Stuart Woods - Fresh Disasters

“Yeah, like that. I don’t think there’s any doubt that Daltry would like to kill you; let’s just give the guy a chance.”

“And hope he misses?”

“Preferably. After all, we’d need you as a witness.”

“Well, Dino, as appealing as your idea is, I have a better one.”

“Stone, it’s been a long, long time since you had a better idea than I did. Maybe never.”

“How’s this? Let’s find out who the accomplice is, then we can bust him and turn him and fry Daltry.”

Dino nodded. “Well, it’s not a very original idea, but it has its points.”

“It keeps me out of the traffic, for one.”

“There is that.”

“I’ve got an idea about how to go about it, too.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I’ll bet Daltry already has another girlfriend. Get your people to find out who she is, then let’s turn her.”

Dino shook his head. “That’s asking an amateur to do undercover work. It could blow up in your face, might even get her killed. I’ve got a better idea.”

“What’s that?”

“Let’s get him a new girlfriend who’s trained for the work.” Dino smiled a secret smile. “You get Charley Sample to call me.”

Stone got out his cell phone and made the call. “Charley? It’s Stone. Give Dino a call, will you? He needs an official request for help with nailing Devlin Daltry.” He hung up.

A moment later, Dino’s cell phone rang. Dino flipped it open. “Why, Lieutenant Sample, how can the NYPD be of service today?”

Stone was back at his desk in time to catch a call.

“Herbert Fisher, Esquire, is on the phone,” Joan said drily.

Stone didn’t want to take the call, but he was curious as to Herbie’s whereabouts. He punched the button. “Hello.”

“Stone!”

“Where are you, Herbie?”

“I’m calling from the backseat of a police car, that’s where I am.”

“I didn’t know they had phones in the backs of police cars these days. What’ll they think of next?”

“No, no, they let me use my cell phone.”

“That was very nice of them.”

“Don’t you get it, Stone? I’ve been arrested!”

Stone heard another voice from the car. “You haven’t been arrested; you’re in protective custody.”

“You haven’t been arrested, Herbie,” Stone said. “You’re in protective custody.”

“What the hell does that mean? Am I in the witness protection program or something?”

“No, Herbie, it’s just that the D.A. wants you to remain alive at least long enough for you to testify against Carmine Dattila.”

“Testify against Carmine Dattila? Is the D.A. nuts?”

“Herbie, you have a lawsuit against Dattila, remember? That means you’ll have to testify against him in civil court. What’s the difference if you testify in criminal court, too? If he’s convicted, it strengthens your lawsuit.”

“So I have to sit in jail until he goes to trial?”

The other voice came again. “You’re not going to jail; you’ll be in a nice hotel room with a big TV and room service.”

“Wouldn’t you like a nice hotel with a big TV and room service, Herbie?” Stone asked.

“Well, sure, but I’d like to get laid now and then.”

“We don’t provide that service,” the other voice said. “You’ll have to talk to a bellhop about that.”

“Herbie,” Stone said soothingly, “there’s nothing you can’t get sent to a hotel room. You can order Chinese or pizza; you can order a girl with her own donkey.”

“Donkey? Why would she want a donkey?”

“Herbie, it’s just an illustration of the wide world that’s available to you from a hotel room. Tell you what, I’ll call the D.A. and see if I can get you a suite.”

“Well, that would be better,” Herbie said, but he still sounded doubtful. “Can my girlfriend visit me?”

“Do you have a girlfriend, Herbie?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Well, then, whether she can visit you is kind of a moot point, isn’t it? You remember moot, from law school?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. What about my clothes?”

“I’m sure the nice policeman would be happy to stop by your apartment and let you pick up some essentials. My advice is, take lots of pajamas. Pajamas are good to wear when you’re swanning around a hotel suite.”

“Sort of like Hef, huh?”

“Exactly like Hef, Herbie. Look at it this way: You’ll be safe, you’ll be comfortable and you can have anything you want to eat, and the D.A. pays the bills. All that and cable with pay-per-view movies.”

“Will the D.A. pay for the movies, too?”

“Just charge it to the room, Herbie. And when you’re all settled in, you might give me a call and let me know what hotel you’re in.”

“Okay.”

“But Herbie, it’s very, very important that you don’t tell anyone else but me what hotel you’re in. You see that, don’t you?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Enjoy, Herbie.” Stone hung up and called Dierdre Monahan. “Dierdre, your men have located Herbie Fisher.”

“I heard, Stone; they work for me, remember?”

“Of course. Listen, kiddo, the boy is going to need a suite.”

“A suite ? Are you kidding me? We’re not springing for a suite.”

“Dierdre, the kind of hotel you stash witnesses in doesn’t charge much more for a suite than for a room, and you’re going to have to have a couple of cops on duty there, and they’ll want someplace to hang out. You don’t want to trap them in one room with Herbie Fisher; they’ll blow their brains out.”

She was silent for a moment. “You have a point there.”

“And I’m sure the D.A.’s office can get a really good rate from the hotel.”

“I guess.”

“And Dierdre, don’t take the kid’s cell phone away from him. It’s a throwaway and untraceable, so Dattila can’t find him that way.”

“I got Dattila held without bail,” she said.

Stone could hear her grinning. “That’s great, kiddo!”

“When are we going to, you know, again?”

“Whenever you say; just call.”

“Will do.”

“And be nice to my client.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She hung up.

Joan buzzed him. “I’ve got Bob Cantor holding on two.”

Stone pressed the button. “Bob? What’s up?”

“I got good news and bad news,” Cantor said.

“Bad news first, please.”

“Bernie Finger has put the penthouse on the market.”

“That is bad news,” Stone agreed. “You think he’s really going to give up the girlfriend and go back to his wife?”

“You haven’t heard the good news. The girlfriend is shopping for a new apartment with the same agent who’s listing the penthouse.”

“Well, I guess she’s got to live somewhere. How is that good news?”

“She’s looking at apartments she could never afford, that’s how. Bernie can afford them, though.”

“That is good news. Keep on her, okay?”

“Oh, yeah.” Cantor hung up.

Stone toyed with the idea of calling Mrs. Finger and telling her about the masseuse’s search for shelter. No, he thought, not yet; not while Bernie is still being sweet to her. Wait until the girl finds a place and moves in; then Bernie will suddenly start working nights again. Stone would be patient.

Dino walked through the detectives’ squad room at the 19th Precinct, tapped one of his people on the shoulder and motioned toward his office. He settled behind his desk and watched the new detective walk toward him.

“Have a seat,” he said. “How tall are you?”

“Six foot, two, Boss.”

“How long you had the gold shield?”

“Three weeks, Boss.”