Fresh Disasters (12 page)

S
tone and Herbie got off the elevator at Bernie Finger’s office. Herbie elbowed him.

“Stop that,” Stone said.

“Look over there,” Herbie said, nodding.

Stone looked. Two large men were occupying a sofa meant for four; they were the two who had dragged Herbie from Elaine’s the night all this had started. He walked past them to the reception desk, gave his name and was directed to the conference room.

“Are they the guys who held you in the attic?” Stone asked.

“Yeah,” Herbie replied, tugging at Stone’s sleeve and nodding again. Carmine Dattila was getting off the elevator. “And that’s the guy who told them to kill me slow.”

“You wait here,” Stone said. “I’ll call you when we’re ready.”

“Are you kidding? With those two guys? They’ll kill me while you’re gone.”

“Just a minute,” Stone said. He went to the reception desk. “I’m here for two depositions, and I need a private room where one of the witnesses can wait.”

“First door on your right,” the woman said. “That’s an empty office.”

Stone walked back toward Herbie, noting that the two large men were deep in conversation with Carmine Dattila and ignoring them.

He escorted Herbie to the empty office. “You wait in this room, and don’t leave for anything,” he said.

“But what if I have to go to the john?”

“You’re just going to have to hold it, unless you want to have another conversation with Tweedledum and Tweedledee out there.”

“Their names are Cheech and Gus,” Herbie replied. “I forget which is which.”

“Do you want to die, Herbie?”

“No.”

“Then don’t leave this office until I come for you.”

“Aw, okay.”

“If you’re gone when I come back, your lawsuit will be dismissed, and Cheech and Gus will find you and kill you slow.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Herbie said testily.

“There’s a TV; you can watch the soap operas.”

“Yeah, great!”

Stone left and went back to the conference room. Bernard Finger, Carmine Dattila and a court stenographer were waiting for him. “Good morning,” he said to the assembled group, then took a seat.

“Are you ready to begin?” Finger asked.

“Yes.” He turned to the stenographer. “Please swear the witness.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Finger said.

“Swear him, and if you haven’t already explained to him that the laws of perjury apply, please do so now.”

“He understands.”

The stenographer produced a bible and swore in Dattila.

Stone elicited his name and address and made sure the stenographer got it down right. “What is your occupation, Mr. Dattila?”

“I manage a coffee shop.”

“Do you also own the coffee shop?”

“No.”

“Do you own the building in which the coffee shop operates?”

“No.”

“Do you own a corporation that owns these properties or do you own them through a third party?”

“Objection,” Finger said. “Mr. Dattila declines to answer on the grounds of possible self-incrimination.” He turned to the stenographer. “In the future, I’ll just say ‘Fifth’ when objecting on those grounds.”

“It’s not a crime to own a building or a coffee shop, Mr. Dattila.”

“The objection stands.”

“Mr. Dattila, do you also directly or through other parties operate a gambling enterprise?”

“Fifth!” Finger said. “You surprise me, Stone.”

“Mr. Dattila, does anyone owe you money?”

Dattila looked at Finger.

“You may answer,” Finger said.

“Maybe.”

“Where do you keep the record of who owes you money?” Stone asked.

Dattila silently tapped his head with a forefinger.

“Let the record show that the witness tapped his forehead. Do you have a written record of those who owe you money?”

“No,” Dattila replied.

“How much money does Herbert Fisher owe you?”

“Who?”

“Herbert Fisher, the plaintiff in this lawsuit. How much does he owe you?”

“Fifth!” Finger said.

“That was a little slow, Mr. Finger. This is material information, and you can’t object to it.”

“I’m not sure,” Dattila said.

“Does the figure twenty-four thousand dollars ring a bell?”

“Could be, maybe.”

“What means have you employed to collect Mr. Fisher’s debt?”

“I might have had a friend ask him, you know, nice.”

“Does
nice
include having him dragged out of a restaurant and beaten on the sidewalk?”

“Objection,” Finger said. “Irrelevant.”

