Стюарт Вудс - Barely Legal

Benny Slick’s heart nearly stopped. Mario Payday was calling on him again ? The elderly bookie had survived one meeting with Mario Payday, a small miracle in itself, seeing as how Benny had no visible assets, but he had no chance of surviving a second. If the marker he had produced didn’t hold up — and clearly it hadn’t or Mario wouldn’t be back — then Benny was history, and a pretty sordid one at that. The next twenty minutes were not going to be worth living. The only question was how many of them would involve hanging upside down out the open window.

Probably not many. To the best of Benny’s recollection, no one had ever been pulled up twice. You were lucky to find an answer that got you pulled up once. The second time out the window was a one-way trip guaranteed. There was no escape. If the window had been open, Benny might have gone out it himself.

“Ah, Mr. Slick,” Mario said. “I had not expected to be seeing you so soon.”

Benny tried to answer. It came out a strangled whine, eerily close to the pitch of a hospital monitor flatlining.

Mario Payday nodded approvingly. “Well said.” He grabbed the back of the chair Benny had just vacated, spun it around, and sat down. “I believe you’ve met my boys, Carlo and Ollie the Ox.”

Ollie looked like an ox. One that had just been slammed in the forehead with a sledgehammer at the slaughterhouse. His eyes registered no discernible intellect whatsoever.

“Now then, with regard to your marker, or rather Mr. Fisher’s marker, the one that you gave me in an attempt to resolve your outstanding debt.”

Benny swallowed hard. He was surprised to discover he still had saliva. He did not trust himself to speak.

“I brought up the matter with Mr. Fisher, who was most surprised to see me. He expressed the opinion that the debt had been paid, and that you surely knew it had.”

Benny found his voice. “That’s not true, he’s lying — of course he’d say that, what else was he going to say? You think he wants to give you ninety thousand dollars, of course he doesn’t, he’s trying to get out of it. I can’t believe you’d fall for that.”

Benny suddenly realized he’d said the word fall . His head automatically swiveled toward the window, as if propelled by an irresistible force. He looked back, but it was too late. Mario had followed his gaze.

“What a charming idea,” Mario said. “Carlo, could you help Mr. Slick recover his composure? I think I know just where to look.”

Benny’s eyes were wide. He opened his mouth to protest but nothing came out. No agonized wail, no stammered excuse, no halfhearted plea for mercy when there was none to be had. He simply stopped. His face froze, and he blinked twice and pitched forward onto his face.

“Oh, for goodness sakes,” Mario said. “Why must they be so dramatic? Carlo, get him up. Dust him off. We’ve wasted more than enough time on this gentleman. His excuse isn’t going to fly. But he is.” Mario chuckled. “That’s rather clever. I hope he heard me. Get him up and ask him.”

Carlo rolled Benny over and slapped him in the face. Benny didn’t respond. Carlo put his head on his chest and listened for a heartbeat. He found none.

Carlo looked up. “I think he’s dead.”

Mario flicked cigar ash off his pants leg. “Well,” he said, “that’s inconvenient.”

By the time the whole Tommy Taperelli question got sorted out, it was lunchtime and the court broke for lunch. The upshot was that Herbie could ask the question, but if the witness denied the allegation, that would be that. There would be no follow-up. It seemed fairly straightforward, still it took forever to agree upon. And when, surprise, surprise, Detective Kelly answered that his testimony had not been influenced in the least by Tommy Taperelli, Herbie’s bombshell was, in the final analysis, a bit of a dud.

Herbie was somewhat preoccupied on his way to lunch. He stepped off the curb and was almost run over. He jumped back and was surprised to have the car stop right alongside him. The door flew open and two goons pulled him into the backseat.

After the morning in court Herbie fully expected it to be Tommy Taperelli’s henchmen about to take him for a ride. In which case, a beating would be a benign outcome.

He was not prepared for the smiling face of Mario Payday.

“Mr. Fisher, how nice of you to drop by.”

“Thanks for the invitation.”

“But of course. When a man of your stature comes to my attention, I would not want him to feel slighted.”

“That wasn’t a worry.”

“I’m glad. Anyway, you seemed so certain there was something wrong with your marker, I asked Benny Slick to clarify the situation.”

“What did he say?”

“Unfortunately, the gentleman was no longer able to answer the question. Or any other, for that matter.”

“You didn’t!”

“Of course not, Mr. Fisher. He was an old man. He had a heart attack.”

“While hanging upside down?”

Mario smiled and waggled his finger. “Good one, Mr. Fisher. I like your sense of humor. If only it was rivaled by your sense of obligation. I am wondering if you have made any progress toward bringing our business transaction to a satisfactory conclusion.”

“I’ve been somewhat busy.”

“So I understand. A lawyer appearing in court would have to be a very busy man. Particularly in a criminal case, and especially when his client is the son of a prominent man. A lawyer would have to work very hard in order to justify his retainer.”

“I see you have an intimate knowledge of the law.”

“I consulted a lawyer once. He wanted me to pay him . A novel idea. It took some time to set him straight.”

“Mr. Capelleti—”

“Mario. Please.”

“Mario, I hate to disappoint you, but I’ve been having a hell of a day. If you want to beat me up, you’ll have to get in line.”

“Beat you up? Heaven forbid. We’re gentlemen, you and I. And we will settle this like gentlemen.”

“You’re proposing a duel?”

Mario smiled. “What a novel idea. I like you, Mr. Fisher. I really do. I am delighted that fate has thrust us together.”

“It’s a blessing,” Herbie said. “Well, I’m glad we had this little chat.”

“As am I, Mr. Fisher. It’s not only pleasant, but it gives me an opportunity to remind you of your obligation to me, which I expect you to discharge.”

Mario signaled to the driver and the car pulled up to the curb. Carlo came around and opened the door. Before Herbie could get out, Mario put a hand on his arm.

“In cash, by the end of the business day. Is that clear, Mr. Fisher?”

Herbie smiled. “Crystal.”

The afternoon session was a wash. Herbie managed to jolt the detective a few times, and made a good case for the fact that he was in a perfect position to frame the defendant, but the jurors weren’t impressed, and as testimony wore on he got the impression many of them weren’t even listening.

He also managed to rack up two contempt of court citations and fifteen hundred dollars in fines, in each case for persisting in a line of questioning the judge had ruled inadmissible. At least those instances seemed to arouse the interest of the jury.

By the time court adjourned Herbie was happy just to get out of there.

Councilman Ross came down the aisle and stopped him. “Is any of that true?”

“Is any of what true?”

“The detective is framing my son?”

“I think there’s a good chance.”

“You’ve got to prove it.”

“That’s a problem.”

“Why? Lawyers get clients off by claiming police corruption all the time.”