Barely Legal

by Stuart Woods

  “No, it is not.”

  “The defendant took the envelope out of his pocket, and that is why his fingerprints are on it and yours are not.”

  “Objection. Argumentative.”

  “Sustained.”

  “Detective, you testified that you found half a kilo of cocaine in the defendant’s locker, is that right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You seize a lot of cocaine in your drug busts, do you not, Detective?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what happens to the cocaine that is seized?”

  “It is logged, sealed, and stored in the evidence room.”

  “The evidence room?”

  “Yes.”

  “And who has access to the evidence room?”

  “There are six policemen in charge of the evidence room. They work in shifts. Someone is at the desk at all times.”

  “The desk?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what do they do at the desk?”

  “They sign evidence in.”

  “And sign evidence out?”

  “There is no need to sign evidence out.”

  “Really? Aren’t you asked to bring evidence into court?”

  “Well, that’s different.”

  “How is that different?”

  “That’s signing evidence out for a reason.”

  “What about signing evidence out for no reason?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Well, you said that signing evidence out for court is signing it out for a reason. When, Detective, would you ever sign it out for no reason?”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  “And if I were to produce a witness who would testify that you signed out half a kilo of cocaine and never signed it back in, that witness would be mistaken?”

  Detective Kelly was unruffled. “Absolutely.”

  Herbie frowned. He was getting nowhere, and the detective was shrugging off his questions. It was time to go for it.

  Herbie took a breath. “Detective, are you familiar with a man named Tommy Taperelli?”

  “Objection, Your Honor. Relevance?”

  Herbie had been watching Kelly’s face. The witness was clearly jolted by the question. “I can connect it up, Your Honor.”

  Judge Buckingham shook his head. “The connection should come first. Sustained.”

  “Yes, Your Honor. Detective, has Tommy Taperelli in any way influenced the testimony you are giving here today?”

  “Objection!” Grover thundered.

  And the court went wild.

  24

  MOOKIE DIDN’T CARE how long it took to straighten this one out, he slipped out and made the call.

  “Give me good news,” Taperelli said.

  “Can’t do it. The news is pretty bad. Fuckin’ attorney must have had a steroid shot. He came out of the gate like a new man. In fact, he’s doing pretty damn good.”

  “How good?”

  “He’s got the detective on the run. The prosecutor’s running scared and keeps objecting, but he’s pissing the judge off, and that’s not good. The judge keeps calling sidebars and chambers and sending out the jury. It’s still taking forever, only now it looks like they could win.”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake. Do I have to come down there and handle this myself?”

  “No, don’t do that. The lawyer asked the witness flat out if Tommy Taperelli was telling him what to do.”

  “He didn’t!”

  “He did. And the prosecutor objected and they’re arguing about it, but if you show up in court they’ll think you do have something to do with it.”

  “Wouldn’t I be interested enough that my name came up in cross-examination?”

  “Yeah, but if you know it did, you must be keeping tabs on the trial, and that’s not good.”

  “Sometimes you’re not so dumb, Mookie.”

  “So, you want me to lean on him?”

  “You might have a little talk.”

  “What if the kid’s with him?”

  “Tell him to take a walk, the grown-ups gotta talk.”

  “How hard you want me to go?”

  “Hard enough he stops asking tough questions.”

  25

  BENNY SLICK’S HEART nearly stopped. Mario Payday was calling on him again? The elderly bookie had survived one meeting with Mario Payday, a small miracle in itself, seeing as how Benny had no visible assets, but he had no chance of surviving a second. If the marker he had produced didn’t hold up—and clearly it hadn’t or Mario wouldn’t be back—then Benny was history, and a pretty sordid one at that. The next twenty minutes were not going to be worth living. The only question was how many of them would involve hanging upside down out the open window.

  Probably not many. To the best of Benny’s recollection, no one had ever been pulled up twice. You were lucky to find an answer that got you pulled up once. The second time out the window was a one-way trip guaranteed. There was no escape. If the window had been open, Benny might have gone out it himself.