“It’s perfectly relevant, as it’s part of the basis of our suit.”

“Maybe somebody insisted a little,” Dattila said, “without my personal knowledge.”

“Mr. Dattila, after repeated, unsuccessful attempts to collect the debt from Mr. Fisher, what steps did you take?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

“Did you order two of your employees, namely Cheech and Gus, who are sitting outside in the reception room, to kidnap and torture Mr. Fisher?”

“Me?”
Dattila looked shocked.

“Answer the question, Mr. Dattila.”

“I wouldn’t never do nothing like that.”

“Did you enter the room where Cheech and Gus were torturing Mr. Fisher and order them to, quote, ‘kill him slow’?”

“I’m afraid you’ve got me mixed up with some other guy.” Dattila turned to Finger. “Can I go now?”

Finger turned to Stone. “I don’t think you’re getting anywhere here.”

“I’ll make the charge of perjury at an appropriate time,” Stone said. “No further questions, until I get him on the witness stand in court.”

“Then I think we’re done here,” Finger said. “I’ll call you, Carmine.” The two men shook hands, and Dattila left.

“My witness is ready,” Stone said. “Wait here, and I’ll get him.”

“Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary,” Finger said. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to a lot of lies.”

“You mean, like the lies we just heard from your client?”

“Good day, Stone. I’ll see you in court.”

“You certainly will.” Stone got up and walked through the reception area to the empty office where he had deposited his client.

Herbie was gone. He checked the men’s room: not there, either. He went back to the receptionist. “Excuse me, have you seen my client, the young man I put in the empty office?”

“Oh, he left about five minutes later,” the woman replied.

“What about the two large men who were waiting on the sofa over there?”

“They left right after your client did,” she replied, then went back to her
People
magazine.

Back on the street, Stone looked up and down the block. Herbie, Cheech and Gus were nowhere in sight. He was crossing Third Avenue, with the light, when the car struck him.

L
ike a film clip on a loop, the scene played over and over against the inside of Stone’s eyelids. He felt some sort of blow, then flew through the air, looking down at the top of a dark blue car. When he was about even with the rear bumper, the scene repeated. “Stop it, goddammit!” he yelled.

“Well, you’re awake,” a low woman’s voice said.

Stone opened his eyes and saw a ceiling of acoustic tiles and fluorescent light fixtures. He lifted his head, but a soft hand on his forehead pressed it back down.

“Just relax. Do you know where you are?”

He had caught a glimpse of a pretty girl in a green garment with a stethoscope around her neck. “Hospital, maybe? Just a wild guess.”

She laughed and pressed a button, raising the head of the bed. “Right the first time,” she said. “Do you remember anything?”

“Flying over a dark blue car,” he replied. “That’s it. I left a law firm’s office, and I was flying over a dark blue car. Over and over.”

“Just once, I think. You feel up to talking to the police?”

Stone lifted the sheet and examined himself. “Two questions first: One, am I hurt? Two, why am I naked? Have you had your way with me?”

“That’s three questions. You have a hairline fracture of the left wrist, which will require a temporary cast for a week, and a bad bruise on your left leg, probably from the bumper of the car, but no fracture. You were very lucky. You are naked, because I and others removed your clothing. It’s a nice suit; you’re lucky we didn’t have to cut it off. And I haven’t had my way with you—not yet, anyway.”

“Well, that’s disappointing. Okay, I’ll talk to the police.”

Dino appeared at his side. “Anything to meet a pretty doctor,” he said.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Who cares?”

Joan appeared on the other side of the bed. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“That’s it, make it about you. And I’m lying here, injured.”

She laughed. “Don’t start faking; we’ve already talked to the doctor.”

Stone looked at the pretty girl. “You’re a doctor?”

“I am. You want to see my license to practice?”

“Later, maybe. You told these people everything before you told me?”

She strapped a blue plastic cast to his left wrist and secured it with Velcro straps. “You were unconscious at the time. Oh, did I mention the bruise on your head, under your hair, and the concussion?”

