Stuart Woods: Fresh Disasters

“Yeah, but it’s a good investment, better than the market, and anyway, I kind of like the idea of having a country place in Connecticut.”

“Well, it’s an awfully expensive way to get laid, Stone. Every time you take a woman up there for a few days, we get a thousand-dollar bill for drinks and dinners at the Mayflower Inn, and last time, you spent a couple of grand at a country auction, too. If it’s not that, it’s the annual Washington Antiques show. I don’t even want to think about what you spent there.”

Stone was growing very uncomfortable and was relieved to hear the phone ring.

Joan reached across the desk and picked up his phone. “Good morning, the Barrington Practice.” She listened for a moment, pressed the Hold button and handed Stone the phone. “Bill Eggers for you. Maybe he’s got some work for us?”

Stone took the phone and punched a button. “Good morning, Bill. How are you feeling today?”

“That’s a cruel question,” Eggers replied hoarsely.

“Was your wife’s dog happy with the bone?”

“He ran when he saw it.”

“And how did the partners’ meeting greet your proposal to represent Herbie Fisher in a suit against Carmine Dattila?”

“Actually, they greeted it very well,” Eggers said. “They immediately saw the public-relations benefit of going up against a mobster in a civil action.”

“You astonish me,” Stone said.

“What they didn’t like was the idea of the managing partner personally representing Mr. Fisher.”

“I can imagine,” Stone chuckled. “Which poor schmuck did you stick with the case?”

“I’m actually on the phone with him now.”

“Feel free to put me on hold while you break the news to him.”

“That won’t be necessary, since I’m speaking to him on this line.”

Stone was confused for a moment, but then the full import of what Eggers was saying struck him like a wall of icy water. “Now wait a minute, Bill…”

“I’m afraid I can’t wait, Stone. The case is yours, by unanimous vote of the partners.”

“Bill, I begged you not to take this ridiculous case.”

“Nevertheless,” Eggers said, “there was a feeling among the partners that the firm has not been getting its money’s worth from you lately, Stone.”

“Well, God knows you haven’t been throwing me any cases.”

“Consider this one thrown.”

“Bill, there’s no money in this. Even if we managed to get a settlement, it would be limited to Herbie’s medical expenses.”

“But, if you went to trial, you could go for punitive damages.”

“What, a few thousand dollars?”

“Stone, I think the partners would be happy without a large settlement if the case were to generate the kind of positive news stories that we think could be obtained by taking this case. Just think of yourself on the courthouse steps, after a day in court grilling Mr. Dattila. Think of a jury coming in with punitive damages of tens of thousands of dollars. You’d be all over the evening news, and so would Woodman and Weld. In fact, I’d be happy to come down to the courthouse and sit at your table for a few days, then share your moment on the courthouse steps.”

“Bill, what have you guys been smoking over there? Whatever it is, it’s illegal.”

“Stone, let me put it to you bluntly. If you want to go on drawing the handsome monthly sum we pay you, and if you want to continue to have cases referred to you by our firm, then you’re going to have to get on board with this case. The partners expect this of you.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Stone moaned. “Send me the case file, if there is one.”

“I’ll do better than that; I’ll send you your client.”

“You mean Herbie is at your office now?”

“Well, he was, but he’s already on his way to you. He should be in your office shortly.”

Stone glanced down the hallway and saw the front door open. “Oh, shit.”

“I take it Mr. Fisher has arrived,” Eggers said. “Do right by him, Stone. Make Woodman and Weld look good.” He hung up.

Stone put the phone down.

“Stone,” Joan said, “what’s the matter?”

“Eggers has sent us a case.”

“Oh, good.”

“No.” Stone nodded toward the hallway.

Joan followed his gaze. “Herbie Fisher? Yuck!”

“My sentiments exactly.”

“What does he want?”

“He wants us to sue Carmine Dattila.”

“Dattila the Hun?”

“One and the same.”

“That’s the case Eggers sent us?”

“That’s the case.”

“This is a bad joke. Make him go away.”

“It is certainly a bad joke, but if we want to keep me of counsel to Woodman and Weld, I’m going to have to do this. Go and get your pad; I’ll dictate a complaint.”

Joan got up and left, squeezing past Herbie Fisher and managing not to touch him.

“Hey, Joanie,” Herbie said.

“Yuck,” Joan replied.

“Hey, Stone.”

“Herbie,” Stone said, “come in, sit down and shut up.”

Stone gazed across his desk at Herbert Q. Fisher, Esquire. “You incredible fuckup,” he said, as pleasantly as he could manage. Herbie had a plastic cup taped across his nose, and two big black eyes. “You look like a demented raccoon.”

“Stone,” Herbie said, reprovingly, “I don’t think Bill Eggers and the partners at Woodman and Weld would like you to speak to a client that way.”

Stone resisted the urge to throw himself across the desk and strangle Herbie. “Joan!” he yelled. “Come in here and bring the Polaroid camera!”

“Are we going to write a complaint?” Herbie asked.

“Stop pretending you’re a lawyer,” Stone replied.

Joan came into Stone’s office. “We haven’t had any film for the Polaroid camera for two years,” she said, “but I brought my phone.” She held up a cell phone.

“I don’t want to make a call,” Stone said. “I want to take pictures of Herbie’s injuries.”

“There’s a camera in my phone, Stone; there’s one in yours, too.”

“There is?”

Joan swiveled Herbie around in his chair and turned Stone’s desk lamp on his face. “Don’t smile,” she said, holding up the cell phone.

Herbie smiled. “Cheese,” he said, revealing a missing tooth.

Joan snapped several pictures, front and profile.

“Do you have any bruises on your body?” Stone asked.

“Oh, sure,” Herbie said.

“Take off your shirt and stand against the wall.”

Herbie slipped out of his jacket and shirt and stood up. He had half a dozen big bruises around his ribs and belly.

“Did they kick you in the balls?” Stone asked.

“Uh-uh,” Joan said quickly. “That’s where I draw the line.”

“Never mind,” Stone said. “Herbie, have you seen a doctor?”

“The girls made me go to the emergency room at Lenox Hill Hospital.”

“Do you have a receipt for your bill?”

Herbie groped his jacket, then held up a credit card slip. “Here it is!” he said triumphantly.

Stone looked at it. “You have a working credit card?”

“Well, of course. Oh, I have to see a plastic surgeon to get my nose fixed.”

“Joan, who’s a good nose guy?”

“How should I know?” she asked indignantly.

“Who did your sister?”

“I presume you mean her nose. Steinberg.”

“Make an appointment for Herbie with Steinberg, and make it clear to his secretary that we’ll need a written description of his injuries, along with a statement of the cost to repair the damage. Tell him not to stint. And tell her not to bill us.”

“I have to get my nose fixed pretty soon,” Herbie said. “The ER doctor said it’ll start to heal, and then it’ll have to be rebroken.”