by Stuart Woods
The waitress brought the coffeepot and hit him with a refill. She didn’t write it down, so it was probably free. The waitress had a pad of unpaid orders hanging out of her pocket. His wouldn’t be much. He should probably leave her a tip.
There were a couple of blank pads next to the register that Donnie had spotted on his way in. He sipped his coffee and determined that it would be easy to swipe one on his way out. The devil was in the details, and he was determined to get this right.
• • •
YVETTE SHOOK UP the martinis and strained them into chilled glasses. She took out the vial Donnie had given her, emptied it into Herbie’s glass, and stirred it around. She wrapped the vial in a tissue and placed it carefully in the bottom of the empty wastebasket behind the bar. Donnie had promised to take it with him. She had to remember to remind him.
Yvette picked up the martinis and had a moment’s panic when she couldn’t remember which was which. She paused to consider. It was definitely the one closer to the shaker, the one she’d stirred after dropping the liquid in. As she slunk back into the living room, she wondered how long it would take for the drugs to kick in.
40
CARLO AND OLLIE THE OX cased Herbie’s apartment building.
The garage posed no real problem. The entrance, as with all garages in Park Avenue apartment buildings, was on the side street where they were less likely to be noticed. Distracting the lone security guard was the worst of it. A small incendiary device between two parked cars did the trick. The flare went up, the guard went out, and the boys went in.
Carlo located a bunch of circuit breakers, sorted out the wires, and put the camera out of commission, while Ollie stood guard. Standing guard was one of the things Ollie did best, along with breaking heads.
Once the cameras were out of commission, Carlo and Ollie the Ox made their way up the back stairs. Those cameras, Carlo explained, were the least likely for the security guard to notice missing from his screen.
Ollie wasn’t impressed. As far as he was concerned, if they were going to the penthouse, they could damn well take the elevator. It took all of Carlo’s wiles to talk him down from that position.
With a great deal of grumbling, the two thugs started climbing.
Carlo cursed the piece of pie he’d had for lunch, and tried not to count the floors.
41
HERBIE WAS OUT like a light, and it wasn’t from the lovemaking. Yvette was good, but she wasn’t that good. Donnie’s stuff had done the trick.
“Herbie?” she said tentatively.
There was no response.
Herbie was out cold.
Yvette picked up the phone and called Donnie.
“Okay,” she said.
Donnie was in a quarrelsome mood. “Okay he’s out, or okay you gave it to him, or okay you’re going to give it to him? Give me a little more than that.”
“He’s out cold. Really cold. Are you sure it wasn’t too much?”
“It wasn’t too much,” Donnie said, and broke the connection.
Donnie hoped it wasn’t too much. He’d given Yvette three times the normal dose, just to be sure.
Donnie left a dollar on the counter, paid his check, and swiped the pad. He walked up Lexington Avenue, fished a pizza box out of the garbage can on the corner, and wrote up a takeout order for a large pepperoni pie. He filled in Herbie’s name and address, and a twenty-dollar charge for the pizza. It occurred to him there was no reason not to collect the twenty bucks.
There was a lilt in Donnie’s step not entirely attributable to caffeine as he made his way over to Park Avenue.
The doorman was out front under the awning.
Donnie sauntered up and said, “Pizza delivery.”
“Who’s it for?”
“Let me see.” Donnie referred to the receipt. “Fisher? Herb Fisher?”
The doorman nodded. “Penthouse.”
“Thanks.”
“I’ll have to call up.”
Donnie nodded. “Of course, of course. Classy joint.”
Donnie followed him inside, where the doorman called Herbie’s apartment on the intercom.
Yvette answered. “Yes?”
“Got a pizza delivery for Mr. Fisher.”
“Send him up.”
The doorman put down the phone and pointed. “Go on up. Take the elevator to the penthouse.”
“Which apartment?” Donnie said.
“It’s the whole floor.”
Donnie knew that. He just asked so he could express his contempt for the überwealthy. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. He headed for the elevator, thinking he really should have been an actor.
42
OLLIE THE OX reached the top floor. He was pissed, and Carlo was nervous. It was not good to piss off Ollie the Ox.
“Which door?” Ollie said.
“There’s only one,” Carlo said.
“There’s two.”
“One is the front door, one is the kitchen door.”
“Not hungry,” Ollie said. He went to the front door and rang the bell.
• • •
YVETTE HAD BARELY gotten off the phone with the front desk when the doorbell rang. How could Donnie be so fast? The doorman must have sent him up while he was calling. She would have to ask Herbie to speak to him about that. He should wait for approval before sending anyone up.
She flung the door open, stopped, and gasped.
Two goons stood in the doorway. They looked as startled to see her as she was to see them.
The big one just said, “Huh?” but the other one registered recognition.
“Hey, it’s her!” Carlo said.
Ollie the Ox said, “Oh.” It took a few moments for his brain to wrap itself around the concept. He reached under his coat, pulled out a pistol.
Yvette gawked.
The silencer screwed onto the barrel made it look as long as a blowpipe, so at first she didn’t realize what it was. It was only at the last second, before the shot fired, that her face registered fear. Within seconds her eyes rolled back, she sank to the floor, and everything went dark.
