6 Stone Barrington Novels (144 page)

S
TONE GOT TO the courthouse at eight a.m. and went upstairs to the warren of cubicles and offices that housed the assistant district attorneys.

“Hey, Maria,” he said to the middle-aged Italian-American woman who ruled the front desk. “You're looking beautiful today.”

“You're so full of shit, Stone,” the woman replied sweetly. “What brings you downtown? Haven't seen you since the Christmas party.” She waggled her eyebrows meaningfully.

Stone ignored the reference to the Christmas party. “A client has an appearance this morning. Can you tell me who caught his case?”

“What's his name?”

“Herbert Fisher.”

Maria giggled. “Oh, him.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“He's the one who kicked the cop in the crotch, isn't he?”

“It is so alleged,” Stone said. “Who's the ADA?”

“Oh, that would be Dierdre Monahan.”

Stone winced.

“Yeah.” Maria giggled again.

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Well, there have been rumors.”

“Don't ever believe rumors,” Stone said. “Is Dierdre in the same stall?”

“Are you saying she's horsey?”

“Cubicle.”

“No, she's moved up a little. She has an office now, but no window.” She waggled a thumb. “Down at the end, there.”

“Thanks, Maria.” Stone walked around the desk and started down the hallway, feeling nervous. He and Dierdre had gotten drunk and had a little thing after last year's Christmas office party at the courthouse. The thing had occurred on a conference table next to the chief deputy DA's office, and the door hadn't been locked. He hadn't seen her since. He rapped on the glass door.

“Come in, but it had better be good!” she shouted.

Stone opened the door and stuck his head in. “Morning, Dierdre. Got a minute?”

Dierdre was a striking woman of thirty-something who came from a long line of Irish cops and had four brothers currently wearing the uniform. “Faith and begorra,” she said sardonically. “And I was thinkin' you was dead in your grave.” She dropped the Irish accent. “Come in and sit down, Stone.”

Stone went in and sat down. “So, how have you been?”

“Since last Christmas, you mean? You could have called and asked.”

Stone felt his ears redden. “It's been a crazy year,” he said weakly.

“You're blushing, Stone. Don't tell me the memory of our little time together embarrasses you.”

“Well . . .”

“Just because the chief deputy walked in on us? Now, why should you let a little thing like that bother you?”

“Well . . .”

“I've had to take the brunt of it around here. The razzing got so bad I managed to parlay it into a sexual harassment complaint that got me, among other things, this office.”

“I'm glad you were able to turn the situation to your advantage,” Stone said, trying hard to sound sincere.

“I'm glad you're glad, Stone. What can I do for you?”

“I've got a client at bat this morning at ten,” Stone said, grateful for the change of subject. “Maria says you caught the case.”

“Name?”

“Fisher.”

Dierdre emitted a deep chuckle. “Oh, Mr. Fisher! What a perfect pairing of client and attorney! And I suppose you've come to propose a deal?”

“Well, this sort of thing is really a waste of the
court's time—not to mention yours—and since Mr. Fisher is contrite and unlikely to repeat—”

“Mr. Fisher has already repeated,” Dierdre said. “That's why I caught the case instead of one of the rookies.”

“Yes, I'm aware of that, but—”

“And the cop in question—Mr. Fisher's victim—missed two days of duty because of his injury.”

“Mr. Fisher is
very
sorry about that. He was
very
drunk at the time, and—”

“Which is why he was stopped in the first place,” Dierdre replied. She consulted a sheet of paper. “A two-point-oh reading on the Richter scale,” she said. “Judge Goldstein is going to just love that.”

“Judge Goldstein is hearing the case?” Stone's heart sank. Goldstein's wife had been injured in a collision with a drunk driver a couple of years back, and he was known as a hanging judge where DUIs were concerned.

“Isn't that lucky?” Dierdre said. “What sort of deal did you have in mind, Stone?”

“I was thinking a written apology to the officer and community service,” Stone said hopefully. It was only an opening gambit.

