Barely Legal Page 8

  Herbie turned around to find a beautiful woman smiling at him. Her blond hair was tucked back in a tidy chignon, lending maturity to a face that looked younger than her years. Herbie wasn’t sure what her years actually were, he just knew she was older than David. Otherwise, he could have taken her for a freshman.

  “Well, well,” she said, “if it isn’t my kid brother’s attorney. Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.”

  “Are you always this brusque?” Herbie said.

  “Only when my brother’s facing jail time. Come on, there’s a little bar up the street.”

  She took him up Broadway to a funky college bar. It was a little loud for Herbie’s taste, but his college days were in the rearview mirror. They were lucky enough to get a table for two along the wall.

  “So,” Melanie said, “the advantage of this place is we can talk without being overheard.”

  “Or hearing each other.”

  “Hard of hearing, Gramps? I can lean close and shout. So, is my father any help?”

  “In a word, no.”

  She shook her head, deploringly but fondly. “Always the politician. You tried to connect the detective to Tommy Taperelli, didn’t you?”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I have a reporter friend who covers the crime beat.”

  “Sits in on court cases?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why would he sit in on this one?”

  “Because it’s my brother.”

  “Ex-boyfriend?”

  “Why do you say ex?”

  “If he was your boyfriend, he’d be here.”

  Melanie smiled. “You’re very quick. I suppose that’s an advantage in a lawyer. I always thought of them as stodgy and doddering.”

  “Not the lawyers on TV.”

  “No, but on TV no one’s stodgy and doddering. Even stodgy and doddering people aren’t.”

  “I take it you’re not a lawyer.”

  Melanie shook her head. “No. I’m a doctor. I was premed at Columbia. Now I’m an intern at Cornell Hospital.”

  Herbie liked her. There was an ease about her that made him feel relaxed for the first time all day, and it had been a hell of a day. He found himself actually smiling as the conversation progressed.

  “So what information did you want to share with me?” Herbie said.

  “Yeah. About Tommy Taperelli. Can you really link the detective to him?”

  “I have it on good authority.”

  “How good?”

  “You wouldn’t believe.”

  “Try me.”

  “I can’t give up my source.”

  “That’s reporters, not lawyers.”

  “I’m friends with the commissioner of police.”

  Melanie’s mouth fell open. “The police commissioner says the detective is tied to Taperelli?”

  “Did I say that? I don’t recall saying that.”

  “Never mind sparring with me. If they’re actually connected, there’s your link. Tommy Taperelli is in bed with Jules Kenworth.”

  “So I understand.”

  “My father told you?”

  “Your father says Kenworth is a crook and he wouldn’t deal with him.”

  “That’s the short version. Before he got into politics my father had dealings with Kenworth. When he found out they were illegal, he got out.”

  “So?”

  “Kenworth never lets you get out. He’s always after my father to do something for him.”

  “Just to be a prick?”

  “No, there’s lots of money involved. The city council rules on construction ordinances. Kenworth will want my father to vote his way on some project or other. My father always turns him down.”

  “How come?”

  “There’s always a reason. Just the fact that he’s asking means he’s trying to bend the rules. And it’s always something you wouldn’t want to be associated with.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, like there’s a museum or a library with landmark status he wants to get lifted so he can knock it down and build something. It’s a poison pill. If my father ever voted for one, he could forget about reelection. There’s no way he’d go along with one of Kenworth’s schemes.”

  “Even with your brother facing a jail sentence?”

  “Perhaps. But I think my father half believes David’s drug arrest was legitimate.”

  “I think David is innocent.”

  “You’re his lawyer. You have to think that.”

  “No, I don’t. If he were guilty, I’d strongly encourage him to take the plea.”

  “What if he wouldn’t?”

  “Then he could get another lawyer.”

  “That’s not how lawyers work.”

  “Well, I’m not a criminal attorney. I haven’t learned the rules yet.”

  Melanie peered at his face. “Your eyes are twinkling. Are you kidding me?”