43
“COME ON, let’s get her boyfriend,” Carlo said.
“What’s he doing?”
“I don’t care, as long as he’s not calling nine-one-one. Come on. Knock him out and set the scene.”
But when the two men walked into the bedroom, they found they didn’t have to knock him out. Herbie was stark naked and dead to the world.
“Excellent. Get the girl.”
Ollie went out to the foyer and came back with Yvette. “Where do you want her?”
“Other side of the bed.”
Ollie flopped her down.
Carlo arranged her on the pillow. “We won’t need this,” he said. He pulled off the negligee and threw it in the corner. “Okay, here she is, hot to trot, and here’s her lover who thinks she’s been with another man.”
“Why does he think that?”
“Guys do. Okay, here we go.” He put the gun in Herbie’s hand. “He popped her, and passed out.”
Ollie frowned. “He shoots a stark naked girl and goes to sleep?”
Carlo wrapped Herbie’s fingers around the gun, pulled the trigger, and fired a shot into the headboard.
“What did you do that for?” Ollie said.
“Framing the guy. That’s what this is all about. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
They went out the front door.
“We got to take the fucking stairs?” Ollie said.
“Down is easy. Come on.”
“Aw, fuck!”
They disappeared down the stairwell just as the elevator arrived on the floor.
44
DONNIE STEPPED OUT of the elevator and found the front door open. He was not surprised. If the guy was unconscious, there was no need to be careful. Nevertheless, he tapped his knuckles on the door frame to make sure the coast was clear.
There was no answer.
What the he
ll was Yvette doing?
He wandered through the apartment, made his way into the master bedroom, and stopped dead.
Yvette was spread out on the bed stark naked. Red blood ran down the side of her face. It made a stripe across her breast and ended in a small pool on the sheet.
The guy was stark naked, too, and clutching a gun. A murder-suicide? No, he was out, from the knockout drops. How did that compute? He realized he’d been doped and pulled a gun? But Yvette had called him, said the guy was out. Had he come to after that, just long enough to shoot her to death?
The whole thing was all a bad dream. She was dead, and the cops would be coming …
He had to get out of there, but he wasn’t going to leave empty-handed, not after everything he’d been through.
According to Yvette, Herbie kept his stuff in a walk-in closet opposite the bath.
Donnie poked his head into the master bath, which boasted a large Jacuzzi tub and a glassed shower with multiple sprays, then pushed his way through the double doors to the walk-in closet.
He was greeted by racks of expensive suits. Donnie had no use for suits, even if they weren’t hot. He needed things easily fenced for ready cash. Jewelry, that’s what Yvette had said. The guy had cuff links worth more than a car, several watches, and some rings.
Donnie had brought a messenger bag. He emptied the jewelry case into it and looked around for more. There was no reason to be circumspect. The long con was gone. What else did the guy have?
Donnie searched the closet. A metal petty cash box looked promising. Inside was a cash envelope, the type the bank issued, full of bills. He reached in, jerked them out. They were hundreds.
Jackpot.
Donnie shoved the money in his pocket and hurried to the front door. He listened before opening it a crack. There was no one there.
Stairs or elevator? What difference did it make? The doorman had seen him already. He’d seen him go in, now he’d see him go out. If they didn’t find the body for a while, they’d think it happened after he left. Hell, the pizza was gone, just a couple of crusts in the discarded box. It would look like they’d eaten long before it happened.
Donnie rode down in the elevator, breathing in and out, trying to calm himself.
Come on, method actor, you’re a pizza delivery boy. This is a piece of cake. What does a pizza delivery boy do? Oh, yeah. That’s right. He sorts his tip money.
Donnie jerked a roll of bills out of his pocket just as the elevator doors opened. He was halfway across the lobby before he noticed they were hundreds. Donnie hunched over, hiding the denominations from the doorman as he pretended to count his tips.
45
WHEN CARLO GOT back to the office, Mario was going over the account of Martin Kendrick, who had no idea why he was there. Mr. Kendrick was a steady customer who had borrowed small amounts of money over the years, and had always paid it back on time if not sooner. Mario was looking up the instances in which Martin Kendrick had been early with his payments, and giving him credit in each case. This totally baffled Mr. Kendrick, who couldn’t help feeling he had done something wrong.
Martin Kendrick had a right to be confused, because he was actually there for no good reason, at least not involving Mario’s accounts. He was there solely to provide Mario with an alibi for Yvette’s murder. Mario didn’t need an alibi, but he always liked to have one. It was kind of like insurance. If he had one, he wouldn’t need one.
Carlo barged in and said, “You wanted me, boss?”
Mario looked up and smiled. “Yes, yes. We’re almost done here. Good work, Mr. Kendrick. I need more customers like you. Would you mind waiting outside for a moment? I need to talk to Carlo here.”
From his expression, Kendrick expected to be whacked. His hand was shaking as he opened the door.
“So, how did it go?” Mario said.
Carlo shrugged. “Smooth as silk.”
