straight to jail? Herbie had argued cases involving millions of dollars, but this was something else entirely.
Herbie’s adrenaline was pumping furiously, but he couldn’t let it show. He took a breath to calm himself, and stepped up to the witness stand.
Detective Kelly stared down at him, smug and superior. From what he’d seen of the lawyer so far, he didn’t expect much.
“Detective Kelly, how long have you been a police officer?”
“Eighteen years.”
“You studied at John Jay College of Criminal Justice?”
“That’s right.”
“What did you study?”
“Objection,” the prosecutor interjected. “Relevance?”
“I stipulated Detective Kelly’s qualifications subject to the right of cross-examination. I’m cross-examining him on them now.”
“Counsel is within his rights. Proceed, Mr. Fisher.”
“What did you study at the John Jay College of Criminal Justice, Detective?”
Detective Kelly had his answer ready. “Criminal justice.”
His sally drew a laugh from the jurors.
Herbie didn’t crack a smile. “And what courses in criminal justice did you take?”
“All of the requirements.”
“And what grades did you get in those required courses?”
“Objection.”
“Sustained.”
“It goes to his qualifications, Your Honor.”
“Whether he passed those courses does. The grades he got in them do not.”
“And did you graduate, Lieutenant?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Were you in the top of your class?”
“Objection.”
Judge Buckingham glared down from the bench. Herbie had virtually asked the same question he had just ruled inadmissible. “Attorneys!” he snapped. “Sidebar!”
The two attorneys joined the judge at the side of his bench, where they could speak in low tones out of earshot of the jury. The court reporter carried her typing machine over to take notes on the conversation.
When they had all assembled Judge Buckingham said, “Mr. Fisher, are you trying to annoy me?”
“No, sir.”
“You just asked the same question I ruled inadmissible.”
“I thought there was a nuance, Your Honor.”
“A nuance?” Judge Buckingham said. “It is not your place to find nuances in my rulings.”
“I meant in the question, Your Honor.”
“I know what you meant, and you know what I meant. It is not your place to get around my rulings by looking for subtle nuances in your questions. If you asked if someone fired a gun, for instance, and I ruled that inadmissible, it would not be admissible for you to ask if that person was holding a gun when it discharged.”
“As far as I know, no one has fired a gun in this case.”
Judge Buckingham’s face purpled. “Your conduct borders on contempt of court, Mr. Fisher. I was giving you a hypothetical example, as you well know. Your remark is improper, as was the asking of your question. You are hereby warned. Should it happen again, you would be in contempt of court.”
As he returned to his position at the defense table, Herbie had a smile on his lips. Judge Buckingham had given him a wonderful idea. A sidebar was the perfect way to waste time, and he didn’t have to risk contempt of court to get one. Attorneys argued their objections at the sidebar. All he had to do was provoke ADA Grover into objecting to his questions, and he could ask for a sidebar to present his argument of the objection.
Herbie was determined to have as many sidebars as possible.
• • •
THE FIFTH TIME that afternoon the attorneys gathered at the side of the judge’s bench to argue an objection, a large, ham-fisted man in the back of the court got up and pushed his way out the doors. He took out his cell phone and called Tommy Taperelli.
“Hey, boss. It’s Mookie down at the courthouse.”
“Tell me you got good news,” Taperelli said.
“Yes and no.”
“Don’t piss me off. What happened? Did he take the
plea?”
“He’s not here.”
“What!”
“The lawyer didn’t show up. He sent another guy in his place.”
“Who?”
“Some guy named Fisher.”
“All right, did he take the plea?”
“No. He left the room to talk to the prosecutor, but they didn’t make a deal.”
“That’s good.”
“Yeah. Except the lawyer’s not very sharp. Keeps asking a bunch of dumb questions.”
“So, he’s losing.”
“Well, maybe, but he’s slow as molasses. The guy’s a fucking rain delay. He’s still on the first witness, for Christ’s sake.”
“They’re still at it?”
