by Stuart Woods
“You’re lucky they’re not taking the new car,” Stone said. “When Giuliani was mayor, that’s what they did—first DUI, they towed it away.”
“Stone, Lance promised me . . .”
“Then talk to Lance about it.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Well, Lance is sort of hard to get hold of, you know? He always called me.”
“That’s tough, Herbie. You’ve fucked yourself, so you may as well lie back and enjoy it.”
Herbie was shaking his head vigorously. “I’ll go to trial,” he said. “I’ll get a better deal than that from a jury.”
“Are you insane?”
“I know how to talk to a jury,” Herbie said. “They’ll believe me.”
“So your idea of dealing with this is to perjure yourself?”
“Absolutely not. I’ll tell the truth.”
“You’ll tell a jury you were on your second DUI in a month, with a blood alcohol level of more than double the legal limit, and that you kicked a cop in the balls? Do you want to end up in Sing-Sing?”
Herbie was still shaking his head. “Lance said you’d make it go away.”
“What do you want me to do, bribe the judge?”
Herbie brightened. “How much would that cost?”
Stone dragged Herbie over to a bench and sat him down. “Now you listen to me,” he said. “You’ve behaved stupidly by driving drunk twice in a row. You’ve injured a young policeman who is the brother of the ADA prosecuting you, and the judge has a thing about DUIs. What do you think that adds up to?”
“Okay, I’ll do the fine and the license thing, but no jail time. I’m too pretty to go to jail. I’ll get raped the first day.”
“First of all, you’re not all that pretty. Second of all, you’re extraordinarily lucky to have to do only thirty days. The DA’s first offer was six months, and if you went to trial, you’d probably get a year. Can’t you understand that you’ve fucked up royally, and that now you’re going to have to take responsibility for your actions?”
Herbie brought himself up to his full five feet six. “I have no problem taking responsibility. I just won’t do time, that’s all.”
“Herbie, that’s how you take responsibility.”
“Stone, do you know how to get hold of Lance?”
“Lance can’t help you here, Herbie; only I can help you. You can help yourself by being a stand-up guy and taking your punishment.”
“I am a stand-up guy,” Herbie protested, his voice taking on a whine.
“Herbie, do you know who Lance is? Do you know who he works for?”
Herbie looked around furtively. “Well, I do have my suspicions. He’s mobbed up, isn’t he?”
“Worse than that, Herbie.”
“What’s worse than mobbed up? Russian mob?”
“Worse.”
“I can’t think of anything worse than the Russian mob.”
“Herbie, think about the work that Lance hired you to do.”
“You mean photographing that ambassador guy with his boyfriend?”
“I don’t want to know that, Herbie,” Stone said, throwing up his hands defensively. “But think for a minute: Who would want that kind of work done?”
Herbie thought about it. “You don’t mean . . .” “Go ahead, Herbie, say it.”
Herbie licked his lips and gulped. “The National Enquirer?”
Stone buried his face in his hands. “Herbie, Lance works for a branch of the federal government, a branch that does dirty little things like photographing ambassadors with their boyfriends. Can’t you think of who that might be?”
“You’re not talking about the CIA, are you?”
“Congratulations, Herbie, you’re coming out of the fog.”
Oddly, Herbie seemed pleased. “You mean I’m working for the CIA?”
“Not anymore.”
“Man, that should get me laid.” Herbie chuckled.
“Herbie, it could get you a lot worse than laid,” Stone said.
“What do you mean?”
“Lance intimated to me that, if your case came to trial, his people might use other means to stop it.”
“You mean like bribing the judge?”
“No, Herbie.”
“Well, anybody who’d want an ambassador photographed with his head buried in another guy’s crotch wouldn’t have a problem with bribing a judge, would they?”
“Herbie, you’re not thinking this out to its logical conclusion. These are people who own weapons with silencers, if you get my drift.”
“You mean, they might shoot the judge?” He didn’t seem displeased at the thought.