“Did he recognize you before you put him out?”
“Didn’t have to put him out. Guy was out when we got there.”
“Are you sure?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“You’re sure he wasn’t faking?”
“Believe me, he was out. He looked like he’d been drugged. Hell, I thought he was dead.”
Mario nodded. “Did you make the phone call?”
“No. I came here.”
“Make the phone call.” Mario rolled his eyes and jerked his thumb at the corridor. “I’d like to send this guy home before he bores me to death.”
Carlo left Mario to wrap up his non-meeting with Martin Kendrick, and went out to make the call. Working pay phones were scarce, but Carlo had scoped one out that afternoon on the corner of Thirty-sixth and Ninth. It was still working, no sure thing for a street phone. Carlo got a dial tone and called 911.
“I’d like to report a domestic disturbance on Park Avenue.”
46
THE FIRST COPS through the door were uniformed officers responding to a domestic disturbance call. The doorman hadn’t heard anything, and no one had complained to him, but he rang the apartment and got no answer, so the cops went up to check it out.
They were surprised to find the door open. The rookie cop was about to barge right in, but his partner stopped him. She was an old-timer and attached to protocol. She rapped loudly on the door, yelling into the apartment, “Police!”
When they were met with silence, she pulled her service weapon and eased through the door sideways, gun up.
Her partner followed, smirking at her for drawing her gun in a Park Avenue penthouse.
He got quite a shock when they reached the bedroom.
Herbie didn’t move. He stayed exactly as Carlo had posed him, breathing shallowly, the gun still in his hand.
Yvette didn’t move, either, but she wasn’t going to.
That was all the cops needed to see. The naked tableau told the story.
The rookie reached his hand out for the gun.
“Don’t touch that!”
He looked at her in surprise. “Why not?”
“It’s a crime scene. Don’t contaminate it.”
“The guy’s alive. You gonna let him keep the gun?”
“No, and I’m not going to touch it, either.”
She whipped a handkerchief out of her pocket and lifted the gun gently from Herbie’s fingers. She set the gun on the dresser, out of Herbie’s reach. “Cuff him. I’ll call it in.”
“Cuff him? He’s out cold.”
“Okay, I’ll cuff him and you call it in.”
The rookie made the call. “Got a homicide here. Husband in custody, wife DOA. Domestic disturbance gone bad.” He hung up to find his partner smirking at him. “What’s so funny?”
“Domestic disturbance gone bad?”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“Like a domestic disturbance could be good.”
• • •
HERBIE WAS BARELY stirring when the detectives from the crime scene unit arrived. He was in their way, so they let the patrol officers run him in. With little help from their stumbling, incoherent suspect, they dressed him in sweats and running shoes and took him out to the car. They borrowed a gurney from the EMTs so they wouldn’t have to carry him.
They took him downtown and booked him for murder, which ordinarily would have earned him a chat with an ADA, but he was still too out of it to be Mirandized. He’d have to sleep it off. So they did what they always do with prisoners in his condition.
They threw him in the drunk tank.
47
JUDGE BUCKINGHAM GLOWERED at the defense table where David Ross sat alone.
“Mr. Ross, where is your attorney?”
“I don’t know, Your Honor.”
“Did he inform you that he could not be here?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Or that he would be late?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Have you heard from Mr. Fisher this morning?”
“No, I have not
.”
“Did you ask that another attorney appear in his stead?”
“I didn’t know he wouldn’t be here, Your Honor.”
“That was not my question. Did you ask for another attorney?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“How about Mr. Glick?”
“I have not heard from him, either, Your Honor.”
“Have you attempted to call him?”
“No, Your Honor. And in any case, Mr. Fisher has taken over for him. Mr. Glick would not be prepared to resume questioning at this point.”
“That’s not what I asked, either. It is not your place to assess how this courtroom should be run. That is my business, and I will thank you to remember it.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Judge Buckingham sat up straight on the bench. “This is unacceptable. Herb Fisher knew he was to be here. Herb Fisher is not here. Herb Fisher is in contempt of court. Issue a bench warrant for his arrest, and haul him in here. I expect to see him at two o’clock sharp to show cause why he should not be held in contempt of court.”
Judge Buckingham banged the gavel and stalked from the courtroom.
Councilman Ross joined his son at the defense table.
“Any luck?” David said.
Ross shook his head. “I called Woodman & Weld. They haven’t heard from him and have no idea where he is.”
“What do we do now?”
“Who else would know?” The councilman frowned. “Who was that friend he mentioned the other night? With the mansions and the planes?”
“Stone Barrington.”
“That’s the one.” Ross whipped out his cell phone and called his secretary. “I need a phone number.”
• • •
MOOKIE EXITED THE courtroom and pulled out his cell phone, hesitating as his thumb hovered over the green call button. He didn’t want to make this call. He figured Taperelli wouldn’t be pleased about the news he had to report.
He figured right.
“What do you mean he isn’t there?” Taperelli shouted.
“He didn’t show up. No one knows where he is. The prosecutor’s pissed, and the judge issued some sort of warrant.”
“A bench warrant.”
