Fresh Disasters (13 page)

S
tone was finishing his lunch when Joan buzzed. “Eliza Larkin on line one,” she said.

“Who?”

“Emergency room doctor.”

“Oh, yes!” He punched the button. “Hello.”

“Mr. Barrington, it’s Dr. Larkin. I wanted to see how you are feeling.”

“Well, when I take the pills, I feel better than I should.”

“Nice and warm and fuzzy?”

“How did you know?”

“I sprained my ankle once.”

“I hope you have fully recovered.”

“I have, thank you. I don’t think you will need any further medical attention.”

“Oh, but I will. In fact, I think I will need medical attention at dinner this evening. Would you like to join Lieutenant Bacchetti and me at Elaine’s at eight-thirty?”

“And just what sort of medical attention do you think you will need?”

“Well, the Heimlich maneuver, perhaps. I eat too quickly.”

She chuckled.

“Or CPR, maybe?”

“I’m sure Lieutenant Bacchetti can handle that.”

“Lieutenant Bacchetti can be curiously inept at times, and I want only the best professional assistance.”

“Where is Elaine’s?”

“Second Avenue, between Eighty-eighth and Eighty-ninth, west side of the street. You’ll see the yellow awning.”

“Eight-thirty, you said?”

“That would be perfect.”

“How does one dress at Elaine’s?”

“In clothes; there are no other requirements.”

“You are a typical male. What should I wear?”

“A tight skirt with a deep slit and a pushup bra. Or better, no bra at all.”

“Big help.”

“Anything but scrubs.”

“See you then.” She hung up.

Stone was feeling rosy, not only from the pill but also from the thought of seeing Dr. Larkin again. Then the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“It’s Celia. Can you talk?”

Stone felt unaccountably guilty, as if by having dinner with Eliza Larkin, he was jilting Celia. “Sure, how are you?”

“There was someone outside last night.”

“Did you call nine-one-one?”

“No, I went out with your gun, looking for the bastard.”

Stone groaned. “Tell me you didn’t shoot anybody.”

“I didn’t shoot anybody.”

“For future reference, if you hear troubling noises, you call nine-one-one. You’ll probably get somebody out of bed up there, but that’s better than your getting hurt. You do not, repeat
not,
go outside with a gun. Is that perfectly clear?”

“I miss you,” she said.

“I miss you, too.” This was not a lie.

“Why don’t you come up here tonight?”

“I was hit by a car yesterday.”

“Oh, God!” she said. “He tried to do that once before.”

“Devlin?”

“Yes. He thought I had talked too much to some guy in a bar, and he tried to run him down in the street, but he missed.”

“Well, he has since perfected his technique.”

“Are you all right?”

“I hurt a lot, and my left wrist is broken.”

“Oh, shit, I wish I were there to give you a massage. Can I come down there?”

“No, you may not; I think it’s still too dangerous. Anyway, that car I rented for you at the gas station probably wouldn’t make it to the city.”

“So I have to stay here by myself?”

“I’ll come up this weekend.”

“I’ll give you a massage. All over.”

“I’ll come twice.”

“When can I expect you?”

“Book us a table at the Mayflower for eight on Friday.”

“Will do.”

“I have to get some sleep now.”

“See you Friday.”

“Bye.” He hung up and tried to forget that he had an erection.

A
t eight-fifteen he took the elevator downstairs and limped toward the front door. He had a pill in his pocket, but it was too soon to take it, so he snagged a cane that had belonged to his father from the hall umbrella stand and left the house in search of a cab. He looked carefully up and down the street for threats and suddenly wished he had worn a gun.

He was at Elaine’s the usual five minutes ahead of Dino, who joined him and accepted a Scotch from the waiter.

“How are the various affected parts of your body?”

“Responding well to drugs.” He looked at his watch. “Another half hour before I can take another pill.” He took a big swig of his bourbon. “This should help.”

“It usually does,” Dino agreed, sipping his own drink.

“Oh, a lady is joining us.”

“You found me a girl? Oh, Stone, that’s swell of you.”

“I found
me
a girl.”

“What about the lovely Celia?”

“She’s in lovely Washington, Connecticut, remember?”

“So who’s this one?”

Stone nodded toward the door. “You’ve met.” He struggled to his feet to greet Eliza Larkin. “Good evening.”

She shook his hand.

