Fresh Disasters (2 page)

T
he three were picking over the remains of the porterhouse when Eggers flagged down a waiter and pointed at the enormous bone. “Wrap that up for my wife’s dog, will you?”

“Bill,” Stone said, “your wife has a Yorkshire terrier; that bone will eat
him
.”

“It’ll keep him away from my shoes for a few days,” Eggers replied, accepting the foil-wrapped gift from the waiter. “You pay three grand for a pair of custom-made shoes from Lobb’s, and a four-pound canine perforates them.”

Stone looked at Eggers in wonder. “You pay
three grand
for shoes?”

“That’s a bargain; it’s five grand if you go to Silvano Lattanzi.”

“That’s more than I paid for any of the first dozen cars I owned,” Dino said. “If I were you, I’d insure the shoes.”

“Hey, that could work,” Eggers said. “I could claim against my household insurance. I mean, the deductible is only a grand.”

“They’d probably make you shoot the dog,” Stone said.

“That works for me,” Eggers replied.

“Your wife would kill you in your sleep.”

“You have a point.”

Suddenly, Herbie and his two hookers materialized at their table. He was still dabbing at his nose, which had assumed the appearance of a small, battered eggplant. “Stone,” he said.

Stone winced. “What, Herbie?”

“I want to sue those two guys, and I want you to represent me.”

Dino burst out laughing.

“Herbie,” Stone said, “you say you’re a lawyer now; sue them yourself.”

“Then I would have a fool for a client,” Herbie replied, calling up the old legal maxim describing a lawyer who represents himself.

“I can’t argue with that,” Stone said, “but I will not, repeat
not,
represent you.”

“I can pay.”

“Herbie, the two guys who did that to your nose couldn’t get you to pay.”

“That’s different,” Herbie said. “Owing you would be a debt of honor.”

“And that’s different from the debt to the boss of those two guys how?”

“That debt involved sports; it’s not the same thing.”

“Try explaining that to Carmine Dattila,” Dino said. “That’s who those guys work for. Carmine would hollow you out and use you for an ashtray.”

“No means
no,
Herbie,” Stone said. “Good night.”

Suddenly Eggers spoke up. “Mr. Fisher,” he said, extending his hand, “I am William Eggers of the law firm of Woodman and Weld.”

“Hey, how you doin’?” Herbie replied, pumping Eggers’s hand.

“My firm would be happy to represent you in this matter; in fact, I would be pleased to handle the case personally.”

Stone’s jaw nearly hit the tabletop. “Bill, are you nuts, or are you just drunker than I thought?”

Eggers waved him away. “In fact, we would be pleased to represent you on a contingency basis.”

“Bill,” Dino said, “excuse me for interrupting, but I think you should know that Carmine Dattila is known by the sobriquet Dattila the Hun.”

“Oh, Dino,” Eggers said, shaking his head “don’t you ever watch
60 Minutes
? The power those old guys once had has been much diminished.”

“Nobody told Carmine,” Dino replied.

Eggers whipped out a card and handed it to Herbie. “Mr. Fisher, please call me tomorrow morning around ten. I’ll be out of the weekly partners’ meeting by then.”

Herbie read the card carefully, then produced one of his own.

Stone grabbed it: “Herbert Q. Fisher, Attorney at Law,” it read, followed by a post office box and a cell-phone number. “Herbie,” Stone said, “you only passed the bar today; when did you have these printed?”

“It was just in case,” Herbie said defensively.

“And how come you were so sure you were going to pass the exam?”

Beads of sweat appeared on Herbie’s brow. “I felt very confident that, given my education, it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Who did you get to, Herbie? And how much did it cost you?”

“Well, if you’ll excuse us, gentlemen,” Herbie said with a little bow. “My ladies and I have an appointment elsewhere.”

“Yeah,” Dino muttered, “in the backseat of a cab.”

Herbie swept his two companions out of the restaurant.

“Bill,” Stone said, “what were you thinking?”

“Stone,” Eggers replied, “you are obviously overlooking the public-relations effect of our handling a case against a…”

“Mafia chieftain, I believe the newspaper description goes.”

“Yes, Mafia chieftain.”

Dino spoke up. “Have you considered the public-relations effect of being found dead in a landfill?”

“Really, Dino, it’s obvious that this Carmen…what’s his name?”