  “I’ve had a long day.”

  They smiled at each other.

  Herbie’s cell phone rang. He jerked it out, clicked it on. “Hello?”

  It was Yvette. “Hi, honey. When are you coming home?”

  Herbie found himself suddenly embarrassed to be talking to Yvette in front of Melanie. “I got held up with work,” he said.

  “Life of a lawyer! If you can, get home soon. I’d like to give you a proper kiss good night,” she said suggestively.

  “I’m wrapping things up here and should be there soon.”

  Herbie clicked the phone off to find Melanie smiling at him. “I take it you need to go?”

  “Not enough hours in the day. Sorry to cut this short.”

  “Me too. Walk me home, it’s only two blocks.”

  They settled the check and Herbie walked her to a brownstone on 114th Street.

  “This is me,” she said.

  Herbie felt awkward about saying good night. A handshake? That didn’t seem right. What should he do?

  While he was hesitating, Melanie took his face in her hands, said, “Save my brother,” and kissed him lightly on the lips.

  Before Herbie could say anything, she disappeared in the front door.

  On the other side of the street, Mookie whipped out his notebook and scribbled down the address.

  29

  AS THEY LAY together after a satisfying tumble in bed, Yvette was concerned. Herbie had felt distant, preoccupied, and he was lacking his normal level of enthusiasm.

  “Are you okay? You seem a little distracted.”

  “Tough day in court.”

  “Where’d you go after?”

  “My client’s father wanted to talk to me. Which was a switch. First he wanted to fire me.”

  “Aw, who would want to fire you?”

  “Anyone with any sense,” Herbie said.

  He was uncomfortable with the conversation because he wasn’t mentioning Melanie. There was no reason not to, still, he didn’t feel like bringing her up. It was one of those situations. Awkward for no good reason.

  “You want me to make you a drink?” Yvette said.

  “Sure.”

  Yvette hopped naked from the bed and flounced over to the bar in the den. She frowned as she mixed the drinks. Was he on to her? Was Donnie right about giving her name to the cops? Had they run her record and told Herbie? His friend was a cop. His friend was the top cop. And he had been there, supervising the whole thing. If they had run her record, they’d have told him about her past. And he’d have told Herbie, and Herbie would know, and that would be why he was acting so funny just now, not at all like himself. Preoccupied, and guarded, like he was keeping something from her. And what could that be except that he knew who she was?

  Well, too late now. The gig was either blown or it wasn’t. Nothing to do but go ahead as if it wasn’t. Play the part and hope for the best.

  Damn it, Donnie was right. Yvette hated it when Donnie was right. Which, she conceded, was more often than not.

  He was right, but he was reckless. He coul
d blow the gig on his own and still be right, just chalk it up to bad luck. But if she blew it, there’d be hell to pay. He’d give new meaning to the words revenge sex. She’d be lucky if she was able to walk.

  Yvette steeled herself, slapped a smile on her face, picked up the martinis, and headed back to the bedroom.

  30

  TAPERELLI PICKED UP the phone. “Yeah?”

  Mookie wasn’t happy. “There’s no James Glick in any goddamned hospital in the whole goddamned city.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I called every fucking one,” Mookie said, “and believe me, it wasn’t easy. A lot of them got switchboard systems, you know, ‘If you’re a doctor trying to reach another doctor and you think you’re mighty fucking important, press one. If this is an emergency, hang up and call nine-one-one, because by the time you get through to us you’ll be dead.’”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Taperelli cut in. “But you got through?”

  “Sure. I pretended to be a doctor until I got a human being, then I asked for admitting. Worked every time. And James Glick isn’t there. He isn’t in any hospital in the suburbs, either, and why should he be, we have his address and he lives in Manhattan, but I checked ’em anyway because I knew you’d ask. James Glick is playing a game with us.”

  “Go to his apartment. If he doesn’t answer, break in. If he’s there, bring him here. If he’s gone, find out where.”

  “That’s a relief.”