“Tell you what: If he pleads out, I won't ask for the death penalty.”

“Heh, heh,” Stone said.

“I'm glad you find this amusing. So do I.”

“Come on, Dierdre, give me a break here, will you?”

“The poor cop didn't get much of a break, did he?
There he was, just doing his duty, protecting the public from a driver too drunk to stand up straight—”

“All right, spare me,” Stone said, throwing up his hands in surrender. “What can you do for me, Dierdre?”

“How about three to five in Attica?” she proposed.

“Dierdre, please. Let's be realistic; nobody died.”

“Have you ever been kicked in the balls, Stone?”

“Once, a long time ago.”

“I'm glad you had the experience. I was going to do it myself, just so you'd know the pain involved. Was it fun?”

“No, it hurt a lot.”

“Funny, that's what the cop said. He'll be using a cane to make his court appearance today.”

“Why don't we spare him the court appearance, Dierdre? Make me an offer I can take to my client.”

“Six months and no license for five years.”

“Dierdre . . .”

“He's lucky I don't want his license for life.”

“Dierdre . . .”

“Propose what you feel is an appropriate punishment, Stone, all things considered.”

“He doesn't deserve to go to jail, Dierdre.”

“Doesn't he?”

“Let me explain something else: I've been retained by a branch of the federal government that I cannot name. He was doing their bidding at the time he was arrested.”

Dierdre clapped a hand to her breast. “Oh, God, he
was drunk and violent for the CIA, is that what you're telling me? I gotta admit, I've never heard that one before, though it's right up there with the dog ate his driver's license.”

“Shhhh,” Stone said, making tamping motions with his hands. “I didn't say that, and you mustn't repeat it.”

“Is that your way of saying he
actually was
working for the CIA?”

“I can't go there,” Stone said, pleading in his voice. “Please believe me when I tell you.”

“All right, Stone,” she said. “Since it's you, and you're a pretty good lay when no one is watching, here's my best offer: thirty days at Rikers, a thousand-dollar fine, and his license in my desk drawer for three years.”

Stone slumped. Herbie wasn't going to like this. “I'll take it to my client,” he said.

“Don't sound so down, Stone. You did pretty well for the guy, considering.”

Stone didn't ask, Considering what? He said his goodbyes and left.

“Don't be a stranger!” Dierdre called after him down the hallway.

“Thanks, Maria,” Stone said as he passed the front desk.

“Did I mention that the cop was Dierdre's baby brother, Colin?” Maria asked.

“No, Maria, you didn't mention that.” Stone got out the door as quickly as he could.

S
TONE WENT DOWN to the hallway outside the courtroom and was mildly surprised to find Herbie Fisher, dressed in a sober blue suit and tie, waiting for him, and on time, too.

“Hey, Stone,” Herbie said. “How's it hanging?”

“You're the one who's hanging,” Stone said. “You're in a lot of trouble.”

“Stone, it was only a DUI, that's all.”

“It was your
second
DUI, and you haven't bothered to do your penance for the first one, which was less than a month ago.”

“Well, hell . . .”

“Let me tell you a few other things that you ought to know,” Stone said. “The cop who received your kick in the crotch was the younger brother of the lady DA who's prosecuting your case, and the judge who's hearing it has a wife who was hurt in an accident caused by a DUI. He loves stringing them up by their thumbs.”

Herbie seemed to pale a little. “Can't we get the DA and the judge, whatchacallit, excused? I mean, they're both prejudiced against me.”

“Recused. It's not going to happen because I've already gotten you the best possible deal.”

Herbie blew out a sigh of relief. “I knew you'd come through for me, Stone. Lance said you'd make it go away.”

“I didn't say it was going away. I said I got you the best possible deal.”

Herbie looked worried. “What kind of a deal?”

“You do thirty days, pay a thousand-dollar fine, and lose your license for three years.”

“WHAT?”
Herbie yelled. “I'm not doing time for this, and I'm sure as hell not going to give up driving. I just bought a new car!”

“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.