Stone shook his head. “No, Herbie. It would be a lot simpler just to shoot you, wouldn’t it?”
Herbie froze.
Stone thought he’d finally reached Herbie. “Of course, they’d probably make it look like an accident; a suicide, maybe.”
Herbie seemed speechless now.
“You see where this is headed, Herbie? Look, I’ll see what I can do to make life a little easier for you inside.”
“How can you do that?” Herbie asked.
“You can buy nearly anything in jail, Herbie. Do you have any money?”
Herbie shook his head. “My credit cards are pretty much maxed out.”
“Herbie, they don’t take MasterCard at Rikers.”
“Well, I sure don’t have any cash.”
“Maybe I can get some money out of Lance,” Stone said. He saw his retainer getting smaller.
“You really think this is the right thing to do, Stone? I mean, as my lawyer and my friend, you think this is right?”
“Herbie, it’s the only thing to do, trust me.”
“I trust you, Stone.”
“Thanks, Herbie.”
“I just don’t want to go to jail.”
“The best you can do now is to try not to do anything ever again that will get you sent to jail. Now come on, it’s time for court.” Stone grabbed Herbie’s wrist, hauled him off the bench, and towed him toward the courtroom.
“You’re sure we can’t bribe the judge?” Herbie asked.
“Shut up, Herbie,” Stone said.
11
STONE LED HERBIE into the courtroom, tightly holding his wrist so that he couldn’t run. His client came along only reluctantly. Stone shoved Herbie into a seat and sat down beside him.
Herbie stood up. “I gotta go to the men’s room.”
Stone grabbed his coattail and jerked him back into his seat. “Sit on it, Herbie,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere until we’re done here.”
“But I gotta go.”
“You should have gone when you had the chance. Am I going to have to handcuff you?”
Herbie stared at his feet. “I didn’t bring nothing that I need for jail, no toothbrush or anything. I thought you were going to make this go away.”
“They have a little store at Rikers where you can buy what you need. They’ll let you keep twenty dollars.”
“And I wore my good suit.”
“They’ll keep it for you, Herbie, and they’ll supply all the clothes you need. It’s a free service to guests.”
“All rise!” the bailiff yelled, and the courtroom crowd got to its feet.
Stone looked to his left and saw four uniforms sitting in the front row directly behind the table where Dierdre Monahan sat. He nudged Herbie. “Those are the four brothers of the ADA,” he said.
“Which?”
“The ones in police uniforms. The youngest is carrying a cane. You knocked him off duty for two days.”
“They’re big guys,” Herbie whispered.
“Very big.”
The judge came out of his chambers and headed for the bench. To Stone’s astonishment, Lance Cabot came out the same door immediately afterward and took a seat on the other side of the courtroom. He didn’t look at Stone. What the hell was going on here?
The judge rapped sharply.
“Order! Court is in session!” He turned toward Dierdre. “Ms. Monahan, approach.”
Dierdre got up and approached the bench. There was a brief conversation, and the judge did nearly all the talking.
Dierdre went back to her seat, taking time to glare at Stone on the way.
“Why is she pissed off at you?” Herbie asked.
“I don’t know, but I think we’re about to find out.”
“If she’s pissed off at you, does that mean more jail time?”
“Herbie, she couldn’t be more pissed off at me now than she was an hour ago, believe me. Listen, this is going to take a while. Our case is pretty far down the docket, and I don’t want to hear any more whining about the men’s room.”
The bailiff looked at his clipboard. “People versus Herbert J. Fisher!” he yelled.
“Oh, shit,” Stone said under his breath.
“What’s the matter? This means we get out of here sooner, doesn’t it?” Herbie asked.
“Herbie, try and get this through your head,” Stone said, dragging Herbie toward the gate in the rail that separated the lawyers from the courtroom. “You’re not getting out of here, except in a police van. Got it?”