“You remember Lieutenant Bacchetti.”

“Of course.” She shook his hand and accepted a chair.

“I’m known as Dino, off duty,” Dino said.

“And I’m known as Eliza, off duty.”

“What would you like to drink?” Stone asked.

“I think a very dry martini with two olives,” she replied.

Stone waved at a waiter and ordered.

“So this is Elaine’s?” Eliza said.

“It is indeed. Unpretentious, isn’t it?”

“Cozy. I like it.”

“The food is a lot better than it gets credit for. Restaurant critics don’t like it because they can’t get a good table, not being regulars.”

Eliza noticed the cane hanging on the spare chair. “Are you using that?”

“Yes, the painkiller is wearing off, but I have another twenty-five minutes before I can take another pill.”

The martini was placed before her, and she sipped. “You can’t take another pill.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re drinking,” she said, pointing at the nearly empty glass of bourbon. “Those pills don’t mix with alcohol. You might run amok.”

“I never run amok.”

“Have you ever taken those pills with alcohol?”

“No.”

“If you do, it will be your first experience with running amok, and Lieutenant Bacchetti will have to arrest you.”

“But I’ll be in pain.”

“My prescription is, have another of whatever you’re drinking, and I predict you’ll feel very little pain.”

“And that woman is a
doctor,
” he said to Dino. He waved at a waiter for a refill, then he glanced toward the front of the restaurant and saw Elaine walk in, right on time. But he was distracted by a face in the front window.

“Excuse me a moment,” Stone said, grabbing his cane and hobbling toward the door. He let two other people enter, then went outside. A couple of smokers were standing on the sidewalk, to his left, shivering and nursing their drug addiction; Stone turned to his right and saw Devlin Daltry standing there, smiling insolently at him.

D
altry turned to face him, stepping away from the window. “Oh, I see you’re using a cane these days,” he said, still smiling. “When I finish with you, you’ll be in a wheelchair.”

Stone glanced to his right, through the restaurant window and into the bar. A man was standing there, staring at them, a camera in his hands.

Stone flashed his badge. “You’re under arrest for making terroristic threats,” he said. “Don’t move.” He flipped open his cell phone and punched the speed-dial number for Dino.

“Bacchetti.”

“I’ve just arrested Devlin Daltry for making terroristic threats. Come out here and take him off my hands, will you?”

“Sure thing.”

Stone snapped the cell phone shut. “You thought I would hit you and your buddy in there would get a picture, right?”

Daltry looked around him.

“If you run, you’ll add fleeing arrest to the charges.”

Dino came out the door, and, simultaneously, a squad car screeched to a halt in front of the restaurant, its lights flashing, and two cops got out of the car.

“Careful,” Stone said, “there’s a guy in the bar with a camera.”

“Lieutenant,” one of the cops said. “What do you need?”

“Make sure that guy doesn’t go anywhere for a minute,” Dino said. He turned and walked back into the restaurant and Stone could see him at the bar, flashing his badge at the photographer. Then Dino took the camera from him and came back outside. “Okay,” he said to Daltry, “you’re under arrest for…” He looked at Stone questioningly.

“Making terroristic threats,” Stone said. “He said when he got through with me, I’d be in a wheelchair.”

“For making terroristic threats,” Dino said to Daltry. “Cuff him,” he said to the car, “and take him back to the station house and book him.”

“You haven’t got any witnesses,” Daltry said.

“I have the testimony of a retired police hero,” Dino replied. He turned to the cops. “You got a complaint form in the car?” The cop went to the squad car and returned with a sheet of paper. “Make sure this guy doesn’t stub his toe. Come on, Stone.” He turned and led the way back into the restaurant. Once inside he tossed the camera to the photographer. “Let’s see some I.D.,” he said.

The man produced a wallet.

“Who do you work for?”

“I’m freelance, but this job is for
The Sheet
,” he said, naming a gossip rag.

“I ought to arrest you for entrapment,” Dino said.

“Hey, wait a minute, I haven’t entrapped anybody. Daltry just asked me to stand inside and take pictures; I didn’t know what was going to happen.”

“If you’ll testify to that, I’ll let you go,” Dino said.

“Sure, I’ll testify.” He handed Dino a card.

“Beat it,” Dino said. “I’ll be in touch.”