“Carmine Dattila.” Dino spelled it for him.

“It’s obvious that Mr. Dattila has never been confronted in open court by a powerful law firm.”

“Carmine Dattila has been confronted in open court a number of times by the United States Attorney for the Southern District of New York, who is a member of a fairly powerful law firm called the U.S. Department of Justice,” Dino said. “And there ain’t a mark on him.”

“C’mon,” Stone said, rising. “Let’s get Clarence Darrow here into a cab before he decides to sue God.”

S
tone was drinking coffee at his desk the following morning when his secretary, Joan Robertson, appeared at the door.

“Got a minute?” Joan, a pretty June Allyson look-alike somewhere in her forties, ran Stone’s office and Stone, as well.

“Sure, come on in. Bring coffee, if you like.”

“Thanks, I’ve had mine,” Joan said, sitting down. “Time to talk of unpleasant things.”

“How unpleasant?”

“Not all that bad, really, just chronic.”

“Tell me.”

“Well, your monthly draw from Woodman and Weld just about covers my salary, the utilities and the copying machine, but only about half of what it costs you to live.”

“And your point is?”

“We need a case now and then to pay, among other things, your monthly bill at Elaine’s and to keep you in the black. You haven’t, for instance, saved any money for the past three months.”

“I’m aware of all that,” Stone said. “More or less.”

“Be more aware. Make rain.”

“What do you want me to do, chase ambulances?”

“A nice personal-injury suit that lends itself to a quick settlement would do nicely.”

“Maybe I could push somebody in front of a cab, then offer to represent him?”

“The problem is, Woodman and Weld has not been sending you much the past few months. Usually they’re good for something fairly juicy now and then. That’s how you support your preposterous lifestyle.”

“Preposterous? What’s preposterous about my lifestyle?”

“Well, let’s see: You live alone in this large house…”

“I earn my living here, too,” Stone pointed out.

“More or less. To continue, you have a country house in Connecticut; an armored, souped-up Mercedes in the garage; an airplane at Teterboro Airport; and a monthly bill at Elaine’s that could feed a company of starving marines. All of it soaks up money. About the only thing you couldn’t get along without is me.”

“You’re right, this is unpleasant.”

“Look, you rarely use the house in Washington, Connecticut. Why don’t you call Klemm Real Estate up there and put the place on the market? You bought it on a whim, and you’ve held onto it long enough to at least double your money.”

“Yeah, but it’s a good investment, better than the market, and anyway, I kind of like the idea of having a country place in Connecticut.”

“Well, it’s an awfully expensive way to get laid, Stone. Every time you take a woman up there for a few days, we get a thousand-dollar bill for drinks and dinners at the Mayflower Inn, and last time, you spent a couple of grand at a country auction, too. If it’s not that, it’s the annual Washington Antiques show. I don’t even want to think about what you spent there.”

Stone was growing very uncomfortable and was relieved to hear the phone ring.

Joan reached across the desk and picked up his phone. “Good morning, the Barrington Practice.” She listened for a moment, pressed the Hold button and handed Stone the phone. “Bill Eggers for you. Maybe he’s got some work for us?”

Stone took the phone and punched a button. “Good morning, Bill. How are you feeling today?”

“That’s a cruel question,” Eggers replied hoarsely.

“Was your wife’s dog happy with the bone?”

“He ran when he saw it.”

“And how did the partners’ meeting greet your proposal to represent Herbie Fisher in a suit against Carmine Dattila?”

“Actually, they greeted it very well,” Eggers said. “They immediately saw the public-relations benefit of going up against a mobster in a civil action.”

“You astonish me,” Stone said.

“What they didn’t like was the idea of the managing partner personally representing Mr. Fisher.”

“I can imagine,” Stone chuckled. “Which poor schmuck did you stick with the case?”

“I’m actually on the phone with him now.”

“Feel free to put me on hold while you break the news to him.”

“That won’t be necessary, since I’m speaking to him on this line.”

Stone was confused for a moment, but then the full import of what Eggers was saying struck him like a wall of icy water. “Now wait a minute, Bill…”

“I’m afraid I can’t wait, Stone. The case is yours, by unanimous vote of the partners.”

“Bill, I begged you not to take this ridiculous case.”