Stone grinned at Joan. “See, I told you I was injured.”

“Tell me what you remember,” Dino said.

“I saw a dark blue car, from above, as I was flying through the air. Or maybe that was a dream.”

“What kind of car?”

“I’m not good at identifying automobiles from above.”

“Well, you’re right. A guy abandoned a dark blue Ford Taurus a block and a half from where you were hit, then he ran like hell. It’s being processed.”

“Anybody get a description of the guy?”

“Young, old; tall, short; fat, skinny.”

“The usual eyewitness testimony.”

“Right. I suppose there are forty or fifty people who would like to run you down with a car, but can you think of anybody in particular?”

“Let’s see: Carmine Dattila, Bernie Finger, Bernie Finger’s girlfriend, who should feel grateful to me, anybody who works for Carmine Dattila.”

“That’s a start. Anybody else?”

“Yeah, a guy named Devlin…I can’t think of his last name; must be the concussion. He’s Celia’s former boyfriend, and she told me to watch out for him.”

“She should have told you to look both ways before crossing the street.”

“Daltry. Devlin Daltry. Lives downtown somewhere. Call Celia at my Connecticut house, she’ll give you the address. Tell your guys to beat him with rubber hoses when they question him.”

“We don’t beat people with rubber hoses anymore.”

“All right, beat him with whatever you’re using these days.”

“We don’t beat people at all.”

“Well, what kind of police work is that? What is the world coming to?”

The doctor spoke up. “Does he always talk this much?”

“Always,” Dino said. “Can’t shut him up. Is he ready to leave?”

“Normally, with a concussion, we’d want to keep him overnight, but he’s alert and responsive, so you can take him home—
if
he goes to bed immediately and stays there until lunchtime tomorrow.”

“I’ll see to that,” Joan said.

“I’ll get his clothes,” the doctor said.

“I think you should dress me, since you so sneakily undressed me.”

“I’m going to send in a big black guy named Roger to handle that,” she said, handing a card and a slip of paper to Joan. “Here’s a prescription for a painkiller and a sleeping pill. Call me if he misbehaves, and I’ll stop by and hit him over the head again.”

“I’ll fill your prescription and deal with the bill,” Joan said.

Stone grabbed the doctor’s card from her hand. “Gimme that.”

Roger appeared with Stone’s clothes.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Dino said. “Don’t be long; my car’s waiting outside.”

“I thought she was kidding about you,” Stone said to Roger.

“The doc don’t kid,” Roger said, tossing Stone’s clothes into his lap. “Get dressed; we need the bed.”

S
tone awoke from a drug-induced sleep, tried to turn over, then emitted a girlish shriek. Every muscle and bone in his body seemed to be making an angry protest. He struggled into a sitting position, grabbed the pill bottle on the bedside table and tossed down a painkiller with half a glass of water. He steadied himself for a moment, then navigated his way into the bathroom, taking short steps, peed, and shuffled back onto the bed.

He managed to reach the phone and page Joan.

“Good morning,” she said cheerily. “Did you sleep well?”

“That wasn’t sleep, it was a coma,” he replied. “And stop sounding so chirpy.”

“Oooh, it’s going to be one of those days, is it?”

“I hurt all over.”

“The doctor said you would.”

“She didn’t say that to me.”

“She said it to me, when you couldn’t hear her. Apparently, she made a quick assessment of your character and decided it would be better if you didn’t know.”

“I always want to know what’s happening to me.”

“She said you could faint or go into convulsions if you move around too much.”

“I didn’t want to know that.”

“Only joking. She said just to stay in bed until lunchtime, at least.”

“What time is it?”

“Lunchtime, in the land of the living.”

“Will you ask Helene to bring me something to eat, please?”

“What would you like?”

“I don’t care. Anything.”

“A sandwich?”

“No, I can’t eat a sandwich with one hand.”

“Did you lose a hand?”

“I have this blue plastic thing on my wrist.”

