Barely Legal

by Stuart Woods

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “We are going to set him up, Carlo. We are going to make him wish he’d paid.”

  34

  YVETTE CAME OUT the front door of Herbie’s apartment building. She smiled at the doorman and declined his offer to get her a cab. Instead, she strolled in the sunshine down Park Avenue. As she was passing the side street, hands grabbed her and pulled her aside.

  “Donnie!” Yvette hissed. “What are you doing? You can’t be here. Why are you here?”

  “Why do you think?”

  “I can’t keep giving you money.”

  “Of course not. I wouldn’t want you to.”

  “Really?”

  “That would be stupid.”

  Yvette looked at him suspiciously. “Really?”

  “Of course not. Blow our chances just for a few bucks? What a bad move.” Donnie stretched and cocked his head. “Though I could use some cash.”

  “Donnie.”

  “Relax, I’m not taking your money. Of course, I wouldn’t mind taking his.”

  “Damn it, Donnie.”

  “Take it easy. Did I say I was doing it? No. I said I wouldn’t mind. There’s the problem. You’ve got this wonderful setup, but it’s taking a little long, and what am I gonna do for money?”

  “You ever think of working?”

  “You are funny. So, I was thinking, ’cause that’s what I do, ’cause one of us has to, so I was thinking, how can I take some of this guy’s money without taking his money.”

  “Oh, you were thinking that? There’s a brilliant idea.”

  “Actually, it is. See, this guy’s rich. He’s got all this expensive shit.”

  “I am not stealing from him.”

  “Of course not. I am. All you have to do is what you’ve been doing. And you do it so well, don’t you, honey?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got it all worked out.” Donnie handed her a little glass vial. He put it in her palm, wrapped her fingers around it. “You take this, you put it in his drink. You mix him drinks, don’t you, honey? So you mix this one. And he goes to sleep, just for a little while—you’re not poisoning him, just a nice, deep sleep. And while he’s out, I steal his stuff.”

  “And how am I going to explain how his stuff vanished from under my nose?” Yvette asked sarcastically.

  “What’s to explain? You’re going to show me the stuff he never uses. The stuff he never even looks at. He won’t even know he’s been robbed.”

  “Oh, yeah? How are you going to rob him? You can’t get in.”

  He laughed. “Oh, how little you know.”

  35

  HERBIE WAS ON his way up Centre Street toward the courthouse when two goons fell into step next to him.

  “Aw, come on, guys, give it a rest,” Herbie said.

  The goons flanked him and took him by the arms.

  “I hate to spoil your fun, but I really don’t have time to hang upside down for you right now.”

  No one was paying the least attention to him. The goons marched him down the street to a stretch limo, thrust him inside, and slammed the door.

  The man sitting in the backseat was flashily dressed. His clothes were expensive but showed little taste. He looked as if a great deal of care had been taken to make him appear just wrong. The effect was vulgar, while meant to be impressive.

  He smiled cordially and said, “Please, sit down.”

  Herbie sat in the seat facing him.

  “Would you care for a drink?”

  “Thank you, I have to be in court.”

  “Yes, I know. You’re Herb Fisher.” He cocked his head. “Do you know me?”

  “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “I’m Tommy Taperelli.”

  “Ah, yes. The man with no ties to Detective Kelly.”

  Taperelli smiled. “That’s funny. Keep that sense of humor and we’ll get along fine. That’s right, I’m the man with no ties to Detective Kelly. And since I don’t have any, there’s no reason to waste time trying to prove I do.”

  “Is that right?”

  “It’s not just right, it’s essential. This case needs to end today, and not in a plea bargain. In a verdict. Because people need to get on with their lives, for many reasons too numerous to mention. So I thought that’s why we should have this talk, one gentleman to another. Because Woodman & Weld is a prestigious firm, but they can’t keep running through lawyers like this. It would be a shame if they had to bring in somebody else.”

  “Let’s not let that happen.”

  “Oh, but it will, if you can’t wrap up the case tonight. You either expedite the hearing and the case goes to the jury this afternoon, or your replacement takes a dive tomorrow morning, which would be embarrassing for us both. I don’t like to be embarrassed, Mr. Fisher, I like it when things go smoothly.” Taperelli smiled. “Are you sure you won’t have that drink?”

  “I really can’t,” Herbie said. “But you’ve certainly given me a lot to think about.”

  “Oh, don’t think, Mr. Fisher. Just do it.” Taperelli chuckled.

  Herbie smiled at Taperelli. “No problem.”

  • • •

  HERBIE COULDN’T HELP looking around for goons as he walked into court. Mookie, in his usual spot in the back row, seemed a good bet. He wasn’t one of the goons who’d dragged him off to Taperelli, still, he had that look. The other goons didn’t appear to be there, but that didn’t matter, all it took was one to report on what he did or didn’t do.

  David Ross was bright-eyed and eager at the defense table. He jumped up when Herbie came in. “You’re here. I take it James Glick isn’t coming.”

  “I doubt it.”

  “Good. I won’t have to argue with him. I don’t need a lawyer selling me out.” David frowned. “What’s the matter? You don’t look well.”