  “Ah, Mr. Slick,” Mario said. “I had not expected to be seeing you so soon.”

  Benny tried to answer. It came out a strangled whine, eerily close to the pitch of a hospital monitor flatlining.

  Mario Payday nodded approvingly. “Well said.” He grabbed the back of the chair Benny had just vacated, spun it around, and sat down. “I believe you’ve met my boys, Carlo and Ollie the Ox.”

  Ollie looked like an ox. One that had just been slammed in the forehead with a sledgehammer at the slaughterhouse. His eyes registered no discernible intellect whatsoever.

  “Now then, with regard to your marker, or rather Mr. Fisher’s marker, the one that you gave me in an attempt to resolve your outstanding debt.”

  Benny swallowed hard. He was surprised to discover he still had saliva. He did not trust himself to speak.

  “I brought up the matter with Mr. Fisher, who was most surprised to see me. He expressed the opinion that the debt had been paid, and that you surely knew it had.”

  Benny found his voice. “That’s not true, he’s lying—of course he’d say that, what else was he going to say? You think he wants to give you ninety thousand dollars, of course he doesn’t, he’s trying to get out of it. I can’t believe you’d fall for that.”

  Benny suddenly realized he’d said the word fall. His head automatically swiveled toward the window, as if propelled by an irresistible force. He looked back, but it was too late. Mario had followed his gaze.

  “What a charming idea,” Mario said. “Carlo, could you help Mr. Slick recover his composure? I think I know just where to look.”

  Benny’s eyes were wide. He opened his mouth to protest but nothing came out. No agonized wail, no stammered excuse, no halfhearted plea for mercy when there was none to be had. He simply stopped. His face froze, and he blinked twice and pitched forward onto his face.

  “Oh, for goodness sakes,” Mario said. “Why must they be so dramatic? Carlo, get him up. Dust him off. We’ve wasted more than enough time on this gentleman. His excuse isn’t going to fly. But he is.” Mario chuckled. “That’s rather clever. I hope he heard me. Get him up and ask him.”

  Carlo rolled Benny over and slapped him in the face. Benny didn’t respond. Carlo put his head on his chest and listened for a heartbeat. He found none.

  Carlo looked up. “I think he’s dead.”

  Mario flicked cigar ash off his pants leg. “Well,” he said, “that’s inconvenient.”

  26

  BY THE TIME the whole Tommy Taperelli question got sorted out, it was lunchtime and the court broke for lunch. The upshot was that Herbie could ask the question, but if the witness denied the allegation, that would be that. There would be no follow-up. It seemed fairly straightforward, still it took forever to agree upon. And when, surprise, surprise, Detective Kelly answered that his testimony had not been influenced in the least by Tommy Taperelli, Herbie’s bombshell was, in the final analysis, a bit of a dud.


  Herbie was somewhat preoccupied on his way to lunch. He stepped off the curb and was almost run over. He jumped back and was surprised to have the car stop right alongside him. The door flew open and two goons pulled him into the backseat.

  After the morning in court Herbie fully expected it to be Tommy Taperelli’s henchmen about to take him for a ride. In which case, a beating would be a benign outcome.

  He was not prepared for the smiling face of Mario Payday.

  “Mr. Fisher, how nice of you to drop by.”

  “Thanks for the invitation.”

  “But of course. When a man of your stature comes to my attention, I would not want him to feel slighted.”

  “That wasn’t a worry.”

  “I’m glad. Anyway, you seemed so certain there was something wrong with your marker, I asked Benny Slick to clarify the situation.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Unfortunately, the gentleman was no longer able to answer the question. Or any other, for that matter.”

  “You didn’t!”

  “Of course not, Mr. Fisher. He was an old man. He had a heart attack.”

  “While hanging upside down?”