“Does it interfere with the movement of your fingers?”

Stone wiggled his fingers. “Apparently not.”

“Then you can handle a sandwich?”

“Tell her scrambled eggs and bacon. And an English muffin with marmalade. And orange juice and coffee.”

“Well, at least your appetite has survived.” She hung up.

Stone gingerly rearranged himself in bed and waited for the painkiller to kick in. His first inkling that it was working was when the pounding in his head began to subside. A moment later, he woke up with a tray on his belly.

“Eat,” Helene commanded. She was a compact woman with a thick Greek accent who had done for him for years.

Stone pressed the remote control, and the bed sat him up and raised his feet. “Good morning, Helene,” he said.

“Eat,” she said again. “You feel better.” She marched out of the room.

Stone ate hungrily. The various pains in his body were gradually replaced by a cozy warmth, and he was able to move more freely.

Dino walked into the room, unannounced. “You’re alive.”

“Why do you sound surprised?”

“How did you feel when you woke up?”

“I hurt all over, but I took a pill.”

“How do you feel now?”

“Warm and fuzzy.”

“Must be a good drug. We hauled in Devlin Daltry and had a chat with him.”

“Did you beat him to a pulp?”

“Sure we did, and we dumped the body in the East River.”

“Did he have anything to say before he died?”

“He had an alibi, backed up by two retired cops.”

“The ones who chased me into Central Park, I bet.”

“Probably, but we had to release him.”

“Anything on the car?”

“Stolen.”

“You wouldn’t think a sculptor would know how to hot-wire a car.”

“No, you wouldn’t. That’s why I wasn’t too surprised when I ran his name, and he had an arrest for car theft when he was nineteen, no conviction.”

“Celia was right about the guy; I should have listened to her. What’s his address?”

“What, you’re going down there?”

“No, Dino. What’s the address?”

Dino wrote it on a slip of paper and put it on the bedside table. “You up for dinner this evening?”

“As long as the pills last.”

“See you then.” He walked out of the room.

Stone sat and stewed for a few minutes, then he called Bob Cantor.

“Cantor.”

“You’re back.”

“How’d you guess?”

“Have you heard from Herbie?”

“No.”

“I took him to Finger’s law office for a deposition yesterday, stashed him in an office, and he ran the moment I left him alone. Dattila’s two goons may have followed him out.”

“Uh-oh. Did he say where they had held him the first time?”

“Herbie said an attic, downtown. Probably someplace near Dattila’s coffeehouse, near a subway station.”

“I’ll do a missing persons report and get them looking for him again.”

“Another thing: Herbie said that before he jumped out the window, Dattila showed up and told Cheech and Gus—that’s the two guys who dragged him out of Elaine’s—to kill him slowly.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“It sounds like we should find him soon, but I’m laid up in bed today. I was hit by a car yesterday.”

“An accident?”

“Nope, and I want to talk to you about that.”

“Who done it?”

“A guy named Devlin Daltry, a sculptor, who lives at…” He looked at the paper on the bedside table and gave Cantor the address.

“You’re sure he’s the guy?”

“Yes.”

“Is he going to be arrested?”

“No. He has an alibi from two retired cops, no names.”

“You want something to happen to him?”

“Yes, but the two cops may be hanging around him as bodyguards.”

“You care what happens to them?”

“Let’s not spread this around. I’d like Daltry found alone and pain inflicted upon him, but not anything even nearly like death.”

“Any message you want delivered?”

“The pain will be the message. Oh, and I want his left wrist broken.”

“That’s an odd request.”

“It’s what he did to me.”

“I know somebody who can handle this discreetly.”

“I thought you would.”

“When?”

“I’ll be at Elaine’s this evening with Dino, from about eight-thirty.”

“I’ll see what can be done.”

“If it’s not done this evening, call me beforehand, so I can have an alibi.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks, Bob. I hope Herbie gets found before…”

“Yeah.” Cantor hung up.

“Before he’s too dead,” Stone said to himself.