Стюарт Вудс - Barely Legal

His cell phone rang, a welcome interruption that would allow him to gracefully exit. He could take an important call, ignoring the lesser lights at his table. He could see the headline: JULES KENWORTH MOVES MILLIONS AT MAYOR’S LUNCHEON.

He took out the phone and looked at caller ID. Tommy Taperelli. Under normal circumstances, a call from a mob boss was something Jules Kenworth would flaunt. Today it had bad connotations.

He clicked on the phone. “Give me good news.”

“They adjourned for the day.”

Kenworth stood up so fast his chair tipped over. Everyone at his table looked at him. People at the mayor’s table looked at him. The mayor looked at him.

Kenworth made the most of the moment. He covered the phone, smiled to the room in general, and announced, “I’m sorry. I just lost a hundred million dollars. No big deal. Just an annoyance. I’ll take it outside.”

Kenworth pushed out the swinging door into the hallway. “What the hell is going on? Did you talk to the councilman?”

“I did.”

“And he defied you?”

“No, he didn’t.”

Taperelli told Kenworth what had transpired in court.

Kenworth wasn’t impressed. “How the hell did you let this get away from you? I thought you had clout. You can’t even keep your own men in line.”

“The detective panicked. He wasn’t expecting the question.”

“Do I care? I’m not asking you for excuses. I’m asking you for results. If you can’t deliver, I will get someone else. I thought you were the best.”

“I am the best.”

“Then I’d hate to see the worst.”

Kenworth realized he’d gone too far. Taperelli was not just any mob boss. He was special. At least, he thought he was. He’d only take so much abuse before throwing in the towel and walking away.

“Look. I created a scene at my table. Then I apologized, saying I’d just lost a hundred million dollars, and laughed it off as if it were nothing. Well, it isn’t nothing. And when I said it, I didn’t know it was true. If this doesn’t come off, a hundred million is going to look like chickenfeed. I am going to lose a hell of a lot more than that. So tell me, how are we going to fix this?”

“You’ve got the girl. The councilman’s going to vote the way you want. Why the hurry to convict the kid?”

“If the kid isn’t convicted, you gotta hold the girl until the vote. The longer you hold her, the bigger the risk. You hold on to the girl, you’re vulnerable. You put the kid in jail, he’s vulnerable. I want him vulnerable. Put him in jail, release the girl, no one can touch us.”

Kenworth clicked the phone off and went back to lunch, thinking of what bullshit story he should tell them. The bottom line was his cunning and brilliance had averted a hundred-million-dollar loss and turned it into a profit. The details didn’t matter. They wouldn’t understand them anyway. Kenworth was grinning as he pushed his way through the door.

Herbie had to get away. He was being pulled in too many directions. Stone wanted to help him win the case. The councilman wanted him to lose the case. His client wanted to know what was going on. His client’s sister had been kidnapped and he couldn’t tell anyone. And his girlfriend had been killed, apparently by a sneak thief who had nothing to do with any of all that. And James Glick, the guy who got him into it all, had disappeared off the face of the earth, and probably wasn’t coming back.

If he told Dino, even in confidence, Melanie Porter was as good as dead. At least that’s what her father thought, and Herbie wasn’t going to go against his wishes. Not the way his luck had been running. Ever since this case began it had been one disaster after another.

Herbie had to walk and clear his head, get away from the constant questions being thrown at him, so he’d have time to concentrate on his own. He headed for the East River. He’d walk uptown, along the bank, until something came to him. In all probability, he’d walk all the way home.

Herbie didn’t even notice the limo cruising along beside him, not until the doors flew open and Carlo descended on him. It was more than he could take. If he’d had a gun, he’d have pulled it. He was lucky he didn’t.

He was flung into the limo. Mario Payday sat in the backseat, puffing on a big cigar. It was stifling in the car with the windows up and the cloud of smoke, but no one was complaining.

Mario shook his head disapprovingly. “Mr. Fisher. I hardly thought that I’d be seeing you again.”

“What do you want?”

“So rude? That’s uncalled for, Mr. Fisher. I understand you’ve had a hard time, but that does not relieve you of your obligation to me. You owe me ninety thousand dollars, Mr. Fisher, and the last time I checked, you had not paid.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.”

“I’m sorry about your fiancée. A most unfortunate occurrence. Surely the police have come to their senses and realized that was not your fault. Any money you had tied up in bail would be returned. And it couldn’t have come at a better time. When you have a pressing obligation.”

“I can’t deal with this now.”

“Mr. Fisher, you have had several days. Much longer than any of my other clients. Indeed, were it to get around that I am allowing people several days, it would hurt my reputation. I am Mario Payday. I am not Mario Pay-me-in-a-few-days-when-it’s-convenient.”

“I don’t have the money.”

“You have plenty of money. You won the jackpot in the Lotto. Even you, my reckless friend, have not managed to run through all of it. You have more than enough money left to settle your debts.”

“I can’t touch it.”

“What?”

“I can’t touch the money. I have a conservator. Any expenses must be justified.”

“I find that hard to believe, Mr. Fisher. Why in the world would you allow that?”

“I bought a penthouse apartment on Park Avenue and the condo board didn’t like the rate at which my money was decreasing.”

Mario shrugged. “Condo boards can be difficult.”

“This one is. And I have a problem with my conservator.”

“Why not simply explain the philosophy of Mario Payday?”

“He’s not familiar with it.”

“That’s a shame. It’s something everyone should learn. You’re a lawyer, are you not, Mr. Fisher?”

“I am.”

Mario grimaced, held up his hand. “That’s where your story doesn’t ring true. A lawyer can sell anything. That’s what he does. I can’t believe you can’t come up with a pressing need for ninety thousand dollars that your conservator would go for. Assuming that story is true, and not just the wild concoction of a desperate lawyer.”

Herbie smiled. “Would I lie to you?”

Mookie, who had trailed Herbie from the courthouse, watched as his target was hauled into a limo by two large goons. He called Taperelli from across the street. “The lawyer’s in a limo with Mario Payday.”

“Are you sure?”

“I didn’t see Mario, but Carlo and Ollie the Ox walked him in. They’re Mario’s boys, so it’s gotta be him.”

“The lawyer must owe him money.”

“I don’t know how. Guy’s a lawyer, for Christ’s sakes. Maybe it’s something else.”

“No,” Taperelli said, “with Mario Payday it’s always money. That’s interesting. Mario must have killed his girlfriend.”

“What?”

“Mario’s not subtle. Mr. Fisher owes him cash. He didn’t pay. Mario killed his girl and now he’s squeezing him. That’s the way he plays.”

“It’s gotta be a shitload of money.”

“Yes, it does.”

“What do you want me to do?”