  Mario smiled and waggled his finger. “Good one, Mr. Fisher. I like your sense of humor. If only it was rivaled by your sense of obligation. I am wondering if you have made any progress toward bringing our business transaction to a satisfactory conclusion.”

  “I’ve been somewhat busy.”

  “So I understand. A lawyer appearing in court would have to be a very busy man. Particularly in a criminal case, and especially when his client is the son of a prominent man. A lawyer would have to work very hard in order to justify his retainer.”

  “I see you have an intimate knowledge of the law.”

  “I consulted a lawyer once. He wanted me to pay him. A novel idea. It took some time to set him straight.”

  “Mr. Capelleti—”

  “Mario. Please.”

  “Mario, I hate to disappoint you, but I’ve been having a hell of a day. If you want to beat me up, you’ll have to get in line.”

  “Beat you up? Heaven forbid. We’re gentlemen, you and I. And we will settle this like gentlemen.”

  “You’re proposing a duel?”

  Mario smiled. “What a novel idea. I like you, Mr. Fisher. I really do. I am delighted that fate has thrust us together.”

  “It’s a blessing,” Herbie said. “Well, I’m glad we had this little chat.”

  “As am I, Mr. Fisher. It’s not only pleasant, but it gives me an opportunity to remind you of your obligation to me, which I expect you to discharge.”

  Mario signaled to the driver and the car pulled up to the curb. Carlo came around and opened the door. Before Herbie could get out, Mario put a hand on his arm.

  “In cash, by the end of the business day. Is that clear, Mr. Fisher?”

  Herbie smiled. “Crystal.”

  27

  THE AFTERNOON SESSION was a wash. Herbie managed to jolt the detective a few times, and made a good case for the fact that he was in a perfect position to frame the defendant, but the jurors weren’t impressed, and as testimony wore on he got the impression many of them weren’t even listening.

  He also managed to rack up two contempt of court citations and fifteen hundred dollars in fines, in each case for persisting in a line of questioning the judge had ruled inadmissible. At least those instances seemed to arouse the interest of the jury.

  By the time court adjourned Herbie was happy just to get out of there.

  Councilman Ross came down the aisle and stopped him. “Is any of that true?”

  “Is any of what true?”

  “The detective is framing my son?”

  “I think there’s a good chance.”

  “You’ve got to prove it.”

  “That’s a problem.”

  “Why? Lawyers get clients off by claiming police corruption all the time.”

  “Sure. Because it isn’t true. It’s just a smokescreen and people buy it. This is different. I think your son’s telling the truth, and in this case it actually happened. Detective Kelly knows all the facts, and he’ll just keep covering up.”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “You are.”

  “Not here.” The councilman said, “David,” in a preemptive fashion, turned on his heel, and walked out of the courtroom.

  Herbie looked at his client. David seemed embarrassed, probably that he was going to go along.

  Herbie followed David outside, where the councilman had a limo waiting.

  “Hmm. Man of the people,” Herbie said.

  David sniggered. He was used to people kowtowing to his father. Someone standing up to him was a refreshing change.

  The limo whisked them up to the councilman’s Fifth Avenue address. They went inside and up in the elevator.

  Councilman Ross’s foyer seemed unnecessarily opulent to Herbie. “If you’re trying to impress me, I happen to know Stone Barrington.”

  “Well-to-do, is he?”

  “His town house rivals this, plus he has half a dozen houses including an English country manor, not to mention the chain of Arrington hotels he’s opened around the world. He also owns and flies his own jets.”

  “Good for him.”

  Ross ushered them into a sitting room slightly smaller than Madison Square Garden. “All right. What’s your next move?”

  “I have no idea. Actually, I was hoping you could help me out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why is this happening?”

  Ross frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  “Someone is framing your son. Why? That’s what I can’t figure. Usually, with a drug bust of this kind, someone is framed because they can’t get him legitimately and they want to get him off the street, or they frame him to take the heat off somebody else. Neither of those scenarios makes any sense. But, his father’s a councilman. So, have there been any unusual demands on you lately?”