“Nevertheless,” Eggers said, “there was a feeling among the partners that the firm has not been getting its money’s worth from you lately, Stone.”

“Well, God knows you haven’t been throwing me any cases.”

“Consider this one thrown.”

“Bill, there’s no money in this. Even if we managed to get a settlement, it would be limited to Herbie’s medical expenses.”

“But, if you went to trial, you could go for punitive damages.”

“What, a few thousand dollars?”

“Stone, I think the partners would be happy without a large settlement if the case were to generate the kind of positive news stories that we think could be obtained by taking this case. Just think of yourself on the courthouse steps, after a day in court grilling Mr. Dattila. Think of a jury coming in with punitive damages of tens of thousands of dollars. You’d be all over the evening news, and so would Woodman and Weld. In fact, I’d be happy to come down to the courthouse and sit at your table for a few days, then share your moment on the courthouse steps.”

“Bill, what have you guys been smoking over there? Whatever it is, it’s illegal.”

“Stone, let me put it to you bluntly. If you want to go on drawing the handsome monthly sum we pay you, and if you want to continue to have cases referred to you by our firm, then you’re going to have to get on board with this case. The partners expect this of you.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Stone moaned. “Send me the case file, if there is one.”

“I’ll do better than that; I’ll send you your client.”

“You mean Herbie is at your office now?”

“Well, he was, but he’s already on his way to you. He should be in your office shortly.”

Stone glanced down the hallway and saw the front door open. “Oh, shit.”

“I take it Mr. Fisher has arrived,” Eggers said. “Do right by him, Stone. Make Woodman and Weld look good.” He hung up.

Stone put the phone down.

“Stone,” Joan said, “what’s the matter?”

“Eggers has sent us a case.”

“Oh, good.”

“No.” Stone nodded toward the hallway.

Joan followed his gaze. “Herbie Fisher? Yuck!”

“My sentiments exactly.”

“What does he want?”

“He wants us to sue Carmine Dattila.”

“Dattila the Hun?”

“One and the same.”

“That’s the case Eggers sent us?”

“That’s the case.”

“This is a bad joke. Make him go away.”

“It is certainly a bad joke, but if we want to keep me of counsel to Woodman and Weld, I’m going to have to do this. Go and get your pad; I’ll dictate a complaint.”

Joan got up and left, squeezing past Herbie Fisher and managing not to touch him.

“Hey, Joanie,” Herbie said.

“Yuck,” Joan replied.

“Hey, Stone.”

“Herbie,” Stone said, “come in, sit down and shut up.”

S
tone gazed across his desk at Herbert Q. Fisher, Esquire. “You incredible fuckup,” he said, as pleasantly as he could manage. Herbie had a plastic cup taped across his nose, and two big black eyes. “You look like a demented raccoon.”

“Stone,” Herbie said, reprovingly, “I don’t think Bill Eggers and the partners at Woodman and Weld would like you to speak to a client that way.”

Stone resisted the urge to throw himself across the desk and strangle Herbie. “Joan!” he yelled. “Come in here and bring the Polaroid camera!”

“Are we going to write a complaint?” Herbie asked.

“Stop pretending you’re a lawyer,” Stone replied.

Joan came into Stone’s office. “We haven’t had any film for the Polaroid camera for two years,” she said, “but I brought my phone.” She held up a cell phone.

“I don’t want to make a call,” Stone said. “I want to take pictures of Herbie’s injuries.”

“There’s a camera in my phone, Stone; there’s one in yours, too.”

“There is?”

Joan swiveled Herbie around in his chair and turned Stone’s desk lamp on his face. “Don’t smile,” she said, holding up the cell phone.

Herbie smiled. “Cheese,” he said, revealing a missing tooth.

Joan snapped several pictures, front and profile.

“Do you have any bruises on your body?” Stone asked.

“Oh, sure,” Herbie said.

“Take off your shirt and stand against the wall.”

Herbie slipped out of his jacket and shirt and stood up. He had half a dozen big bruises around his ribs and belly.

“Did they kick you in the balls?” Stone asked.

“Uh-uh,” Joan said quickly. “That’s where I draw the line.”

“Never mind,” Stone said. “Herbie, have you seen a doctor?”

“The girls made me go to the emergency room at Lenox Hill Hospital.”

“Do you have a receipt for your bill?”

