Стюарт Вудс - Desperate Measures

“Hey, there.”

“Got a second?”

“Sure.”

“Forgive me for prying, but I have a good reason.”

“Pry away.”

“During your marriage did Donald ever strike or otherwise physically abuse you?”

“You’ve met Donald, haven’t you?” she asked after a pause.

“He called on me this morning. I made assumptions.”

She was silent again. “On a couple of occasions he slapped me around. Once he sent me to the ER.”

“What, if anything, did you do about it.”

“I took a full swing at his jaw with a fireplace poker,” she said. “It never happened again. He didn’t like having his jaw wired shut.”

That’s my girl, Stone thought. “Did you mention this to Herb Fisher?”

“No, because I don’t want him to use it, if this should go to trial.”

“It’s important that you tell him about it. You can discuss later how or if the information should be used.”

“All right, I’ll do that. Or, better yet, it would save me some pain if you told him.”

“All right, and I’m sorry to cause you pain. Tell me, is your knee scooter restaurant-certified?”

“It is a fully certified knee scooter.”

“Then have dinner with me this evening.”

“I have a drinks date, but I’ll meet you after that. Where and when?”

“Patroon, one-sixty East Forty-sixth Street, seven-thirty?”

“Poltroon?”

“No, Patroon . It’s a Dutch title for a landowner. A poltroon is a spineless coward.”

“I’ll try to remember the difference. See you then.”

Stone called Herb.

“Yeah?”

“Cilla Scott asked me to convey to you that Donald Trask has a history of beating her up, sending her to the ER on one occasion. It ended when she broke his jaw with a poker.”

“Good to know,” Herb replied.

“She will want that information used only in extremis, and with her expressed permission.”

“Gotcha.”

“I also caught a glimpse of Donald Trask’s criminal record.”

“Tell me.”

“History of fighting, going back to college, maybe further; his juvie record was sealed.”

“Did he win his fights?”

“I expect so. He chose people he thought were his inferiors, who were not likely to fight back.”

“Good to know.”

“See ya.” Stone hung up.

Herb Fisher hung up; his secretary buzzed him. “Terry Barnes to see you.”

“Send him in,” Herb said, arranging Cilla’s documents in neat piles before him.

Barnes bustled in and tried to inject some bonhomie into the occasion. “Morning, Fisher,” he said. “Good to see you again. How’s the wife?”

Herb rose and shook his hand. “We’ve never met, Mr. Barnes, and I’m unmarried.”

“Oh, ah, my fault. Mistaken identity.” He took a seat. “I’m here in the matter of Trask v. Trask,” he said.

“Actually, it’s Scott v. Trask since Ms. Scott retained her maiden name at marriage.”

“As you say. Only met the lady a few times.”

“Tell me,” Herb said, “are we going to settle this like gentlemen or go to trial?”

“Oh?” Barnes chuckled. “Have you met my client?”

“No.”

“Well, if you had met him you’d know that he’s a rather combative sort, more inclined to fight than to argue.”

“And I understand he has a criminal record to support that position.”

“Oh, that thing back at Cornell, you mean?”

“Before, during, and since,” Herb said. “Your client and old friend is a nasty piece of work. I’d love nothing more than to depose him for a couple of hours, then examine him in court. He could go directly from the courthouse to the Y, where he would be living, subsequent to the ruling in my client’s favor.”

“You sound very confident, Herbert.”

“That’s only because I am confident. Your client, since his marriage to Ms. Scott, has not earned a dime that is not directly attributable to her father, her friends, or his wife’s personal funds. His hedge fund is still in business only because of the record upturn in the market the past few months. He would fare poorly in the matter of New York State law requiring equitable division on property.”

“What are you proposing?” Barnes asked.

Herb slid a single typed sheet of paper across the desk. “I think that, on reflection, you will find this offer to be much more generous than necessary,” he said, “and it will not improve. Your problem is going to be to lead your client to face the reality of his situation. If he does, he can leave the marriage with some money, enough to maintain him in some sort of style. That’s if he closes his hedge fund, of course.”

“Why should he close it? It’s profitable.”

“When the investors learn of the divorce they will depart in droves,” Herb said. “He would save face by just shutting it down.”

Barnes reread the list to gain time. “I’ll speak to him,” he said.

“Remember, there will be no improvement in the offer, nor will there be in his reputation should we go to trial.”

“I’ll speak to him.” Barnes got up and left without shaking hands.

Stone was about to wrap up his day, a little late, when his phone rang. Joan had already left her desk. “Hello?”

“Is this Barrington?”

“It is.”

“This is Donald Trask.”

“I’ve no wish to speak to you,” Stone said.

“You can speak to me, or I’ll come over there,” Trask said. “You wrote this document, didn’t you?”

“Document?”

“My wife’s demands.”

“I do not represent your wife; I have not written or seen any document prepared for her; call Herbert Fisher at Woodman & Weld.”

“Tell you what,” Trask said, “you know the New York Athletic Club on Central Park South?”

“I do.”

“Are you a member there?”

“I am not.”

“Well, I am, and that’s good enough for both of us.”

“Mr. Trask, what are you talking about?”

“I’m suggesting that you and I meet there in an hour.”

“I’ve no wish to drink or dine with you.”

“They have a very nice boxing ring upstairs. I suggest we meet and settle the matter of the divorce terms mano a mano in the ring.”

“Mr. Trask, I can suggest one of two options,” Stone said. “First, seek professional help, which you are clearly in need of. Second, go to the New York Athletic Club gym, find a heavy bag, and punch it until you can’t stand up anymore. Either of those options will keep you out of jail. Now, don’t bother me again.” Stone hung up. He thought a moment, then called Herb Fisher.

“Herb Fisher.”

“It’s Stone.”

“Why do you sound exasperated?”

“Because I am exasperated.”

“All right, tell me. Cry your heart out.”

“I’ve just heard from Donald Trask, who persists in believing that I, not you, represent his wife in her divorce action.”

“Hey, that’s okay with me,” Herb said. “I don’t want him on my back.”

“Well, that’s where he’s going to be, if I have to hit him over the head and deliver him to you personally.”

“How kind you are!”

“I’m just letting you know that I think the man is unhinged and, as we know, prone to violence. He’s been set off by a document containing his wife’s demands that you apparently handed to his attorney, and eventually, after he’s been told a few more times, he’s going to finally get the idea that he should be dealing with you and not me.”

“I suppose he will, after Terry Barnes explains it all to him.”

“Have you met Donald Trask?”

“I have not.”

“Well, physically, he makes one and a half of you, and you don’t want to let him back you into a corner.”