Stuart Woods: Fresh Disasters

“What’s the deal?”

“Jerome gets twenty to life in a New Jersey joint for the criminally insane, and, in return, he confessed to running you down with the car and killing Celia. We got it all on videotape, and we got it in writing, too-signed, sealed and delivered! He even told us he delivered Celia’s head to Devlin, put it right in his hands! Can you imagine how that’s going to play in court?”

“What did Devlin have to say for himself?”

“Oh, he was having a little trouble talking, what with his broken jaw and all, but he did manage to speak the word lawyer a number of times. Doesn’t matter, though, we’ve got him sewed up for Celia’s murder and for the two rapes, too!”

“There was somebody besides Genevieve?”

“Yeah, he got over on my detective before the cavalry could get there. Couldn’t be helped. She’s taking it like a champ, though, and she’ll be great in court. So will Genevieve, come to that. She’s pissed off enough to kill him, if we’d let her.”

“You did have a good night, didn’t you?”

“Sometimes I just love this job!” Dino crowed. “I’m going home and get some sleep. We’ll talk later.” He hung up.

Stone put the phone down and turned back to Eliza, who was wide awake. “That was Dino; he…”

“I could hear him shouting,” she said. “I got it all. He’s right about Genevieve; when she gets her day in court she’ll nail the guy.”

Stone kissed her. “You’re very nice to wake up to,” he said.

She shortened the distance between them. “You, too,” she said. She ran her hand down his belly. “I sense that something is going on down there.”

“You’re a perceptive woman,” Stone said, rolling her over on top of him.

“I’ll think of something to do with it,” she said, kissing him again and slipping him inside her. “It’s my day off, too, so we’re going to be here for a while.”

The phone rang again. “Fuck it,” Stone said.

“It’s probably more good news,” Eliza said. “I can wait another few seconds.”

Stone grabbed the phone. “What?”

“Well, don’t bite my head off,” Herbie said.

“Jesus, Herbie, do you know what time it is?”

“I’ve got five-forty. You really ought to invest in a watch, Stone.”

“What do you want, Herbie?”

“I just wanted to let you know that I’m taking your advice,” Herbie said. “I took a cab to Jersey, and I’m on a bus, headed south.”

“Great news, Herbie. Good-bye and good luck.”

“Oh, will you tell Uncle Bob good-bye for me?”

“Sure, I will. Good-bye.”

“And say good-bye to that nice D.A., too. You know, if I’d been able to hang around, I would have taken a shot at that. She’s cute!”

“I’ll tell her you said so, Herbie; I’m sure she’ll be devastated to lose the chance. Good-bye.”

“Hey, you think she’ll really be devastated? Maybe I’ll hang around and…”

“Good-bye, Herbie,” Stone said and hung up. He turned back to Eliza. “That was Herbie.”

“I heard. Do you think you’ve seen the last of him?”

“Dear God, I hope so,” Stone said, turning his full attention to her again.

“You know, you went down a bit when you were talking to Herbie, but now…”

Stone made a little thrust.

“You’re back,” she said, helping him.

Herbie got off the subway downtown and began looking for a place to have breakfast. He passed a newsstand and picked up a Daily News. He reflected that he was going to have to start reading the Times , now that he was a lawyer. It looked better.

He found an early-opening restaurant and ordered eggs, bacon and pancakes. He had lost weight in that lousy hotel, and now he was going to gain it back. He ate slowly and turned to the paper. There was a front-page story: Carmine Dattila released from jail. That pissed him off all over again. He checked his watch frequently; he didn’t want to be too early.

At nine o’clock he paid for his breakfast and took a walk. He found a street vendor selling cheap raincoats, and he bought one, along with a rain hat and some sunglasses. It did look like rain after all, and he could use a disguise of sorts. Dattila’s people were still out there, looking for him.

He walked slowly downtown, window-shopping and looking at the career girls on their way to work. He was going to specialize in career girls after he got his law office open. He stopped and looked for a long time in the window of an expensive men’s store. He was going to buy good suits like that and get a better haircut, too. Also shoes. Alot of men who were trying to look good stinted on the shoes. He hated cheap shoes; they made the whole outfit look cheap.

He continued downtown, checking his watch from time to time. Just after ten would be perfect, he reckoned, and this had been confirmed by what he had read in the paper.

He reached Mott Street and increased his pace a bit. He turned and walked quickly down to where he could see the sign for the La Boheme coffeehouse. A black Cadillac sedan sat at the curb, its engine idling.

He had it all worked out; he knew exactly what to do, from start to finish. He opened the door to the coffeehouse and walked quickly in; the door closed itself behind him. He kept walking at the same pace, not hurrying, heading for the table at the rear. He walked straight up to it, raised his hand and fired two shots at Carmine Dattila’s head, then he spun around, waving the cop’s pistol he had borrowed at people who were half out of their chairs. He was surprised not to see any weapons; he had half expected to be shot himself. He went quickly to the door and backed out into the street, still holding the gun out before him.

Half a dozen men fell on him from different directions. He dropped the gun and offered no resistance. A moment later he was handcuffed and in the back of a police car. “Hey, where did you guys come from?” he asked the driver.

“We’re all over town, pal,” the driver replied.

Stone lay on his back, breathing deeply, emptied of the ability to do anything about his desire for Eliza Larkin. She sat up in bed, naked, eating a piece of toast from a tray and reading the newspaper.

“How many times was that?” Stone asked.

“I don’t know exactly,” she replied, “but you will astonish me if you have anything left.”

“But you do?”

“I don’t have to get an erection,” she explained. “And I’m in pretty good shape, so I expect I could go all morning, if you have any interest.”

“Interest, yes; strength, no.”

“Interest is good,” she said, patting his belly.

Joan’s voice came from the intercom. “Assistant District Attorney Monahan is on line one,” she said, articulating the title carefully. Good Joan.

Stone held a finger to his lips for Eliza to see, and she nodded. He picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Stone,” Dierdre said, “I hardly know what to say to you. I would have thought, just thought, that you would have been able to keep Herbert Fisher out of trouble, after his close call at the hotel.”

“Herbie is on a bus to Florida,” Stone replied, careful not to use her name. “He called me from the road early this morning.”

“Maybe from the road,” Dierdre said, “but not the road to Florida. Try the road to Little Italy.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“You should be hearing from Herbie again soon,” she said, “when it finally dawns on him that he needs a lawyer.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Stone said. “What was Herbie doing in Little Italy?”

“Killing Carmine Dattila.”

“What?” He couldn’t think of anything else to say.