“Funny you should ask. I happen to be appearing in court this afternoon, and I’m going to need a ride home.”
“We’re not a car service.”
“No, but then a limo wouldn’t provide the services that I require.”
“Oh?”
“There are a couple of gentlemen here who would like to offer me a ride with them.”
“Why don’t you take it?”
“I don’t think we’re going in the same direction.”
“I see.”
“I have every reason to believe there are some people who are not going to be happy with my performance here in court.”
“Just how critical are these gentlemen?”
“Most likely armed and dangerous and not apt to take no for an answer.”
“I have a couple of boys who are very good at saying no.”
“I would like to avoid a shooting war. Your boys aren’t trigger happy, are they?”
“Not at all. If someone shoots first, that’s another story.”
“A story I’d rather not star in. I just need a ride home.”
“And once you get there?”
“Unless my fiancée tries to kill me, I should be fine.”
“You’re getting married?”
“I live dangerously.”
“So it seems.”
Herbie hung up, called a deli down the street and had a sandwich delivered. It had just arrived when the two goons who walked him to the limo came in and conferred with the other goons.
Herbie paid off the delivery boy and headed down the aisle, away from the goons. He pushed through the gate, went up, and sat at the judge’s bench.
The bailiff looked horrified. “You can’t do that.”
“I just did.”
“No, no, no. You can’t sit there.”
“Where can I sit?”
The bailiff pointed to the spectators section. “Out there.”
“No, I’m afraid I can’t sit there.”
“Yes you can, it’s perfectly fine.”
Herbie smiled. “We’re talking at cross purposes. Assume I can’t sit here and I can’t sit there. Is there a place back there I could hide out?”
“Yes, if you want.”
The bailiff led Herbie back to the small conference room where he had first conferred with ADA Grover.
“Will this do?”
“This will be great,” Herbie said. He plunked his sandwich on the table and sat down.
“Okay,” the bailiff said. “You can hang out here as long as you want. Is there anything else you need?”
Herbie frowned and considered. “Could you lock me in?”
38
That evening, the Strategic Services car pulled up in front of Herbie’s apartment building. There was nothing to distinguish the black sedan from any number of car services, except for the two men in the front seat. Not that they couldn’t have passed for limo drivers, but limos didn’t have two.
The agent riding shotgun hopped out and came around to open the door for Herbie. He beat out the doorman with a little skip-step, said, “Allow me,” and interposed his bulk between the man and the car.
Herbie emerged, amused by the byplay. “Thanks, guys, I think I can take it from here.”
“What time tomorrow?” the agent said.
“Nine o’clock, unless you hear different.”
Despite the dismissal, the agent watched until Herbie had crossed the lobby and gotten into the elevator, before getting back in the car and driving off.
Carlo almost missed him. He was leaning against a car on the other side of Park Avenue waiting for Herbie to get home. He was alert when the Strategic Services car pulled up in front of the awning, but when a man he didn’t recognize emerged, his attention waned. Carlo was just unwrapping another stick of gum and feeding it into his mouth when he caught a glimpse of Herbie going into the building.
That was a close call. Mario would have been pissed.
Carlo whipped out his cell phone and called the office. “He’s home.”
39
Herbie was distracted. Yvette could tell at once. She tried to get him interested, but he wanted to talk about the trial. Yvette couldn’t care less about the trial, but she feigned an interest. It wasn’t hard, still it seemed like work.
And underneath it all was the nagging thought that, somehow, Herbie was on to her. That his lack of interest was because he couldn’t bear to touch her. Because he was just stringing her along, waiting for her to hang herself.
Yvette knew that wasn’t even remotely possible, that it made no sense. It was just that she was doing what Donnie wanted, and doing what Donnie wanted was always risky. It wasn’t that Herbie had suspicions, it was that she was about to raise them. And it wasn’t her fault, damn it, it was all Donnie. And the worry was making her self-conscious and arousing his suspicions.
Herbie flung himself into a chair and shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m laying all this on you. Bringing my troubles home from work. The worst thing a guy can do. Who would want to marry a guy like that?”
Yvette nearly choked on her reply. Was he setting her up? Of course not. Things were fine. That was the only way to play it, as if things were fine.
She smiled coquettishly. “Would you like me to get your mind off work?”
Herbie relaxed for the first time since he’d been home. “You can do that?”
“Let me make you a drink. Martini?”
“Please.”
Donnie signaled to the waitress and ordered another cup of coffee. He didn’t need the caffeine, he was jangly enough already, but he couldn’t sit in the diner without something in front of him. And he wasn’t going to order their seventeen-dollar hamburger. Where the hell did they get off charging seventeen dollars for a burger — they were a diner, for Christ’s sake.
Donnie wasn’t worried about the job, he liked the job, it was the waiting that got to him. That was the problem with the long con. He didn’t have the temperament for it. The payoff was great, but the setup was excruciating. He didn’t know why Yvette couldn’t understand that. Of course, she was reaping the fruits of the con already, living the life of Riley in a Park Avenue penthouse, and she had the nerve to lecture him on patience.
The waitress brought the coffeepot and hit him with a refill. She didn’t write it down, so it was probably free. The waitress had a pad of unpaid orders hanging out of her pocket. His wouldn’t be much. He should probably leave her a tip.
There were a couple of blank pads next to the register that Donnie had spotted on his way in. He sipped his coffee and determined that it would be easy to swipe one on his way out. The devil was in the details, and he was determined to get this right.
Yvette shook up the martinis and strained them into chilled glasses. She took out the vial Donnie had given her, emptied it into Herbie’s glass, and stirred it around. She wrapped the vial in a tissue and placed it carefully in the bottom of the empty wastebasket behind the bar. Donnie had promised to take it with him. She had to remember to remind him.
Yvette picked up the martinis and had a moment’s panic when she couldn’t remember which was which. She paused to consider. It was definitely the one closer to the shaker, the one she’d stirred after dropping the liquid in. As she slunk back into the living room, she wondered how long it would take for the drugs to kick in.
40
Carlo and Ollie the Ox cased Herbie’s apartment building.
The garage posed no real problem. The entrance, as with all garages in Park Avenue apartment buildings, was on the side street where they were less likely to be noticed. Distracting the lone security guard was the worst of it. A small incendiary device between two parked cars did the trick. The flare went up, the guard went out, and the boys went in.