  “I’m fine,” Herbie said, but it wasn’t true. Taperelli’s threat was real and immediate. Herbie knew that, just as the reason for James Glick’s absence was now readily apparent. The young man wasn’t dead—he had spoken to Herbie, very much alive—but the odds of him actually being in the hospital had dropped to zero, and the odds of Herbie winding up there had escalated astronomically.

  Herbie was tempted to call a recess and speak to the judge. Unfortunately, Judge Buckingham was not likely to listen. The man was so hostile, Herbie couldn’t rule out the idea that he was in bed with Taperelli.

  There was no telling where Herbie’s actions would leave David Ross. For his first criminal trial, things could not have gone worse. Herbie didn’t know much about procedure in such cases. He knew just one thing. He had a duty to protect his client.

  At ten o’clock sharp Judge Buckingham called in the jury and returned Detective Kelly to the stand.

  “Detective, I remind you that you are still under oath. Mr. Fisher, you may proceed.”

  Herbie stood up. All he had to do was say, “No further questions.” It was not as if there was anything momentous he had to bring out. His bombshell had been Taperelli, and that had fizzled what with the detective’s denial and the judge ruling against further questions. The prosecution had other witnesses—the female narc, the lab technician, and the fingerprint expert. Herbie could dismiss Kelly and take his chances with them.

  Herbie grimaced.

  It wasn’t his chances.

  It was David Ross’s.

  Herbie stepped up to the witness stand.

  He cleared his throat.

  “Well, Detective Kelly,” he said, “let’s go over this again.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Herbie could see Mookie get up and go out the back door.

  36

  DETECTIVE KELLY LOOKED very much at ease on the witness stand. He leaned back and regarded the defense attorney with disdain.

  Herbie took a breath. “Now, Detective, you said you observed the defendant selling drugs at the party?”

  “That’s right.”

>   “What exactly did you observe that led you to believe he was selling drugs?”

  “A student would come up and talk to him, and they would leave the room together.”

  “Did you tag along?”

  “Of course not. Then he would know we were on to him.”

  “You were going to bust him anyway. Why would you care if he knew?”

  “I didn’t want him to suspect before we were sure.”

  “When did you become sure?”

  “The scene I described happened more than once. When it happened again, he became a more likely suspect.”

  “But you still weren’t sure?”

  “Not a hundred percent.”

  “What percent were you sure?”

  “That’s an expression, Counselor. You know what it means, and I know what it means, and I’m sure the jurors know what it means, too.” Detective Kelly smiled at the jury. One or two of the jurors returned his smile.

  “When did you become sure?”

  “I would say after the third time we observed the behavior.”

  “Shortly after?”

  “That’s right.”

  “That’s interesting, Detective. Shortly after is also an expression. What did you mean by it?”

  “I can’t give it to you much better than that.”

  “Well, let’s put it this way. You say you moved in shortly after the third time. Was there a fourth time?”

  Detective Kelly hesitated.

  “You’re not sure?”

  “I do not have the answers at my fingertips because these are not the questions I expected to be asked.”

  “What were the questions you expected to be asked?”

  “Objection.”

  “Sustained.”

  “If I understand your testimony, Detective, you moved in shortly after the third or fourth time you observed the defendant leave the room with another student.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And did you arrest the person you believed he was selling to at the time?”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “We were after the seller, not the buyer.”

  “And if you wanted to prove sale, wouldn’t the best way to do it be to catch the buyer with the packet of cocaine that the defendant had just sold?”

  “In a perfect world.”

  “And this was not a perfect world, Detective?”

  “Of course not.”

  “But was it not a world you created, a world entirely of your own making, a world in which you yourself played a part?”

  “So?”

  “Why didn’t you arrest the buyer?”

  “Objection. Already asked and answered.”

  “It’s been asked, but it wasn’t answered.”

  “Overruled.”

  “Why didn’t you arrest the buyer?”

  “I explained that.”

  “No, you have not. Instead, you made some remark about a perfect world.”

  Herbie was asking questions on automatic pilot. His attention was distracted by the activity in the back of the room. While the detective was testifying, two goons came in, conferred with the goon who’d slipped out, presumably to make a phone call, and returned, and took up positions in the back row on either side of the aisle, effectively blocking the exit.

  Clearly Herbie wasn’t going to enjoy lunch.

  37

  COUNCILMAN ROSS AND his son invited Herbie out to lunch with them, but he courteously declined.

  “I’m not hungry, and I’ve got work to do.” Herbie smiled. “Hard as it may be to believe, this is not really my case.”

  Herbie didn’t mention the real reason, that if he left the building for lunch there was a strong possibility he wouldn’t be back.

  After David and his father left, Herbie called Mike Freeman, the head of Strategic Services. Herbie knew Mike well. Aside from setting up the corporate structure of Strategic Defenses, Herbie had often hired Mike’s firm to provide security for his clients.

  “Hi, Mike. Herb Fisher.”

  “Herbie. What can I do for you?”

  “Funny you should ask. I happen to be appearing in court this afternoon, and I’m going to need a ride home.”

  “We’re not a car service.”