The judge watched Stone drag Herbie through the gate, and his gaze could have melted ice. He looked down at his papers. “Mr. Fisher, you’re charged with driving with a suspended license, DUI, and resisting arrest with violence. How do you plead?”
“Well, Your Honor . . .” Herbie began.
Stone leaned toward him. “Say guilty and nothing else.”
“Guilty and nothing else,” Herbie called out to the judge.
Stone winced.
“Mr. Barrington, do you have any objection to sentence being imposed at this time?”
“No, Judge,” Stone replied.
“Ms. Monahan,” the judge said, “do you have a sentence recommendation?”
Dierdre stood up. “Yes, Judge. The people recommend suspension of Mr. Fisher’s driver’s license for five years, twelve months’ imprisonment, and a ten-thousand-dollar fine.”
“WHAT?” Herbie yelled.
“Shut your mouth,” Stone said. Something had gone terribly wrong here.
“That sounds good to me,” the judge said. “Mr. Fisher, you are sentenced to suspension of your driver’s license for five years, a ten-thousand-dollar fine, and twelve months’ imprisonment.”
Herbie began to cry.
The judge looked down at his desk and said, quietly enough so the full courtroom could not hear him, “Imprisonment suspended on condition of good behavior.”
The four policemen sitting behind Dierdre were on their feet, protesting loudly, while Dierdre tried to calm them.
“Pay the clerk,” the judge said, rapping his gavel. “Next case?”
Stone took Herbie’s arm and dragged him out of the well of the courtroom, hoping to get him out before the Monahan brothers regrouped and came after Herbie.
Lance moved out of a row of seats and met them at the rear of the courtroom. “Let’s step outside,” he said, and they went into the hallway.
“You said you’d make it go away!” Herbie wailed.
Stone grabbed him by a lapel and shook him. “It did go away. Didn’t you hear the judge?”
“He said a year!”
“He also said suspended.”
Herbie wiped away a tear. “He did?”
“He did,” Lance said. He took an envelope from an inside pocket and handed it to Stone. “Pay his fine, and let’s get him out of here. Go ahead, we’ll wait here.”
Stone went back into the courtroom, found the clerk, and paid Herbie’s fine with the ten thousand dollars in cash in Lance’s envelope. He got a receipt, then rejoined Herbie and Lance in the hallway.
Lance led them out of the courthouse, and they paused at the bottom of the steps.
“Herbie,” Stone said, “do you know what ‘suspended’ means?”
“It means I’m a free man, doesn’t it?”
“No, it means you’re a free man until the second you fuck up again—until you get a ticket for jaywalking or for playing your car radio too loud—for anything at all. That happens, you’re doing a year at Rikers. You understand that?”
“Yes,” Herbie said.
“Herbie’s not going to fuck up again,” Lance said, staring at Herbie. “You remember your little sojourn in the Virgin Islands last year, Herbie?”
“Yeah, sure,” Herbie said.
“Did you like it there?”
“Yeah, it was great. I had this great deal going where I took pictures at the hotels.”
Lance took an envelope out of his coat pocket and handed it to Herbie. “I’m glad you liked it, Herbie, because you’re going back. Here’s your ticket.”
“I am?”
“Your flight leaves at six-twenty this evening. A man will pick you up at your home at four o’clock. You have until then to sell your car and pack.”
“I have to sell my car?” Herbie wailed. “But I just bought it!” He pointed at a new Mustang parked at the curb ten yards from where they stood. There were three parking tickets on the windshield.
“I’m afraid there’s no car ferry service to the Virgin Islands,” Lance said. “And since you can’t drive that or any other car for five years, you’ll have no need of it. By the way, there’s a voucher in the envelope for two weeks in a small hotel in Charlotte Amalie and transportation from the airport. There’s also two thousand dollars in cash, to help you get on your feet.”
“Herbie,” Stone said, “if you get into the slightest trouble in Charlotte Amalie, your previous and current convictions will pop up on the police computer, and you’ll find yourself back here, in Rikers, in a heartbeat. Do you understand?”
