Stuart Woods - Fresh Disasters

“Gus stood there, looking down for a minute, and then he said, ‘Fuck you, Cheech,’ and he turned around and walked out of the apartment. When I heard the door close, I came out of the closet and looked at Cheech. I was going to call nine-one-one for an ambulance, but then I saw Cheech die. It was like he just deflated, and he was just this dead lump on the floor. I felt for a pulse, and I couldn’t find one, so then I picked up the pizza box and got the hell out of there by the back way.”

Stone stared at Herbie, speechless.

“Okay,” Dierdre said, “I’ll buy that. The charge of murder in the first degree is dropped. You’re free to go, Mr. Fisher, but I’ll need you to testify against Gus at his trial, if he doesn’t roll.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Herbie said, getting to his feet. “Uncle Bob, can you give me a ride home?”

“Sure, Herbie,” Cantor said. The two men left the room.

“Stone,” Dierdre said, “I’ve never seen you at a loss for words.”

“What just happened?” Stone asked.

“Well, your client told me what happened at his apartment, and I believed him, so I dropped the murder charge. I’ll send you a letter confirming that he’s not a target of our investigation.”

“Let me get this straight: you hate Herbie Fisher, because he kicked your little brother, the cop, in the balls, and yet you dropped the murder charge against him, because you liked his story?”

“That’s about it,” she said.

“I’m going nuts,” Stone said. “I’m dreaming.”

“Of course,” she added, “there was the fact that we found Gus Castiglione’s prints on the butcher knife, and when we arrested him early this morning, Cheech’s blood was on his shoes.”

Stone stared at her in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me that to begin with?”

“Because it was so much more fun watching your face while Herbie told his story,” she said. “Can I buy you lunch?”

Stone got out of a cab at the Tribeca Grill and waited for Dierdre Monahan to arrive in her own cab. She had suggested this place, which was way off the beaten path of the courthouse legal fraternity, because she didn’t want to be seen having lunch with him. At least, that was what he figured.

He was not thrilled about this meeting, since he thought he knew what she had in mind, but he didn’t want to make an enemy of a woman who had become an important A.D.A. and with whom he would certainly have dealings in the future.

Dierdre arrived five minutes later, gave him a smile and waved him inside. As they were seated at their table, Stone noticed that she had changed from her A.D.A. standard-issue business suit to a tight dress that showed more than a little cleavage-definitely not your average courtroom costume.

Dierdre ordered a cosmopolitan and Stone ordered fizzy water. Somehow, he felt that he needed his wits about him on this occasion.

“You’re looking very fetching today,” Stone said, sipping his fizzy water.

“Why, thank you, kind sir,” she said, taking a deep swig of her cosmo. “I thought that went very well this morning, didn’t you?”

“Let’s just say that I achieved my objective in a surprising manner. I had no idea what Herbie was going to say, and because of the traffic jam, I didn’t have an opportunity to find out before we landed in your office.”

“Well, it all turned out all right, didn’t it? Your client lives to fuck up another day.”

“And fuck up he will,” Stone agreed. “I just hope I’m a long way away at the time.”

“How’d you get involved in this thing with Dattila the Hun, anyway?”

“I didn’t get involved; Woodman and Weld, in the person of Bill Eggers, suddenly decided it was a good idea that I should sue the most murderous goombah thug in the city, maybe the world. I can’t tell you what a nightmare it’s been.”

“I can imagine,” she said. A waiter appeared at their table. Dierdre handed him the menu. “I’ll have the shrimp pasta dish, no starter, and another cosmo.”

“Same for me, hold the cosmo,” Stone said.

“So, what have you been doing besides suing the Hun?” she asked.

“Well, I had a client murdered last night.”

“This is the one with Devlin Daltry as the suspect.” It wasn’t a question.

“You’re very well informed.”

“Was she really…” She grimaced.

“Headless? Yes, she was. It was an ugly business, and Daltry has an alibi.”

“And I suppose you feel responsible?”

“I thought I had done everything I could do to protect her, but, yes, I can’t shake that feeling. I’m not sure I ever will.”

The waiter came back with the cosmo. Dierdre polished off her first drink and took a swig of the second. “Okay,” she said, when the waiter had gone, “gimme.” She held out a hand.

“Give you what?”

“You want me to subpoena you? Get a search warrant for your house?”

“Dierdre, I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”

“Gimme the Dattila tape, and we’ll go back to your house and I’ll fuck your brains out.”

“That’s the nicest thing anybody has said to me this year,” Stone said, placing his briefcase on the table and opening it. He handed her a dictator with an earplug and pressed the Play button.

Dierdre listened intently. “I don’t believe this,” she said, giggling. “That’s his voice. I only met him once, but I recognize it.”

“And Herbie can put him in the room, along with Cheech and Gus, and swear he said it.”

She popped open the dictator, emptied the tape into her palm and tucked it into her very impressive cleavage. “Do you want lunch before I fuck you, or shall we get on with it?”

“I’m hungry,” Stone said. He wasn’t up for this, and he didn’t know how he was going to get out of it. As if on cue, the waiter set down two plates of pasta.

“Okay, but be quick about it,” she said, digging in. “I haven’t got the whole afternoon; there’s a deposition at three.”

“Are you that fast these days?”

“I’d love the whole afternoon, but duty calls. What else you working on these days?”

“Well, I had a really juicy divorce case, but it blew up in my face.”

“Anybody I know?”

“How about Bernard Finger, Esquire? I was representing his wife.”

“What fun!” she giggled. “Nice fee, I’ll bet.”

“I was doing it on a contingency basis.”

“So, you’re going to get ten percent of half of everything Bernie has? Wow!”

“Thirty percent.”

“You’re shitting me!”

“I shit you not. Only thing is, Bernie took her off to Las Vegas for a weekend and they reconciled. And I had the settlement all worked out.”

“Oh, poor baby,” she said, patting his cheek and sticking her shoeless toe into his crotch.

“I’ll live, I guess. Anyway, it can’t last; she’ll be calling me again as soon as she catches him with some doxie.”

“Speaking of that, hurry up with the pasta, okay? I’m getting wet.” She had already finished hers.

Stone scraped the last of the pasta from his plate. As he was about to rise, a belt buckle appeared beside his table. He looked up and found it cinching the waist of the district attorney, the Old Man himself, so called because he was a man and very old, but it didn’t seem to be slowing him down. He had just been reelected for the umpteenth time.

“Why, hello, Dierdre,” he said.

She was obviously flabbergasted to see him so far off the reservation. “Uh, hello, Boss. You know Stone Barrington?”

The Old Man offered his hand. “We’ve opposed each other once or twice. It’s one to one, so far, isn’t it?”

“I thought it was two-nil, your favor,” Stone said.