Herbie groped his jacket, then held up a credit card slip. “Here it is!” he said triumphantly.

Stone looked at it. “You have a working credit card?”

“Well, of course. Oh, I have to see a plastic surgeon to get my nose fixed.”

“Joan, who’s a good nose guy?”

“How should I know?” she asked indignantly.

“Who did your sister?”

“I presume you mean her nose. Steinberg.”

“Make an appointment for Herbie with Steinberg, and make it clear to his secretary that we’ll need a written description of his injuries, along with a statement of the cost to repair the damage. Tell him not to stint. And tell her not to bill us.”

“I have to get my nose fixed pretty soon,” Herbie said. “The ER doctor said it’ll start to heal, and then it’ll have to be rebroken.”

“So, make an appointment and have the surgery,” Stone said.

“That’s going to cost.”

“That’s your problem, Herbie. As far as I’m concerned we’ll have a stronger case if your nose looks bad at trial.”

“But how am I going to attract women?”

“With the money you saved on plastic surgery; they won’t charge you any more than they did before.”

Herbie tucked in his shirttail and began tying his tie.

“Can we write the complaint together?”

“No. I require privacy when I compose complaints.”

“Come on, Stone, let me work with you on this case.”

“Your involvement in this case is going to be limited to your testimony in court, and that had better be good. Now go home and get some rest, and go see Steinberg as soon as possible; I need his report for the complaint.”

“Oh, all right,” Herbie said dejectedly. “And what are you going to do?”

“Research. Now go away. Speaking of research, what’s your bookie’s name?”

“Carlo.”

“Carlo what?”

“Carlo the bookie.”

“And how much do you owe him?”

“Twenty-four thousand, as of yesterday. The vig is ten percent a week.”

“Good God! How did you ever get a bookie to let you owe twenty-four grand? Is this Carlo nuts?”

“They know I’m good for it,” Herbie said, miffed.

“I guess that’s why they didn’t break your legs, too. No, they would have broken your legs if Dino hadn’t shown up. You ought to write him a thank-you note; it’s the polite thing to do. Joan! Get Herbie out of here!”

Joan came in with a slip of paper and handed it to Herbie. “Steinberg / tomorrow at 10:30.”

Herbie stuffed the number into his pocket and shuffled out.

“I like the limp, Herbie,” Stone yelled after him. “Cultivate it for the jury!”

Herbie vanished down the street.

“How do you get yourself into these things?” Joan asked.

“Look, I was having a quiet dinner at Elaine’s with Eggers and Dino. Herbie turned up, and…Oh, the hell with it. I’m innocent! Now go pay some bills or something.”

“With what?”

“I know you keep a secret cache for emergencies.”

“It’s not an emergency yet.”

“Then don’t pay anybody until they send somebody around to break your legs.”

“Ho, ho, ho,” she said, closing the door behind her.

Stone called Dino.

“Lieutenant Bacchetti.”

“It’s me. I need a Mob expert; you got a guy over there?”

“Wait a minute. Is this for Herbie’s thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Why are you involved in that?”

“Eggers was hung over this morning, but not enough to forget to weasel out of doing it himself.”

“So he made you do it?”

“Can you think of any other reason why I’d be involved?”

“Joe Giraldi,” Dino said. “He’s one of my guys, and I lent him to the Mob task force. He could do a family tree. He hates those guys, and it makes him good at his work. Here’s his number.”

Stone wrote it down. “Then I bet he would enjoy testifying against them.”

“He might, at that. I hope you don’t think
I’m
going to testify.”

“You sure as hell are. You’re my only eyewitness; you saw everything.” He paused. “Didn’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“What do you mean, ‘maybe’?”

“What’s in it for me?”

“You’ll have Herbie Fisher’s undying gratitude.”

“I’d rather have his dying gratitude.”

“Me, too, but I haven’t figured out how to make that happen, yet.”

“Oh, just pursue this case; it’ll happen. Maybe you’ll happen, too.”

“I’m going to try and avoid that.”

“Good idea. Maybe you better go see Eduardo.”

Eduardo Bianchi was Dino’s former father-in-law. He was Stone’s former father-in-law, too, but that was complicated. “I hate to bug him with something this trivial.”

“He likes you; he’ll give you a good lunch.”

“Maybe.”

“What else you got?”

“Not much.”

“Have a good time.”