But Herbie wasn’t listening. “Hey!” he yelled, pointing at his car. A tow truck had pulled to the curb ahead of it. Herbie sprinted to the car, dove inside, got it started, and roared away from the curb, scattering parking tickets in the wind.
“I can’t believe he’s driving home,” Lance said.
“I wouldn’t have expected anything else,” Stone replied. “Lance, what did you say to Judge Goldstein?”
Lance shrugged. “Let’s just say the judge is a patriot. Nice doing business with you again, Stone.”
“Please, Lance, no more.”
“We’ll see,” Lance replied and strolled toward a black Lincoln parked at the curb with its motor running. Lance opened the door and paused. “Dinner tonight?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Elaine’s, eight-thirty.” He got into the car and it pulled away.
Stone noted that the car had a diplomatic license plate. He wanted one of those.
12
STONE GOT HOME around noon and went to his office. “Where’s Holly?” he asked Joan.
“Oh, she borrowed your car and went somewhere.”
Stone blinked. “She borrowed my car?”
“She said you said it would be okay, so I gave her the extra set of keys.”
“Any idea where she went?”
“Not a clue.”
Stone went into his office and signed some letters, then picked up the phone and dialed his car phone number. It rang four times before she figured it out.
“Hello?”
“Holly, it’s Stone. Where are you?”
“Sitting outside the La Boheme coffeehouse, in Little Italy.”
“You’re not going to get my car full of bullet holes, are you?”
“A brochure in the glove compartment says it’s armored.”
“Well, it is, sort of, but I’ve never actually tested the armor. I’d prefer it if you returned it in the same shape as when you drove it away.”
“Well, sure, I’ll try.”
“When, exactly, did I say you could borrow my car?”
“At dinner. Don’t you remember?”
He did not. “I guess. When are you coming home?”
“A couple of hours, if Trini doesn’t show up. If he doesn’t come for
lunch, I’ll leave it until later. Can I buy you dinner tonight?”
“No, but a guy from the CIA will buy us both dinner at Elaine’s.”
“The CIA? No kidding?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“I’ve never met anybody from the CIA. This ought to be interesting.”
“I hope not. I’ve just spent an all-too-interesting morning in court because of him. I’ve learned that you don’t want interesting, where the CIA is concerned.”
“Holy shit!” Holly yelled.
Stone heard his car start. “What’s going on, Holly?”
“It’s Trini! He’s leaving the La Boheme right now and getting into a Cadillac!”
“Holly, please don’t try a car chase in downtown Manhattan. It’s not like at home in Orchid Beach.” He heard the car’s engine rev.
“I don’t think he saw me,” she said.
“Holly, don’t hang up the phone.”
She hung up the phone.
Stone was left holding a dead receiver. He hung it up and buzzed Joan.
“Yes?”
“Joan, call my insurance agent and confirm that my car is insured for any driver. If it’s not, add Holly Barker as an insured driver, and hurry.”
“Will do.”
Stone tried to think what he could do about this, and he came up with a quick answer: absolutely nothing. This hick-town cop was loose in Manhattan with his seventy-thousand-dollar car, and involved in a chase with an FBI-protected murderer at the front end of things. He buzzed Joan again.
“Yes, Stone?”
“Did you get that insurance thing done?”
“I have them on the other line now.”
“Make sure it’s effective immediately.”
It was after five when Holly returned to Stone’s house.
“Hello?” she called up the stairs.
“Come on up,” Stone called back.
Holly came into his bedroom, shucking off her coat. Daisy padded along beside her, then hopped up onto the bed with Stone, who had been reading the Times.
“Hello, Daisy,” Stone said, half expecting her to reply. She gave him a big kiss, then lay down and snuggled against him.
“She likes you,” Holly said.
“I’m relieved to hear it.” To his surprise, she started undoing buttons.