  “What?”

  “To get off the damn phone.”

  • • •

  JAMES GLICK LIVED in a four-story brownstone that had been divided up into apartments. His apartment was 2B. Mookie rang the downstairs bell, but no one buzzed the door. He started ringing doorbells at random until someone buzzed him in. A woman in a first-floor apartment pushed her door open, saw Mookie heading for the stairs. “You buzz me?”

  “Hell, no.”

  Mookie went up the stairs to apartments 2A and 2B. He’d been careful not to buzz 2A. He didn’t want that door opening while he was letting himself into James Glick’s apartment.

  Mookie’s methods were not subtle. He took a crowbar out from under his coat, inserted it into the doorjamb, and pried back. Wood splintered and metal flew as the door popped open.

  It didn’t take Mookie long to determine that James Glick was gone. His toothbrush and razor were missing from the bathroom, and one of his dresser drawers was left open.

  Mookie looked around for something that would give him a clue where Glick had gone. The guy had a computer on his desk. Mookie clicked the mouse, found that it had been left on. Mookie checked his e-mail. The last e-mail was a confirmation of an Amtrak ticket. James Glick had taken the Acela to Washington, D.C.

  Mookie jerked the cell phone out of his pocket. “Bad news, boss.”

  “What’s that?”

  “James Glick skipped town.”

  31

  DINO CALLED STONE. “Are you up for dinner?”

  “Sure. I gather Viv is on a job and unfree to entertain you?”

  “Viv’s always working, but in this case I have news,” Dino said. “Patroon at seven?”

  “Have they repaired the damage?”

  “Does it matter? It’s just a couple of bullet holes.”

  Stone arrived first and took the seat with his back to the wall, facing the door.

  Dino walked in and chuckled. “Hello, gunslinger. Did you order yet?”

  “Just got here.”

  Dino pulled up a chair and sat down.

  “You’re sitting with your back to the door,” Stone said.

  Dino shrugged. “Sure. My buddy’s watching the entrance for me.”

  The waitress came over and took their orders. Dino had the rib eye. Stone ordered the osso buco.

  “Something on your mind?” Stone said.

  “More bad news.”

  “Seems to be the only kind you get. What’s up?”

  “James Glick isn’t getting out of the hospital.”

  “He died?”

  “He was never there. James Glick skipped town. I don’t know what kind of pressure he was under, but he’s taken to flight.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m the commissioner of police, I had the hospitals checked. He’s not there and never was. He took the Amtrak to Washington, D.C., a couple of days ago. He bought a train ticket to Miami at Union Station, but it’s a good bet he never used it because he bought another train ticket from Washington to St. Louis a good two hours after his train to Miami would have left.”

  “Did he go to St. Louis?”

  “If he didn’t, someone else stayed over at the Hyatt on his credit card. So James Glick is either on the run, or someone has his wallet. If he’s on the run, he’s not doing a very good job of it because if I can trace him that easily, others can, too.”

  “Will you tell Herbie?”

  Dino grimaced. “I don’t want this to become a bad habit, but what good will telling Herbie do? He knows the guy’s not coming back. There’s nothing he’d be doing any differently now if he had the information.”

  “So what are you going to do about Glick?”

  “I’ll track him, and if there seems any point, I’ll pull him in.”

  “You can do that?”

  “With a phone call. We’re not the only police department in the country, you know. Though right now, it would only muddy the waters. And they’re murky enough as it is.”

  32

  JULES KENWORTH HAD a busy day. A photo op with the mayor, lunch with his trophy wife, a business meeting with an entrepreneur who was lucky to get it. And then some goddamned group he was supposed to be nice to because they were naming a statue after him, as if that really mattered; if they wanted to use his name they should be nice to him.

  Kenworth was pissed off and didn’t know why. It was just on general principles. What was the use of having billions of dollars if you couldn’t arrange everything to your liking?

  The phone rang.

  It was Taperelli. If he had bad news, Kenworth was going to tear him a new one.