  “There are always demands on me.”

  “That’s not helpful. Do you happen to know Tommy Taperelli?”

  “I’ve heard of him, of course. I’ve never met him.”

  “How about Jules Kenworth?”

  Councilman Ross blinked. “Why?”

  “He’s in bed with Taperelli and Taperelli’s in bed with Kelly. You do the math.”

  “I see.”

  “You know Kenworth, don’t you?”

  “I’ve had some dealings with Jules Kenworth.”

  “And?”

  “He’s a crook. Always looking to cut a corner.”

  “Did he ask you to cut one?”

  “No. But he’s always trying to line up votes for his projects.”

  “Like what?”

  “Building ordinances he wants lifted, to get around restrictions.”

  “Did you ever vote for him?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  “I would think you’d recall.”

  “No, I’ve never voted for one of his petitions. Or if I have, it’s because he was one of many bringing the suit, and it wasn’t just to benefit him.”

  “What about lately?”

  “I know I’ve turned everything down. I don’t want to be associated with that man.”

  “Would he frame your son?”

  “I can’t believe he’d do that.”

  “Why not? You don’t like him.”

  “What would he gain?”

  “You tell me.”

  Herbie’s cell phone rang. He didn’t want to answer it. There were so many people he didn’t want to talk to. He pulled it out and checked caller ID. Melanie Porter. Herbie didn’t know any Melanie Porter. He expected it to be a secretary at Woodman & Weld.

  Herbie clicked it on. “Hello?”

  “Herbie Fisher?”

  “Yes.”

  “Melanie Porter.”

  “Yes.”

  “I want to talk to you about the case.”

&
nbsp; “Oh?”

  “Are you where you can’t talk?”

  “At the moment I’m in a meeting with Councilman Ross.”

  “Oh, for goodness sakes. Is he giving you any straight answers?”

  “That’s a matter of opinion.”

  “I’m sure he isn’t. Daddy will never learn.”

  “Who?”

  “Oh, for goodness sakes. This always happens. The name threw you. I’m the councilman’s daughter. Daddy’s sweet, but he’s a politician.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You’re never going to get anywhere talking to him. Make an excuse to get out of there and call me back.”

  The phone clicked dead. Herbie slipped it back in his pocket and found David and the councilman looking at him.

  He grimaced. “I’m sorry. Something came up. I have to go, but that’s okay because you don’t need me for this conversation. I can’t help you right now. Only you can help you. You need to jog your memories, come up with some reason why this is happening. If Kenworth’s involved, why would he want to frame your son? Assuming that has anything to do with anything and it’s not just a monstrous coincidence. Just because the detective’s dirty doesn’t mean that’s what this is all about. Leaving your father out of it, is there anyone out to get you for your own sake? A disgruntled ex-girlfriend, for instance, who just wants to watch you squirm?”

  “Not at all.”

  “If that’s a ridiculous notion, rule it out. We need to get ahead of this thing because if your son is innocent, someone’s gone to an awful lot of trouble to make him look like he isn’t. If you come up with anything, give me a call.”

  Herbie turned on his heel and walked out.

  28

  WHILE THE DOORMAN hailed him a cab, Herbie whipped out his cell phone and called Melanie back.

  “Where are you?” she said.

  “Hailing a cab.”

  “Meet me on the corner of Broadway and a hundred and tenth.”

  “How will I know you?”

  “I’ll be the one who walks up to you and says, ‘Herb Fisher?’”

  “How do you know me?”

  “I Googled you. I trust you still look like the geek in the Woodman & Weld photo.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” Herbie said. “They Photoshopped out my handlebar mustache and muttonchops.”

  Herbie got out of the cab at 110th and Broadway and looked around for Melanie.

  A hand tapped him on the shoulder.