The man beat it, and Dino and Stone returned to their table and Eliza Larkin. “Retired police
hero
?” Stone asked Dino.

“Well, I stretched that a little bit.”

“What was that all about?” Eliza asked.

“That was about the man who drove the car that hit me trying to lure me into taking a swing at him, so he could have me photographed doing it. It didn’t work.”

“Are all your evenings like this?” Eliza asked.

“No, thank God. Usually I have a drink, eat some dinner and go home. We arranged this evening’s entertainment just for you.”

Dino handed Stone the complaint form. “I expect you remember how to fill out this thing.”

Stone whipped out a pen and began writing. “Doing your work for you,” he said, writing rapidly, then signing the document. He handed it back to Dino.

“I’ll drop by the precinct on the way home and file this,” he said, folding it and tucking it into a pocket.

“I’ll have to arrange some ER entertainment for you fellows some evening soon,” Eliza said.

“You don’t want to do that,” Dino said. “Stone can’t stand the sight of blood.”

“I can so, as long as it’s not mine,” Stone retorted, “but I’d just as soon not watch people suffer, unless you can get Devlin Daltry admitted for grievous wounds. That I’d like to watch.”

“Devlin Daltry, the sculptor?” she asked.

“One and the same.”

“He was the one you just had arrested?”

“For making terroristic threats,” Dino said. “He threatened to put Stone in a wheelchair.”

“I know a woman who went out with him a couple of times,” Eliza said.

“With what result?”

“She broke it off, and he stalked her for weeks. Her name is Genevieve James; she works at the hospital.”

“How long ago was this?” Stone asked.

“Late last year, between Thanksgiving and Christmas. She had to leave town for the holidays in order to have any peace.”

“I’d like to talk to her,” Dino said. “Do you think she’d testify to all this in court?”

“I doubt it,” Eliza said. “She was pretty shaken up by the whole business. But I’ll ask her.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Stone said. “I’m representing another woman who’s had major problems with Daltry. She fears for her life, and I had to get her out of town.”

“Well, I hope you can put the creep away,” Eliza said, returning to her drink.

Stone returned to his second bourbon.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“A whole lot better,” Stone said, raising his glass. “Ah, the wonders of medical science.”

“So you’re a lawyer?” she asked.

“That’s debatable,” Dino said. “‘Disreputable lawyer’ would be more like it.”

“That’s a dirty Communist lie,” Stone said. “I mean, you’ve got to have a disreputable client or two to make a living. After all, they’re the ones who need lawyers.”

“Are you telling me you can’t make a living representing reputable people?” Eliza asked.

“Well, reputable people occasionally sue or get sued, or get divorced, but that’s not likely to lead to a protracted trial, the kind that runs up billable hours.”

“When was the last time you had a protracted trial?” Dino asked.

“That’s beside the point,” Stone replied. “I’m simply replying to your baseless charge of disrepute by using an illustration.”

“It says Woodman and Weld on your card,” Eliza pointed out. “That’s a very reputable firm.”

“Yeah,” Dino said, “and they stay that way by handing off the disreputable clients to Stone.”

“It’s a mutually convenient solution to both our problems,” Stone said. “For instance, at the insistence of Woodman and Weld, I’m currently suing a big-time mafioso on behalf of a client they would
never
represent.”

“Which big-time mafioso?” she asked.

“One Carmine Dattila.”

“Dattila the Hun?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“You clearly need to be reading a better newspaper,” Stone said. “Try the
Times
.”

“Oh, I read the
Times
,” she said, “but not for fun. I like the
Post
and the
News
for that.”

“You sound like my secretary,” Stone said.

L
ater, when they had finished dinner, they left the restaurant.

“Can I offer you a nightcap at my house?” Stone said.

“No, you can put me in a cab and send me home.”

“Where do you live?”

“Not far, but you’re in no condition to walk.”

“I didn’t have all that much to drink.”

She pointed at the cane.

“Oh, that. The pain has temporarily subsided.”

“Not enough for you to walk me home. I’ll accept the drink offer when I’m not looking at an early shift on the morrow.”

Stone stepped into the street and flagged down a cab, then opened the door for her.

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for dinner. I liked Elaine’s.”

“Another time soon?”

“I’m around this weekend.”

“Alas, I’m out of town. Early next week?”

“Call me.” She got into the cab, and it drove away.

Stone sighed and started looking for his own cab.