  “Skipped town?” Kenworth thundered. “When the hell did that happen?”

  “The day he sent the other lawyer.”

  “And you’re just finding out now?”

  “He said he was in the hospital. There was no reason to doubt it until he didn’t come out of the hospital.”

  “So this asshole handling the case is it? You’re telling me we’re stuck with him?”

  “It appears so.”

  “Then he has to learn, doesn’t he?”

  “He certainly does.”

  “Think you can handle that?” Kenworth said.

  “Consider it done.”

  33

  ALONZO’S MEAT CLEAVER froze in mid-chop. He blinked at the man coming in the door and wished he were somewhere else.

  “It’s Payday!” Mario announced, and Alonzo trembled.

  “Take care of your customers, Alonzo, take care of your customers. Do not let me disturb you.”

  There were three customers in the butcher shop. Carlo put the CLOSED sign on the door to be sure there wouldn’t be any more. One of the three customers read the situation right and left without buying anything. The woman awaiting her lamb chops would have done so, too, had she not been in mid-purchase.

  Alonzo swung the cleaver, made the chops. They weren’t anything close to even, but no one cared. The woman grabbed them gratefully, flung money on the counter, and fled.

  The last customer, finally recognizing the situation, decided there was something he would rather do. He beat a dignified, albeit hasty, retreat.

  Carlo locked the door behind him and pulled down the blind.

  Mario lit a cigar. “Alonzo. You don’t look happy to see me. It’s payday. Don’t you have the cash?”

  “I got the vig.”

  “Hear that, Carlo? He’s got the vig. But there’s principal involved. Wouldn’t you like to pay it down?”


  “I’ll have it Thursday.”

  Mario looked shocked and offended. He spread his arms and shook his head deploringly at the butcher’s faux pas. “You’re asking me to come all the way back here on Thursday because you are not prepared? That is a serious breach of etiquette. And how do we deal with serious breaches of etiquette, Carlo?”

  Carlo looked like an unprepared student who had been called on by the teacher. “Real well?” he guessed.

  Mario chuckled and shook his head ruefully. “Well, that’s certainly true. But how do we deal with a person who has made a serious breach of etiquette?”

  “We remind him?”

  “Exactly. We remind him. We point out the error of his ways. Which is what we need to do in this case.” Mario smiled at the wretched butcher. “That’s a real dangerous profession you have, chopping meat. How many fingers do you have left?”

  Alonzo trembled and tried to hide his hands.

  Mario said sweetly, “Could Carlo borrow your cleaver?”

  • • •

  THE SUN WAS shining brightly as Mario and his goons came out of the butcher shop.

  “Who’s next?” Carlo said. Carlo felt exhilarated, as he always did after chopping off a finger.

  Mario consulted his notebook. “Ah. Herbie Fisher.”

  “Who?”

  “The guy who didn’t want to pay.”

  “They all don’t want to pay.”

  “Idiot. The lawyer you hung out the window.”

  “A lawyer. What do you do with a lawyer? Hit him with a gavel?”

  “That’s very funny. You know why you find that very funny? Because he is not holding your ninety grand.”

  “That’s a lot of money.”

  “Yes, it is. That’s not like a few hundred dollars to a butcher. That is serious cash. It requires a serious reminder.”

  “You want me to shoot at him again?”

  “Ah, Carlo,” Mario said. He shook his head deploringly, but almost fondly. “Try to learn something. If you hit him, he can’t pay. If you miss him, he knows you don’t mean to hit him. What’s the good of that?”

  “I could shoot his girlfriend.”

  Mario blinked. “He has a girlfriend?”

  “Yeah. She was with him in the restaurant. They looked like they’re in love.”

  “You might have mentioned this before.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s called leverage, Carlo.” Mario blew a smoke ring. “So. That’s excellent. I gave him twenty-four hours to pay, and he has not done so. I can’t let someone stiff me on a debt of that size. It makes me look weak. A man in my profession can’t afford to look weak.”