Стюарт Вудс - Barely Legal

Carlo almost missed him. He was leaning against a car on the other side of Park Avenue waiting for Herbie to get home. He was alert when the Strategic Services car pulled up in front of the awning, but when a man he didn’t recognize emerged, his attention waned. Carlo was just unwrapping another stick of gum and feeding it into his mouth when he caught a glimpse of Herbie going into the building.

That was a close call. Mario would have been pissed.

Carlo whipped out his cell phone and called the office. “He’s home.”

Herbie was distracted. Yvette could tell at once. She tried to get him interested, but he wanted to talk about the trial. Yvette couldn’t care less about the trial, but she feigned an interest. It wasn’t hard, still it seemed like work.

And underneath it all was the nagging thought that, somehow, Herbie was on to her. That his lack of interest was because he couldn’t bear to touch her. Because he was just stringing her along, waiting for her to hang herself.

Yvette knew that wasn’t even remotely possible, that it made no sense. It was just that she was doing what Donnie wanted, and doing what Donnie wanted was always risky. It wasn’t that Herbie had suspicions, it was that she was about to raise them. And it wasn’t her fault, damn it, it was all Donnie. And the worry was making her self-conscious and arousing his suspicions.

Herbie flung himself into a chair and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m laying all this on you. Bringing my troubles home from work. The worst thing a guy can do. Who would want to marry a guy like that?”

Yvette nearly choked on her reply. Was he setting her up? Of course not. Things were fine. That was the only way to play it, as if things were fine.

She smiled coquettishly. “Would you like me to get your mind off work?”

Herbie relaxed for the first time since he’d been home. “You can do that?”

“Let me make you a drink. Martini?”

“Please.”

Donnie signaled to the waitress and ordered another cup of coffee. He didn’t need the caffeine, he was jangly enough already, but he couldn’t sit in the diner without something in front of him. And he wasn’t going to order their seventeen-dollar hamburger. Where the hell did they get off charging seventeen dollars for a burger — they were a diner, for Christ’s sake.

Donnie wasn’t worried about the job, he liked the job, it was the waiting that got to him. That was the problem with the long con. He didn’t have the temperament for it. The payoff was great, but the setup was excruciating. He didn’t know why Yvette couldn’t understand that. Of course, she was reaping the fruits of the con already, living the life of Riley in a Park Avenue penthouse, and she had the nerve to lecture him on patience.

The waitress brought the coffeepot and hit him with a refill. She didn’t write it down, so it was probably free. The waitress had a pad of unpaid orders hanging out of her pocket. His wouldn’t be much. He should probably leave her a tip.

There were a couple of blank pads next to the register that Donnie had spotted on his way in. He sipped his coffee and determined that it would be easy to swipe one on his way out. The devil was in the details, and he was determined to get this right.

Yvette shook up the martinis and strained them into chilled glasses. She took out the vial Donnie had given her, emptied it into Herbie’s glass, and stirred it around. She wrapped the vial in a tissue and placed it carefully in the bottom of the empty wastebasket behind the bar. Donnie had promised to take it with him. She had to remember to remind him.

Yvette picked up the martinis and had a moment’s panic when she couldn’t remember which was which. She paused to consider. It was definitely the one closer to the shaker, the one she’d stirred after dropping the liquid in. As she slunk back into the living room, she wondered how long it would take for the drugs to kick in.

Carlo and Ollie the Ox cased Herbie’s apartment building.

The garage posed no real problem. The entrance, as with all garages in Park Avenue apartment buildings, was on the side street where they were less likely to be noticed. Distracting the lone security guard was the worst of it. A small incendiary device between two parked cars did the trick. The flare went up, the guard went out, and the boys went in.

Carlo located a bunch of circuit breakers, sorted out the wires, and put the camera out of commission, while Ollie stood guard. Standing guard was one of the things Ollie did best, along with breaking heads.

Once the cameras were out of commission, Carlo and Ollie the Ox made their way up the back stairs. Those cameras, Carlo explained, were the least likely for the security guard to notice missing from his screen.

Ollie wasn’t impressed. As far as he was concerned, if they were going to the penthouse, they could damn well take the elevator. It took all of Carlo’s wiles to talk him down from that position.

With a great deal of grumbling, the two thugs started climbing.

Carlo cursed the piece of pie he’d had for lunch, and tried not to count the floors.

Herbie was out like a light, and it wasn’t from the lovemaking. Yvette was good, but she wasn’t that good. Donnie’s stuff had done the trick.

“Herbie?” she said tentatively.

There was no response.

Herbie was out cold.

Yvette picked up the phone and called Donnie.

“Okay,” she said.

Donnie was in a quarrelsome mood. “Okay he’s out, or okay you gave it to him, or okay you’re going to give it to him? Give me a little more than that.”

“He’s out cold. Really cold. Are you sure it wasn’t too much?”

“It wasn’t too much,” Donnie said, and broke the connection.

Donnie hoped it wasn’t too much. He’d given Yvette three times the normal dose, just to be sure.

Donnie left a dollar on the counter, paid his check, and swiped the pad. He walked up Lexington Avenue, fished a pizza box out of the garbage can on the corner, and wrote up a takeout order for a large pepperoni pie. He filled in Herbie’s name and address, and a twenty-dollar charge for the pizza. It occurred to him there was no reason not to collect the twenty bucks.

There was a lilt in Donnie’s step not entirely attributable to caffeine as he made his way over to Park Avenue.

The doorman was out front under the awning.

Donnie sauntered up and said, “Pizza delivery.”

“Who’s it for?”

“Let me see.” Donnie referred to the receipt. “Fisher? Herb Fisher?”

The doorman nodded. “Penthouse.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll have to call up.”

Donnie nodded. “Of course, of course. Classy joint.”

Donnie followed him inside, where the doorman called Herbie’s apartment on the intercom.

Yvette answered. “Yes?”

“Got a pizza delivery for Mr. Fisher.”

“Send him up.”

The doorman put down the phone and pointed. “Go on up. Take the elevator to the penthouse.”

“Which apartment?” Donnie said.

“It’s the whole floor.”

Donnie knew that. He just asked so he could express his contempt for the überwealthy. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. He headed for the elevator, thinking he really should have been an actor.

Ollie the Ox reached the top floor. He was pissed, and Carlo was nervous. It was not good to piss off Ollie the Ox.

“Which door?” Ollie said.

“There’s only one,” Carlo said.

“There’s two.”

“One is the front door, one is the kitchen door.”

“Not hungry,” Ollie said. He went to the front door and rang the bell.