“They’re having a sidebar. Which isn’t as much fun as it sounds. It’s a bar with no booze. A bunch of lawyers talk in low voices so no one can hear, and the jury and the witness just sit there and nothing happens. I thought my head was going to come off. I want to go up there, grab ’em by the collar, say get your ass in gear and do your jobs, for Christ’s sake.”
“Don’t do that, Mookie.”
“Never fear. I’m just telling you we don’t have a verdict.”
“Well, get back in there and see what we do get.”
Taperelli hung up the phone. This was not good. Taperelli was the go-to guy, the guy who delivered. When Taperelli wanted something done, it happened. Most mob bosses were fuckups, as far as he was concerned. Most bosses dressed flashy and cheap. He dressed well. He was elite.
Taperelli had a reputation to maintain. If things went wrong, he’d lose his leverage and the others would move in, and he couldn’t afford that. Not if he wanted to keep his political connections and his ties to legitimate business.
From what Mookie had said, things were going very wrong. And worst of all, it had to be on a job for Jules Kenworth.
Taperelli took a deep breath, blew it out angrily, and reached for the phone.
12
JULES KENWORTH STOOD ALONE in his conference room, gazing down at the huge mahogany table at which he held sway over not just board members but executives, investors, politicians, and would-be bigwigs of all stripes. Kenworth was a mogul’s mogul, often imitated, never equaled. He ruled his empire with an iron hand, and had no patience for anyone not on board with his latest venture. His business was real estate. His default mode was acquisition and construction.
The centerpiece of the table was, as always, his current project, in this case the forty-six-story luxury office building he planned for Lower Manhattan. The meticulous scale model, an engineering marvel in its own right, was a beauteous thing to behold.
The phone on the conference table rang. The call must be important or his secretary would not have put it through.
Kenworth picked up the phone. “Yes?” he snapped.
“Tommy Taperelli,” his secretary replied.
Kenworth didn’t bother to acknowledge her, just clicked the line over. “What?”
Taperelli was used to such briskness from the billionaire developer, and put up with it gladly. Just to be associated with Kenworth upped his stock a hundredfold. Kenworth, on the other hand, was proud of his mob connections. While he would not be caught dead with the likes of Mario Payday, Kenworth was happy to be seen associating with a sophisticated wise guy like Tommy Taperelli.
“I just got a call from court,” Taperelli said.
“Don’t tell me they took the plea bargain.”
“No, but the lawyer didn’t show. Sent another guy in his place.”
“Any good?”
“No, but he’s slow. The case could drag on.”
“No good. I want the kid in jail where you can lean on him.”
“I know.”
“I don’t think you do, or I wouldn’t be getting this phone call. Let me spell it out for you. Councilman Ross fucked me on this deal and now his kid is going to pay. Because no one fucks me on a deal. No one. I want him in jail, where you can arrange for his ‘health benefits’ and his ‘social calendar,’ until his father realizes what a horrible mistake he made. I want him there now. Not next week. Now.”
“I know. I know.”
“This new lawyer is a problem. I don’t want to hear about problems. I just want them to go away.”
“I understand.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Make the problem go away so I don’t get any more of these phone calls.”
Kenworth slammed down the phone.
He was righteously pissed. This had to happen, and not just for revenge. Kenworth had practical reasons for needing the kid in jail.
The bone of contention was a zoning ordinance. The councilman had refused to grant an easement on the height restriction on his building, which would have allowed him to add thirty floors. Kenworth stood to lose an astronomical amount if he couldn’t change Ross’s mind before the council voted next week.
Kenworth shook his head deploringly. Things were getting really bad when you couldn’t even trust a mobster to get the job done.
13
STONE BARRINGTON WAS at the desk in his home office tidying up legal matters when his secretary, Joan Robertson, poked her head in the door. “Dino on three.”
Stone picked up the phone. “Hi, Dino, what’s up?”
Dino wasn’t happy. “I have an ethical problem.”
“Wait until she’s eighteen.”
“Not that problem. The detectives investigating the shooting took Yvette’s information. I ran it, which I shouldn’t have done, I know. But I have, and now the question is—do I tell Herbie what I found?”
