Stuart Woods - Dirty Work

Joan buzzed back. "He didn't show up for work. You want to talk to his boss?"

"Yes." Stone picked up the phone. "Good morning," he said, "is this Herbert Fisher's supervisor?"

"Yes, this is Mr. Wirtz, the manager."

"I understand that Herbie didn't show up for work this morning?"

"That's right."

"Do you know why?"

"Nope. He didn't show up yesterday, either."

"Is this unusual?"

"Well, he's come in late and hungover before, but at least he always showed up."

"Thank you," Stone said. He buzzed Joan. "Try his home number."

Joan buzzed back a moment later. "His mother answered the phone. I've got her on the line."

Stone pressed the button. "Mrs. Fisher?"

"Mrs. Bernstein," she replied curtly. "Mr. Fisher took a hike a long time ago."

"I'm sorry. Mrs. Bernstein, this is Stone Barrington. I'm Herbie's lawyer, and it's important that I speak to him. Where can I reach him?"

"You're who? I thought his lawyer was Mr. Levy."

"Mr. Levy works for me on Herbie's case. It really is very important that I reach him."

"You're a cop, aren't you?"

"No, ma'am, I'm not. You can look me up in the phone book, if you want to be sure."

"Hang on." She put the phone down.

Stone waited, drumming his fingers on the desktop. Why was she taking so long?

She came back on the line. "Yeah, all right, I got you in the book."

"Where's Herbie, Mrs. Bernstein?"

"He's on a boat somewhere or other."

"A boat? Where would somewhere or other be?"

"Down in some islands, you know? His uncle Bobby is down there, too."

Stone was having trouble breathing. "In Saint Thomas?"

"Saint something or other," she said.

"And did he say when he'd be back?"

"He said when things cooled down, and the judge forgot about him."

Stone was having trouble speaking now. "And did he say when he thought that would be?"

"A year, maybe. He took a lot of clothes."

"Mrs. Bernstein, did he leave a phone number or the name of his hotel?"

"He said he'd send me a postcard," the woman said, then she hung up.

Stone was left listening to a dead phone. He wondered, in passing, what his blood pressure might be at this moment. When he recovered himself enough to speak, he buzzed Joan.

"Any joy?" she asked.

"Anything but," Stone replied. "Get me Bob Cantor on his cell phone."

"Okay." She went off the line, then came back. "I'm getting a recording saying that the person's phone is out of the calling area. What next?"

"First of all, if Irving Newman, the bail bondsman, calls or sends anybody over, I'm out of the country, can't be reached, and you don't know when I'll be back. Got that?"

"Got it."

"Now get me Tony Levy. He's probably on his cell phone, too."

Levy came on the line. "Yeah?"

"Tony, it's Stone Barrington."

"Yeah, Stone, you got something for me?"

"Just the opposite," Stone replied. "When is Herbie Fisher's next court appearance?"

Levy let out a short laugh. "He jumped bail, didn't he?"

"There are some things it's better for you not to know, Tony. When's his next appearance?"

"The day after tomorrow."

"Oh, shit. Is Judge Simpson back yet?"

"No, out for at least another week. Kaplan's still sitting."

Stone tried to think how things could be worse and failed. "Tony, I want you to get a postponement."

"On what grounds, and for how long?"

"On any credible grounds you can dream up and until Judge Simpson is back on the bench and in a really good mood."

"I'll see what I can do. If I can't get the postponement, any chance Herbie will show?"

"If he doesn't, it'll be because he's dead."

"Whatever you say, Stone. What are you going to tell Irving Newman?"

"I'm not going to tell him anything, and don't you, either."

"He'll hear about the postponement, you know. He's got a guy in court every day."

"He'll hear whatever you tell Judge Kaplan, and it better be good."

"Stone, this is going to cost you."

"Cost me what?"

"Five grand. That's my price for lying to a judge."

"Tony…"

"Come on, Stone. We both know it's a bargain."

"All right. Joan will send you a check today."

"Cash, like before. I don't want to share it with Uncle Sam."

"All right, Tony. You may be able to reach me on my cell phone, if it's absolutely necessary." Stone gave him the number.

"It's a pleasure doing you, Stone."

Stone hung up and called Dino.

"Bacchetti."

"Dino, can you take a few days off?"

"For what purpose?"

"To spend a little time on a tropical island, feeling the warm breeze waft across your bald spot."

"I don't have a bald spot; I'm Italian."

"So's Rudy Giuliani."

"On whose nickel am I traveling?"

"Mine, but you've got to get me an extradition warrant without logging it in."

"For who?"

"For Herbie Fisher. He's jumped bail, and I'm on the hook to Irving Newman for two hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars."

"Oh, boy. The warrant can't be done; new procedures."

"Then get me a blank warrant and I'll fill it in."

"That, I can manage. When do we leave?"

"Go home now and pack, and you might start working on what you're going to tell Mary Ann."

"I'll blame it on you, the way I always do."

"I'll call you when I've got a flight booked." Stone hung up and buzzed Joan. "Please get Dino and me on the next flight to Saint Thomas, and I'm going to need an open, one-way ticket back for Herbie Fisher. And find us a decent hotel there."

"I stayed at Harborview the year before last," Joan said. "You'll like it."

"That will be fine," Stone said.

Joan came back a few minutes later. "Your flight leaves in an hour and a half, change in San Juan. You'll be there for dinner."

"Thank you," Stone said. He called Dino's cell phone.

"Bacchetti."

"We fly in an hour and a half," Stone said. "Your driver is taking us to the airport, with the siren on."

"I hope you got first-class seats," Dino said.

Stone gave him the flight number. "Get on the phone to the airline's station chief at Kennedy, sound official, and tell them not to let the flight leave without us," Stone replied. "And for Christ's sake, don't forget your badge."

"I never leave home without it," Dino said.

They sat at the end of the runway in San Juan, the engines of the DC-3 roaring, while the pilot did his runup.

Stone was enchanted. He hadn't been on a DC-3 since he was a boy, and he loved the deep rumble of the radial engines. "This is great, isn't it?" he said to Dino.

Dino, who was holding tight to the armrests, his knuckles white, did not reply.

"Isn't it great, being on a DC-3?" Stone asked, elbowing him.

"It has propellers," Dino said.

"Of course it has propellers."

"It's not a jet."

"You're very observant."

"Why is the tail on the ground and the nose in the air? We'll never get off the ground."

"It's a tail dragger," Stone explained. "It doesn't have a nosewheel, just a little one at the back. It's the way all airplanes used to work."

"They used to crash a lot, too." Dino let go of an armrest long enough to grab the wrist of a flight attendant, who was walking down the short aisle. "I need a drink," he said.

"I'm sorry, sir, but our flight is too short to offer drink service. We'll be in Saint Thomas in half an hour."

"I'm a cop. Does that make any difference?"

"We don't even have liquor aboard, sir. Please relax, it's going to be a very short flight."

Dino let go of her wrist and resumed his death grip on the armrest. The airplane rolled onto the runway and kept going, while Dino helped by keeping his eyes tightly shut. After an interminable roll, the airplane lifted off and began to climb.