Стюарт Вудс - Barely Legal

Herbie grimaced.

It wasn’t his chances.

It was David Ross’s.

Herbie stepped up to the witness stand.

He cleared his throat.

“Well, Detective Kelly,” he said, “let’s go over this again.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Herbie could see Mookie get up and go out the back door.

Detective Kelly looked very much at ease on the witness stand. He leaned back and regarded the defense attorney with disdain.

Herbie took a breath. “Now, Detective, you said you observed the defendant selling drugs at the party?”

“That’s right.”

“What exactly did you observe that led you to believe he was selling drugs?”

“A student would come up and talk to him, and they would leave the room together.”

“Did you tag along?”

“Of course not. Then he would know we were on to him.”

“You were going to bust him anyway. Why would you care if he knew?”

“I didn’t want him to suspect before we were sure.”

“When did you become sure?”

“The scene I described happened more than once. When it happened again, he became a more likely suspect.”

“But you still weren’t sure?”

“Not a hundred percent.”

“What percent were you sure?”

“That’s an expression, Counselor. You know what it means, and I know what it means, and I’m sure the jurors know what it means, too.” Detective Kelly smiled at the jury. One or two of the jurors returned his smile.

“When did you become sure?”

“I would say after the third time we observed the behavior.”

“Shortly after?”

“That’s right.”

“That’s interesting, Detective. Shortly after is also an expression. What did you mean by it?”

“I can’t give it to you much better than that.”

“Well, let’s put it this way. You say you moved in shortly after the third time. Was there a fourth time?”

Detective Kelly hesitated.

“You’re not sure?”

“I do not have the answers at my fingertips because these are not the questions I expected to be asked.”

“What were the questions you expected to be asked?”

“Objection.”

“Sustained.”

“If I understand your testimony, Detective, you moved in shortly after the third or fourth time you observed the defendant leave the room with another student.”

“That’s right.”

“And did you arrest the person you believed he was selling to at the time?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“We were after the seller, not the buyer.”

“And if you wanted to prove sale, wouldn’t the best way to do it be to catch the buyer with the packet of cocaine that the defendant had just sold?”

“In a perfect world.”

“And this was not a perfect world, Detective?”

“Of course not.”

“But was it not a world you created, a world entirely of your own making, a world in which you yourself played a part?”

“So?”

“Why didn’t you arrest the buyer?”

“Objection. Already asked and answered.”

“It’s been asked, but it wasn’t answered.”

“Overruled.”

“Why didn’t you arrest the buyer?”

“I explained that.”

“No, you have not. Instead, you made some remark about a perfect world.”

Herbie was asking questions on automatic pilot. His attention was distracted by the activity in the back of the room. While the detective was testifying, two goons came in, conferred with the goon who’d slipped out, presumably to make a phone call, and returned, and took up positions in the back row on either side of the aisle, effectively blocking the exit.

Clearly Herbie wasn’t going to enjoy lunch.

Councilman Ross and his son invited Herbie out to lunch with them, but he courteously declined.

“I’m not hungry, and I’ve got work to do.” Herbie smiled. “Hard as it may be to believe, this is not really my case.”

Herbie didn’t mention the real reason, that if he left the building for lunch there was a strong possibility he wouldn’t be back.

After David and his father left, Herbie called Mike Freeman, the head of Strategic Services. Herbie knew Mike well. Aside from setting up the corporate structure of Strategic Defenses, Herbie had often hired Mike’s firm to provide security for his clients.

“Hi, Mike. Herb Fisher.”

“Herbie. What can I do for you?”

“Funny you should ask. I happen to be appearing in court this afternoon, and I’m going to need a ride home.”

“We’re not a car service.”

“No, but then a limo wouldn’t provide the services that I require.”

“Oh?”

“There are a couple of gentlemen here who would like to offer me a ride with them .”

“Why don’t you take it?”

“I don’t think we’re going in the same direction.”

“I see.”

“I have every reason to believe there are some people who are not going to be happy with my performance here in court.”

“Just how critical are these gentlemen?”

“Most likely armed and dangerous and not apt to take no for an answer.”

“I have a couple of boys who are very good at saying no.”

“I would like to avoid a shooting war. Your boys aren’t trigger happy, are they?”

“Not at all. If someone shoots first, that’s another story.”

“A story I’d rather not star in. I just need a ride home.”

“And once you get there?”

“Unless my fiancée tries to kill me, I should be fine.”

“You’re getting married?”

“I live dangerously.”

“So it seems.”

Herbie hung up, called a deli down the street and had a sandwich delivered. It had just arrived when the two goons who walked him to the limo came in and conferred with the other goons.

Herbie paid off the delivery boy and headed down the aisle, away from the goons. He pushed through the gate, went up, and sat at the judge’s bench.

The bailiff looked horrified. “You can’t do that.”

“I just did.”

“No, no, no. You can’t sit there.”

“Where can I sit?”

The bailiff pointed to the spectators section. “Out there.”

“No, I’m afraid I can’t sit there.”

“Yes you can, it’s perfectly fine.”

Herbie smiled. “We’re talking at cross purposes. Assume I can’t sit here and I can’t sit there. Is there a place back there I could hide out?”

“Yes, if you want.”

The bailiff led Herbie back to the small conference room where he had first conferred with ADA Grover.

“Will this do?”

“This will be great,” Herbie said. He plunked his sandwich on the table and sat down.

“Okay,” the bailiff said. “You can hang out here as long as you want. Is there anything else you need?”

Herbie frowned and considered. “Could you lock me in?”

That evening, the Strategic Services car pulled up in front of Herbie’s apartment building. There was nothing to distinguish the black sedan from any number of car services, except for the two men in the front seat. Not that they couldn’t have passed for limo drivers, but limos didn’t have two.

The agent riding shotgun hopped out and came around to open the door for Herbie. He beat out the doorman with a little skip-step, said, “Allow me,” and interposed his bulk between the man and the car.

Herbie emerged, amused by the byplay. “Thanks, guys, I think I can take it from here.”

“What time tomorrow?” the agent said.

“Nine o’clock, unless you hear different.”

Despite the dismissal, the agent watched until Herbie had crossed the lobby and gotten into the elevator, before getting back in the car and driving off.