  “No, but then a limo wouldn’t provide the services that I require.”

  “Oh?”

  “There are a couple of gentlemen here who would like to offer me a ride with them.”

  “Why don’t you take it?”

  “I don’t think we’re going in the same direction.”

  “I see.”

  “I have every reason to believe there are some people who are not going to be happy with my performance here in court.”

  “Just how critical are these gentlemen?”

  “Most likely armed and dangerous and not apt to take no for an answer.”

  “I have a couple of boys who are very good at saying no.”

  “I would like to avoid a shooting war. Your boys aren’t trigger happy, are they?”

  “Not at all. If someone shoots first, that’s another story.”

  “A story I’d rather not star in. I just need a ride home.”

  “And once you get there?”

  “Unless my fiancée tries to kill me, I should be fine.”

  “You’re getting married?”

  “I live dangerously.”

  “So it seems.”

  Herbie hung up, called a deli down the street and had a sandwich delivered. It had just arrived when the two goons who walked him to the limo came in and conferred with the other goons.

  Herbie paid off the delivery boy and headed down the aisle, away from the goons. He pushed through the gate, went up, and sat at the judge’s bench.

  The bailiff looked horrified. “You can’t do that.”

  “I just did.”

  “No, no, no. You can’t sit there.”

  “Where can I sit?”

  The bailiff pointed to the spectators section. “Out there.”

  “No, I’m afraid I can’t sit there.”

  “Yes you can, it’s perfectly fine.”

  Herbie smiled. “We’re talking at cross purposes. Assume I can’t sit here and I can’t sit there. Is there a place back there I could hide out?”

  “Yes, if you want.”

  The bailiff led Herbie back to the small conference room where he had first conferred with ADA Grover.

  “Will this do?”

  “This will be great,” Herbie said. He plunked his sandwich on the table and sat down.

  “Okay,” the bailiff said. “You can hang out here as long as you want. Is there anything else you need?”

  Herbie frowned and considered. “Could you lock me in?”

  38

  THAT EVENING, the Strategic Services car pulled up in front of Herbie’s apartment building. There was nothing to distinguish the black sedan from any number of car services, except for the two men in the front seat. Not that they couldn’t have passed for limo drivers, but limos didn’t have two.

  The agent riding shotgun hopped out and came around to open the door for Herbie. He beat out the doorman with a little skip-step, said, “Allow me,” and interposed his bulk between the man and the car.

  Herbie emerged, amused by the byplay. “Thanks, guys, I think I can take it from here.”

  “What time tomorrow?” the agent said.

  “Nine o’clock, unless you hear different.”

  Despite the dismissal, the agent watched until Herbie had crossed the lobby and gotten into the elevator, before getting back in the car and driving off.

  • • •

  CARLO ALMOST MISSED him. He was leaning against a car on the other side of Park Avenue waiting for Herbie to get home. He was alert when the Strategic Services car pulled up in front of the awning, but when a man he didn’t recognize emerged, his attention waned. Carlo was just unwrapping another stick of gum and feeding it into his mouth when he
caught a glimpse of Herbie going into the building.

  That was a close call. Mario would have been pissed.

  Carlo whipped out his cell phone and called the office. “He’s home.”

  39

  HERBIE WAS DISTRACTED. Yvette could tell at once. She tried to get him interested, but he wanted to talk about the trial. Yvette couldn’t care less about the trial, but she feigned an interest. It wasn’t hard, still it seemed like work.

  And underneath it all was the nagging thought that, somehow, Herbie was on to her. That his lack of interest was because he couldn’t bear to touch her. Because he was just stringing her along, waiting for her to hang herself.

  Yvette knew that wasn’t even remotely possible, that it made no sense. It was just that she was doing what Donnie wanted, and doing what Donnie wanted was always risky. It wasn’t that Herbie had suspicions, it was that she was about to raise them. And it wasn’t her fault, damn it, it was all Donnie. And the worry was making her self-conscious and arousing his suspicions.

  Herbie flung himself into a chair and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m laying all this on you. Bringing my troubles home from work. The worst thing a guy can do. Who would want to marry a guy like that?”

  Yvette nearly choked on her reply. Was he setting her up? Of course not. Things were fine. That was the only way to play it, as if things were fine.

  She smiled coquettishly. “Would you like me to get your mind off work?”

  Herbie relaxed for the first time since he’d been home. “You can do that?”

  “Let me make you a drink. Martini?”

  “Please.”

  • • •

  DONNIE SIGNALED TO the waitress and ordered another cup of coffee. He didn’t need the caffeine, he was jangly enough already, but he couldn’t sit in the diner without something in front of him. And he wasn’t going to order their seventeen-dollar hamburger. Where the hell did they get off charging seventeen dollars for a burger—they were a diner, for Christ’s sake.

  Donnie wasn’t worried about the job, he liked the job, it was the waiting that got to him. That was the problem with the long con. He didn’t have the temperament for it. The payoff was great, but the setup was excruciating. He didn’t know why Yvette couldn’t understand that. Of course, she was reaping the fruits of the con already, living the life of Riley in a Park Avenue penthouse, and she had the nerve to lecture him on patience.