Yvette thrust a martini into his hand and loosened the ribbon at the neck of the negligee, which fluttered to the floor.
Herbie blinked and gawked. “What the hell.”
“Hi, honey,” Yvette said. “I was pretending I was the wife in a sitcom welcoming her husband home. Isn’t this how they do it?”
Without giving him a chance to answer, she threw her arms around his neck, spilling the martini, and kissed him on the mouth. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her to bed, all thoughts of court and old gambling debts forgotten.
17
David Ross went home to his father’s Fifth Avenue apartment. David had a dorm room at Columbia, but his father’s apartment was more convenient, being on the East Side like the court. It was also more comfortable. The councilman’s floor-through duplex boasted several amenities not available in the dorm room, like food, for instance, and David’s own shower and sauna and big-screen TV.
David’s father met him in the foyer, which was large enough for the average apartment’s living room. It was furnished with a couple of divans and side tables, to handle the slipover from the parties the councilman was sometimes forced to throw.
“What do you mean you didn’t take the deal?” Councilman Ross said. “I had it all worked out.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I tried to tell you, you didn’t listen.”
“Because you didn’t listen to me. I didn’t do it. The drugs weren’t mine, and someone set me up.”
“This is not the most brilliant defense ever thought of. Any penny ante thief ever busted with the goods says, ‘That’s not mine.’”
“It’s not a story, Dad, it’s the truth, and I’ll find a way to prove it.”
“Didn’t your lawyer strongly advise you against doing that?”
“My lawyer wasn’t there.”
“What?”
“He was in the hospital, so he sent another guy in his place.”
“What guy?”
“A lawyer named Herb Fisher.”
“How is he?”
“I don’t think he’s very good, but he isn’t forcing me to do anything I don’t want to do,” David said, and stomped off to his room.
“Oh, for God’s sake!”
Councilman Ross prided himself on rarely getting upset. He was a politician’s politician, who knew which side of the bread his butter was on. No matter how sticky a situation, he always managed to come out squeaky clean. He’d earned the allegiance of the police department not by any special favors, but by always appearing to be on their side, whether he was or not.
Arranging the plea bargain had not been difficult, just inconvenient. He hated to waste the political favor, but it had been necessary. A misdemeanor settled out of court would scarcely sully his reputation. His son in jail on a drug conviction could have been the nail in his political coffin. Underneath it all the councilman really did love his son and would do anything to save him. He just had trouble letting it show.
The councilman went into his home office and dialed the cell number of Bill Eggers, the CEO of Woodman & Weld.
Eggers was surprised to hear from him. “Councilman. What’s wrong?”
“My son’s attorney didn’t show up for court.”
“Impossible. I’d have heard about it.”
“He sent a replacement. Can you believe that? A substitute. This is my son, for Christ’s sake.”
“Who’d he send?”
“Herb Fisher.”
“Councilman, this is actually very good news. James Glick is an excellent courtroom lawyer, which is why I assigned him to your son’s case, but Herb Fisher is a brilliant attorney and a partner in the firm. Trust me, you could not be in better hands.”
“So you say. He rejected the plea.”
“He what?”
“He rejected it. Against my express orders.”
“That’s the first I’ve heard of it.”
“It’s the first I’ve heard of it. I’m waiting for my son to come home a free man and he’s still on trial.”
“Relax. I’ll get to the bottom of this.” Bill Eggers broke the connection and called James Glick.
18
James Glick’s cell phone rang on the platform of the Metro station. He’d been scared out of the restaurant by the two torpedoes and was riding the subway a few stops just to make sure they weren’t following him. He jerked the phone out of his pocket and glanced at caller ID.
It was Herb Fisher. That was a surprise. He’d half expected Herb to be at the bottom of the East River.
“James, it’s Herb Fisher. How’d the surgery go?”
“Great, great!” James blurted, his mind in chaos.
“So there’s no complications. You’ll be back in court tomorrow?”
“Oh. Complications. Yes. Well, the surgery went well, but I’ve developed a post-op infection, they’re probably going to keep me.”
“You’re not going to be in court?”
“Sorry about that, but you know how these doctors are.”
“No, I don’t know how these doctors are. This is not what I bargained for, James. I can’t handle a criminal case. You got me cross-examining the key witness, for Christ’s sake.”
“I don’t understand. Why didn’t you take the plea bargain?”
“The client doesn’t want it.”
“The client’s a kid. His father set up the plea bargain. It was all worked out.”
“The kid’s a legal adult. His father can’t plead him out.”
“You were supposed to make him want it.”
“You neglected to tell me that. Now I’m in court trying the damn case. The prosecution led off with the detective who found the drugs on the kid. If we can’t break that down, how do we beat the charge?”
“We cop the damn plea!”
“The kid didn’t take the plea. The detective testified. I’m asking him everything but his shoe size until you get back and take over, so you better get back and take over.”
“If the doctor says I can’t, I can’t. They got more rules here than the county pen.”
James Glick hung up the phone in mounting confusion. Taperelli wasn’t setting him up. Taperelli was telling the truth. The case hadn’t been settled. Herbie Fisher hadn’t taken the plea. The proof of that was that Herbie Fisher was still alive.
His cell phone rang again. He jerked it out of his pocket, checked caller ID.
Bill Eggers.
If he ever wanted to work again, he’d better take the call.
He clicked the button, adopted a weak, coming-out-of-anesthesia, barely-able-to-speak voice. “Yes.”
“Where are you?”
“I had surgery.”
“That’s what I hear. Not from you, the person I should be hearing it from, but from Councilman Ross. Do you know how stupid it makes me look when someone tells me something about my firm that I don’t know?”
“It was an emergency.”
“Are you going to be in court tomorrow?”
“If my doctor lets me.”
“What’s his name?”
“It’s a foreign name. And—”
James Glick’s heart nearly stopped. The two torpedoes had just come down the escalator and stepped onto the platform.
“Oh shit!” he exclaimed, dropping his phone on the concrete. He scooped it up, clicked it off, and headed down the platform.
There was no exit at the other end.
And the men were coming.
Before they reached him a train pulled into the station. The doors hissed open.
He tried to see if the men got on, but there were too many people in between.
James Glick was stuck. Getting on the train with the two men would be bad.
Being left alone on the platform with them would be worse.
James Glick took a deep breath and stepped inside, just as the doors closed behind him.