“Don’t tell me she’s a call girl.”
“Actually, yes.”
Stone laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“Well, it means Herbie is running true to form.”
“Yeah, but in this case he doesn’t know it and he’s very happy. So what do I do?”
“What do you mean?”
“The question is, should we tell him?”
“Why spoil his fun?”
“You call that fun?”
“Well, it’s better than not having a date for the prom.”
“You don’t think he can interest another woman?”
“That’s not the point. He’s in love.”
“With a hooker.”
“Well, nobody’s perfect.”
“Stone.”
“I’m disappointed. Herbie was so happy at dinner. Then he’s shot at, shanghaied into court, and his girlfriend’s a hooker.”
“I could have a talk with her. Maybe she’s changed her ways.”
“Or you scare her off and break Herbie’s heart,” Stone said.
“It’s going to happen sooner or later.” Dino exhaled into the phone. “There’s something else.”
“What’s that?”
“She gave him an app for his iPad—Find My Phone.”
“What’s that?”
“If you misplace your iPhone, it tells you where it is.”
“With a beeping noise?”
“Yeah.”
“Can’t you just call it?”
“Not if the ringer’s off. This thing tells you even if the ringer’s off. And if your phone happens to be in the next county, it shows you on a map.”
“That’s great.”
“Yeah, but—”
“But what?”
“Kind of funny thing to give a guy.”
“It actually sounds practical.”
“Yeah, for her. If she has his iPad, she can open the app and tell exactly where he is at any given time.”
“Wouldn’t he have his iPad?”
“Do you take yours to dinner? So she can check on him. Even if she doesn’t have his iPad, if she just has his account and password, she can call it up on hers.”
“Why would she need that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe so he won’t come home while she’s boffing the cable guy.”
“Oh, gee,” Stone said. “Why
do you always think the worst of people?”
Dino shrugged. “I’m a cop.”
• • •
YVETTE CAME OUT of La Perla with a smile on her lips and a credit card in her purse. Being engaged to Herbie Fisher was a very nice gig. She’d taken the job on, researched it well, knew everything there was to know about the man. Even the fact that he was Herbie Fisher when he won the lottery, and was Herb Fisher now. She called him Herbie, which was a pet name for her, and at the same time a subconscious reminder of the old days before the lottery when he used to be wild. He’d won thirty million. He’d run through half of it, but half remained, plus the generous salary he pulled in from his partnership at Woodman & Weld. If she could just keep him on the string until they were married, she’d be on easy street.
Hell, she was on easy street now. Being engaged to Herbie was a particularly nice job.
Yvette had just stepped off the sidewalk when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
She spun around and gasped. “You!”
The young man grinned. “Hi, sweetie.”
“Donnie! What are you doing here?”
“I got lonely.”
Whereas Yvette had cleaned up her act for the Herbie sting, her boyfriend, Donnie, hadn’t cleaned up his at all. He looked like exactly what he was, a low-life creep.
“Donnie, we talked about this. You have to stay away.”
“Why?”
“Because you want money, Donnie. Lots and lots of money.”
“I want some now.”
“Soon, sweetie. We’re so close.”
Donnie grinned, the shit-eating grin she somehow found adorable. “I’ve had some minor setbacks. You know how it is.”
Yvette took a wallet out of her purse. She pulled open the billfold part. She had a hundred and thirty-six dollars. “Here you go, sweetie. Take the hundred, leave me the rest.”
Donnie folded the hundred and stuck it in his pocket. He put his arm around her waist. “I’m still lonely.”
She twisted out of his grasp. “I know, honey. It won’t be long.”
“You put that app on his phone, like I told you?”
“Yes, I did, just like you said.”
“So where is he?”
Yvette took out her iPhone and turned on the app. “He’s in court.”
“Excellent,” Donnie said. He grabbed her again. “So you have some free time.”
“And nowhere to go,” Yvette said.
“Don’t some of these stores have changing rooms?”
