Стюарт Вудс - Barely Legal

“Not the lawyers on TV.”

“No, but on TV no one’s stodgy and doddering. Even stodgy and doddering people aren’t.”

“I take it you’re not a lawyer.”

Melanie shook her head. “No. I’m a doctor. I was premed at Columbia. Now I’m an intern at Cornell Hospital.”

Herbie liked her. There was an ease about her that made him feel relaxed for the first time all day, and it had been a hell of a day. He found himself actually smiling as the conversation progressed.

“So what information did you want to share with me?” Herbie said.

“Yeah. About Tommy Taperelli. Can you really link the detective to him?”

“I have it on good authority.”

“How good?”

“You wouldn’t believe.”

“Try me.”

“I can’t give up my source.”

“That’s reporters, not lawyers.”

“I’m friends with the commissioner of police.”

Melanie’s mouth fell open. “The police commissioner says the detective is tied to Taperelli?”

“Did I say that? I don’t recall saying that.”

“Never mind sparring with me. If they’re actually connected, there’s your link. Tommy Taperelli is in bed with Jules Kenworth.”

“So I understand.”

“My father told you?”

“Your father says Kenworth is a crook and he wouldn’t deal with him.”

“That’s the short version. Before he got into politics my father had dealings with Kenworth. When he found out they were illegal, he got out.”

“So?”

“Kenworth never lets you get out. He’s always after my father to do something for him.”

“Just to be a prick?”

“No, there’s lots of money involved. The city council rules on construction ordinances. Kenworth will want my father to vote his way on some project or other. My father always turns him down.”

“How come?”

“There’s always a reason. Just the fact that he’s asking means he’s trying to bend the rules. And it’s always something you wouldn’t want to be associated with.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, like there’s a museum or a library with landmark status he wants to get lifted so he can knock it down and build something. It’s a poison pill. If my father ever voted for one, he could forget about reelection. There’s no way he’d go along with one of Kenworth’s schemes.”

“Even with your brother facing a jail sentence?”

“Perhaps. But I think my father half believes David’s drug arrest was legitimate.”

“I think David is innocent.”

“You’re his lawyer. You have to think that.”

“No, I don’t. If he were guilty, I’d strongly encourage him to take the plea.”

“What if he wouldn’t?”

“Then he could get another lawyer.”

“That’s not how lawyers work.”

“Well, I’m not a criminal attorney. I haven’t learned the rules yet.”

Melanie peered at his face. “Your eyes are twinkling. Are you kidding me?”

“I’ve had a long day.”

They smiled at each other.

Herbie’s cell phone rang. He jerked it out, clicked it on. “Hello?”

It was Yvette. “Hi, honey. When are you coming home?”

Herbie found himself suddenly embarrassed to be talking to Yvette in front of Melanie. “I got held up with work,” he said.

“Life of a lawyer! If you can, get home soon. I’d like to give you a proper kiss good night,” she said suggestively.

“I’m wrapping things up here and should be there soon.”

Herbie clicked the phone off to find Melanie smiling at him. “I take it you need to go?”

“Not enough hours in the day. Sorry to cut this short.”

“Me too. Walk me home, it’s only two blocks.”

They settled the check and Herbie walked her to a brownstone on 114th Street.

“This is me,” she said.

Herbie felt awkward about saying good night. A handshake? That didn’t seem right. What should he do?

While he was hesitating, Melanie took his face in her hands, said, “Save my brother,” and kissed him lightly on the lips.

Before Herbie could say anything, she disappeared in the front door.

On the other side of the street, Mookie whipped out his notebook and scribbled down the address.

As they lay together after a satisfying tumble in bed, Yvette was concerned. Herbie had felt distant, preoccupied, and he was lacking his normal level of enthusiasm.

“Are you okay? You seem a little distracted.”

“Tough day in court.”

“Where’d you go after?”

“My client’s father wanted to talk to me. Which was a switch. First he wanted to fire me.”

“Aw, who would want to fire you?”

“Anyone with any sense,” Herbie said.

He was uncomfortable with the conversation because he wasn’t mentioning Melanie. There was no reason not to, still, he didn’t feel like bringing her up. It was one of those situations. Awkward for no good reason.

“You want me to make you a drink?” Yvette said.

“Sure.”

Yvette hopped naked from the bed and flounced over to the bar in the den. She frowned as she mixed the drinks. Was he on to her? Was Donnie right about giving her name to the cops? Had they run her record and told Herbie? His friend was a cop. His friend was the top cop. And he had been there, supervising the whole thing. If they had run her record, they’d have told him about her past. And he’d have told Herbie, and Herbie would know, and that would be why he was acting so funny just now, not at all like himself. Preoccupied, and guarded, like he was keeping something from her. And what could that be except that he knew who she was?

Well, too late now. The gig was either blown or it wasn’t. Nothing to do but go ahead as if it wasn’t. Play the part and hope for the best.

Damn it, Donnie was right. Yvette hated it when Donnie was right. Which, she conceded, was more often than not.

He was right, but he was reckless. He could blow the gig on his own and still be right, just chalk it up to bad luck. But if she blew it, there’d be hell to pay. He’d give new meaning to the words revenge sex . She’d be lucky if she was able to walk.

Yvette steeled herself, slapped a smile on her face, picked up the martinis, and headed back to the bedroom.

Taperelli picked up the phone. “Yeah?”

Mookie wasn’t happy. “There’s no James Glick in any goddamned hospital in the whole goddamned city.”

“Are you sure?”

“I called every fucking one,” Mookie said, “and believe me, it wasn’t easy. A lot of them got switchboard systems, you know, ‘If you’re a doctor trying to reach another doctor and you think you’re mighty fucking important, press one. If this is an emergency, hang up and call nine-one-one, because by the time you get through to us you’ll be dead.’”

“Yeah, yeah,” Taperelli cut in. “But you got through?”

“Sure. I pretended to be a doctor until I got a human being, then I asked for admitting. Worked every time. And James Glick isn’t there. He isn’t in any hospital in the suburbs, either, and why should he be, we have his address and he lives in Manhattan, but I checked ’em anyway because I knew you’d ask. James Glick is playing a game with us.”

“Go to his apartment. If he doesn’t answer, break in. If he’s there, bring him here. If he’s gone, find out where.”

“That’s a relief.”

“What?”

“To get off the damn phone.”

James Glick lived in a four-story brownstone that had been divided up into apartments. His apartment was 2B. Mookie rang the downstairs bell, but no one buzzed the door. He started ringing doorbells at random until someone buzzed him in. A woman in a first-floor apartment pushed her door open, saw Mookie heading for the stairs. “You buzz me?”