Stuart Woods - Fresh Disasters

“Well, the thought of Herbie dead isn’t enough to make you this happy. What else?”

Stone fished an envelope out of his pocket. “Read this,” he said. “Bernie Finger is going to be served with it tomorrow morning, but I thought you’d enjoy seeing it first.”

Dino opened the envelope and read the complaint. “Holy shit!” he said. “Bernie Finger’s wife has hired you ?”

“Can you believe the luck?”

“I saw the pictures in the Post today,” Dino said. “I thought Bob Cantor’s fingerprints were all over them.”

“You think so?”

“I think more than that. I think you put Bob up to it.”

“I would never cop to that,” Stone said.

“Well, it is a little extreme for you, but there was that thing that Bernie said on Page Six about your lunch at the Four Seasons.”

“The guy offers me what amounts to a bribe to settle Herbie’s case, leaves in a huff when I call him on it, then lies about it to the Post. That kind of thing could hurt a lawyer’s reputation. In fact, that was his intention. Apiece like that in the papers could cost me a lot of business.”

“I guess he was trying to tell you not to fuck with him and his client.”

“Exactly. You know how reluctant I was to get involved in this suit, but now I’m going to nail Dattila to the wall.”

“And screw Bernie Finger at the same time?”

“Well, a little.”

“Handling his wife’s divorce isn’t going to make him happy.”

“Listen, God sent me that case. You know how Bernice Finger chose me? She heard Bernie cursing me in his sleep. How about that for a recommendation!”

Dino laughed. “That’s good; that’s really good.”

Stone looked at the front door. “No,” he said, nodding toward the door, “ that ’s good.”

Dino swiveled his head in time to see Bernard Finger and Marilyn the Masseuse being led to a table up front.

Stone grabbed the complaint from Dino’s fingers and stuffed it back into the envelope. “I’ll be right back,” he said, rising.

He walked toward the front of the restaurant. Finger didn’t see him coming, but Marilyn did, and her face fell. Finger turned around to look for the problem and found it immediately.

“Oh, hi, Stone,” he said. “I was going to call you in the morning to set up depositions in your case against Carmine Dattila. Why don’t we do Mr. Dattila and Mr. Fisher back to back in my office, day after tomorrow at two?”

“I’d be very happy to depose Mr. Dattila, Bernie,” Stone said, “but as you probably know, my client is momentarily indisposed.”

“Well, in that case, I guess we’ll just have to postpone depositions until Mr. Fisher is feeling more disposed,” Finger said, smirking.

“I hope, for your sake, that Mr. Fisher is found alive and well,” Stone said, “because if he isn’t, you’re going to be reading a lot about him and his lawsuit in the papers, and Dattila doesn’t like seeing his name in the papers, does he?”

“You’ve got no case, Stone,” Finger said. “Learn to live with it. It’s sad, I know, since that’s probably the only work you’ve got at the moment.”

“No, Bernie, it isn’t my only case,” Stone said, taking the envelope from his pocket. “I have a brand-new one.” He laid the document on the table.

Finger removed the document from the envelope, and as soon as he read the first sentence his face fell.

“You’ve been served, Bernie. Call me tomorrow, and we’ll arrange a settlement conference.” Stone sauntered back to his own table and sat down, pointedly not looking in Finger’s direction.

“You served him?” Dino asked.

“I did. What’s he doing?”

“He’s still reading, and he doesn’t look happy. Now he’s turning to Marilyn and saying something, and she’s wearing a huge smile and kissing him.”

“Well, I’m sorry to make Marilyn so happy, but if that’s the price of making Bernie unhappy, then so be it.”

“Uh-oh, here comes Bernie.”

Stone looked up to see Finger approaching, clutching the complaint.

“Can we meet tomorrow morning in my office at eleven?” Bernie asked, his face expressionless.

“Perfect, Bernie.”

“I’ll make short work of this.”

“That will be easy, if you accept Bernice’s terms. And Bernie,” Stone said, “remember: A lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client, so bring somebody. Oh, and congratulations to you and Marilyn on your engagement. I wish you every happiness.”

Finger turned around and stalked back to his table.

Stone waved for another round of drinks, and when they came he raised his glass to Dino. “You know, yesterday I was having trouble paying the bills, but today I’ve got a hundred grand of Bernie Finger’s money in the bank, and when I’m through with him, he’ll never know what hit him.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Dino said, raising his own glass.

Stone arrived at Bernie Finger’s office fifteen minutes late, just to annoy him. As he waited for the receptionist to announce him he looked around Finger’s waiting room. Everything was tasteful but with an extra coat of gloss, which pretty much described Bernard Finger, Esquire, Stone thought.

A shapely young woman materialized before him. “Mr. Barrington? Will you please come with me?”

Stone resisted the riposte and, with pleasure, followed the young woman. He was led to a large conference room, where Bernie Finger and a younger man awaited. The huge table was completely bare.

“Morning, Stone,” Finger said, as if they were just meeting for coffee. “Would you like something? Coffee? Tea?”

“Thanks, no; I’ve already had coffee this morning.” He set his briefcase on the table.

“Allow me to introduce my colleague, Samuel Teich,” Finger said, waving a hand at the man next to him.

The table was too wide for Stone to reach across and shake hands, so he just waved. “Hi, there.”

“Sam is one of our bright young men around here,” Finger said, “and, following your advice from last evening, he’s going to represent me.”

Stone regarded Sam Teich for a moment. He was on the small side, with thick, black, close-cropped hair and dark eyes under heavy eyebrows. Stone thought he could pass for either an Arab terrorist or a Mossad agent. He didn’t doubt that young Mr. Teich was bright, perhaps even brighter than advertised, and he was happy that Finger had come so well armed.

“All right, Mr. Barrington,” Teich said, “let’s get to it. What does Mrs. Finger want?”

“It’s very simple, Mr. Teich,” Stone replied evenly. “She wants the Fifth Avenue apartment and the house in the Hamptons. Bernie can have Park Avenue and Telluride. She also wants the six and a half million dollars from the sale of her company, plus interest at eight percent a year, and half of the rest of Bernie’s assets. Oh, and all her legal costs.”

Sam Teich permitted himself a tiny smile. “Oh, and is that all?”

Finger spoke up. “Not half my blood?”

Teich quieted his client with a raised hand. “Mr. Barrington, unless you can make a reasonable proposal, I’m afraid we’re going to have to see you in court, and then Mrs. Finger will have to see her personal life laid bare. I don’t expect she’s told you about her personal life, has she?”

“Mr. Teich…”

“Please…call me Sam.”

“Sam. My dear Sam. I think it might be helpful if I run down our court case for you, just to give you some idea of what you’ll be facing. We have a woman who gave up her career to marry Bernie and sold her business far too cheaply on Bernie’s advice, just to make him happy; we have a seven-year marriage, dare I say it?-the best years of Bernice’s life?-with a man who took her money, then committed flagrant adultery for years; a man who actually bought an expensive penthouse for his current paramour, though the deed remains in his name; a man whose net worth has appreciated from four million dollars to thirty-eight million dollars during the marriage, and that figure does not take into account the undervaluing of his assets on his financial statement or the large sum in his Cayman bank account-an account, incidentally, unknown to the Internal Revenue Service-on which no taxes have been paid. Finally, Mrs. Finger has had to endure the shame and humiliation of seeing her husband’s nude photographs with his lover in a gossip column, seen by everyone she knows, something every woman on the jury-and it will be a jury trial-will find disgusting in the extreme.”