Стюарт Вудс - Barely Legal

It wouldn’t do to let her reach the corner. She wouldn’t get away, he wasn’t worried about that, but there was a greater chance they’d be seen. With a hop and a skip, he grabbed her by the arm.

Melanie whirled at his touch. She’d sensed his presence and was ready to act. Years of jujitsu didn’t hurt. Medical school had cut short her martial arts training before she got her black belt, but she had her brown, and she was agile and quick.

She’d been prepared for some amorous drunk making a clumsy pass at her, so the sight of a large thug took her aback. So did his grip on her arm, which was rougher than that of your usual garden-variety creep.

She pretended to slip and drop to the ground. When he shifted his grip, she rolled sideways, sprang to her feet, and ran.

Gus, who’d followed them down the block, floored the accelerator and roared by. He threw the car into park and hopped out, blocking her escape.

Melanie, caught in the middle, darted up the alley between two brownstones. A wire fence blocked the end. Melanie leaped onto a garbage can and grabbed the top of the fence.

Chico caught her leg. He twisted and pulled down with all his weight. Gus grabbed her other leg. Chico shifted his grip to her arm and pried her fingers off the top of the fence.

Melanie bit his hand.

Chico howled in pain. He wrenched her free of the fence, slapped her across the face, and grabbed her in a bear hug even she couldn’t break.

Chico called Mookie from the car. “We got her.”

“Are you sure?”

“What do you mean, am I sure? She’s in the fucking car.”

“Are you sure it’s her?”

“It’s her. You showed me her picture.”

Mookie had found the girl on Facebook and printed out her photo. He was more adept at a computer than he looked.

“All right. Come by and pick me up.”

“We’ll be there in five minutes.”

Mookie was waiting at the corner when Gus pulled up.

“How did it go? Did anyone see you?”

“She’s a wildcat,” Chico said. “She bit my finger. But we weren’t seen.”

Gus went through the Midtown Tunnel and took the Long Island Expressway to Forest Hills, Queens, where he pulled up in front of a two-story frame house on a residential block.

“This is your cousin’s place?”

“Yeah,” Chico said.

“Take her in.”

When Chico opened the trunk, Melanie kicked her tied-up legs and began yelling from behind the gag they’d put over her mouth. Hearing the commotion, Mookie came behind the car and looked down at her.

“I don’t need you alive, sweetheart. Don’t make your life more inconvenient than it’s worth.”

Cowed, Melanie fell limp as Chico and Gus lifted her out of the trunk and carried her up the front steps and in the front door. A couple of guys were hanging out in the living room. Mookie knew one of them. The other Chico introduced as his cousin Lou.

“There’s your babysitters. There’s a room upstairs that locks.”

“Does it have a window?”

“It’s nailed shut with railroad spikes.”

“It’s made of glass.”

“She’d have to break a lot of small panes. The boys would hear her.”

“Let’s see it.”

They pushed Melanie ahead of them up the stairs, toward a room at the end of the hall.

“In there,” Lou said.

Mookie took a look around the room. It would do.

“Where’s the bathroom?”

“Down the hall.”

“How’s she going to get there?”

“I’ll take her.”

“Let me see it.”

Lou took them down the hall to the bathroom. The window was small. It would be tough to crawl out of open. Closed, with broken glass in the frame, it would be close to impossible.

The bathroom door had a lock that twisted shut from the inside. From the outside it opened with a key, but there was no key.

Mookie pointed to the door. “Take off the lock.”

“Huh?”

“The lock on the door. Take it off.”

“Why?”

“She smashes the window and calls for help, and you can’t stop her because she locked the door. Just take it off.”

“Okay,” Lou said.

His attitude said he thought it was stupid.

Herbie woke up to a knock on his door. He rolled over and saw Helene coming in with a breakfast tray.

“Not hungry,” he said.

She nodded. “That’s what Stone said you’d say.” She put the tray down on a side table. “He said to leave it anyway. You have to be in court at ten o’clock.”

“What time is it?”

“Seven.”

“Seven,” Herbie muttered.

“He said you might not want to wear a sweat suit.”

In a rush it all came back to him.

Herbie groaned. He sat up and groped for the coffeepot. He poured a cup, took a huge sip, and burned his tongue. He staggered into the bathroom and gulped some cold water.

Herbie stood under the shower for a long time. He had trouble finding the motivation to get out.

Eventually, he stumbled back into the bedroom and discovered he had no socks or underwear, or, if he did, he couldn’t find them.

Herbie went downstairs and found Stone sitting at his desk.

“You are reading the transcript.”

“Well, I’m trying. It’s pretty boring, actually. Not your fault. Court transcripts are boring. But it’s clear from this your client was framed.”

“It is?”

“It is to me. You can’t count on the jurors to follow the logic. Are you going home to change?”

“Yes, but I don’t have any money.”

“Check the pocket of your sweatpants. You should have enough to get you through the day.”

Herbie put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. “Thanks, Stone.”

Herbie went out and got a cab back to his apartment. It was strange walking into the building. The doorman didn’t know what to say to him, and opted for saying nothing. That would have been fine with Herbie. Unfortunately, he needed a passkey. The doorman had to get it from the super, who wasn’t in his apartment, so Herbie had to stand in the lobby in his sweats while the other tenants walked by.

Finally, he got the key, went upstairs, and opened the door.

He was almost afraid to go in.

He steeled himself, walked in, and went straight to the bedroom.

The bed had been stripped, but all traces of the crime scene unit were gone, with the exception of the small hole in the headboard where they’d dug out the bullet.

Herbie went into the living room to catch his breath.

His cell phone was lying on the coffee table. He picked it up and clicked it on. The battery was almost dead, but he had a message from around midnight. He called voice mail and listened through the interminable mechanical voice droning the date and the time.

Beep.

“We have your girlfriend. Lose the case, and lose it today.”

Herbie dropped the phone as if it were hot.

Jules Kenworth was angry, even for him. “What the fuck do you guys think you’re doing?” he yelled through the phone.

Taperelli was taken aback. “What’s the matter?”

“What do you think is the matter? Jesus Christ, I ask you to do one simple thing.”

“What simple thing?”

“Pick up the girl. That’s all I said. Grab the girl.”

“We did.”

“Yeah. You did a slam-bang job.”

Taperelli was becoming confused. “What do you mean?”

“She’s dead! The headline’s in this morning’s New York Post ! The girl is no good to me dead. You really fucked up this time.” Taperelli heard a bang as Kenworth slammed the phone down.

Taperelli buzzed his secretary. “Drop what you’re doing and run out and get a copy of the New York Post .”