“Yes,” Eggers said. “By professionals, I take it you mean people who can make an impression on the young man without killing or permanently disabling him.”
“That is correct,” Herbie replied. “What is the boy’s involvement with drugs?”
“We neglected to inquire about that,” Stone said.
“Well, his kind of behavior is nearly always associated with either booze or drugs or both. Probably cocaine, in this case, so he may owe a dealer, too. Is more money available for that?”
Eggers addressed this. “I believe I can convince our client to come up with whatever is necessary, if he feels that he has a chance to rescue his son.”
“All right,” Herbie said, “I’ll take it on, but I’m going to need some things from you gentlemen.”
“Name them,” Eggers said.
“Bill, I’m going to need the name and address of a facility that can protect the boy both from harm and from himself.”
“I can find out,” Eggers agreed.
“And a voluntary commitment form for the kid to sign. I can notarize it.”
“In one hour,” Eggers said.
“I’m going to need two large men from the facility to be parked outside the boy’s residence while I’m talking to him, which means he has to be preregistered.”
“I can do that, too.”
“Stone, I’m going to need those two guys, the brothers, who work for Bob Cantor.”
“Willie and Jimmy Leahy.” The brothers were large ex-cops.
“Right. I’ll want to take them with me up to Yale and to talk to the bookie.”
Stone handed Herbie the list that Brennan had written down.
“Carlo Contini,” Herbie said. “I know him. He was my bookie”-he looked at Eggers-“some years ago.”
“Good,” Stone said. “It’s nice that you two are acquainted.”
“What’s this Carlo like?” Eggers asked.
“Easygoing when a client is paid up, mean when he’s in arrears.”
“I was afraid of that.”
“How much am I authorized to pay Carlo?”
“There’s a briefcase next to your right foot containing two hundred grand,” Stone said. “Try and get by on that.”
“How much does the kid owe?”
“His father says two hundred grand.”
“Including vigorish?”
“Apparently.”
Herbie reached down and picked up the briefcase. “In hundreds? That’s what it feels like.”
“Does it matter?”
“Hundreds count faster, takes half as long as fifties.”
“Herbie, for all I know it’s in pennies.”
“Nah, pennies would fill a couple of trunks.”
“Deal with it.”
“I’ll do that,” Herbie said, looking at his Cartier Tank wristwatch. “If you can get the Leahys for me first thing tomorrow morning, I can make New Haven by noon.” He looked at the paper again. “Dink? What’s the kid’s real name?”
“Denton,” Eggers said. “Exactly what are you going to say to the boy, Herbie? I mean, you’ve got to convince him to take the deal.”
“Bill, I don’t think you need to know that, or want to,” Herbie replied.
“You’re probably right,” Eggers said, looking at his watch. “I’d better get upstairs and get you the name of a clinic and the commitment form.” He signed the check and left.
“So, Stone,” Herbie said, polishing off the Dover sole, “how did my name come up?”
“Your qualifications were obvious,” Stone replied.
“Am I the firm’s new Stone Barrington?”
“Herbie, think of this as an opportunity to impress Eggers and a very, very important client. If you can pull this off smoothly, nice things will happen.”
“And if it doesn’t go smoothly?”
“Failure is never attractive, Herbie.” Stone clapped him on the back and left.
Herbie waved at a waiter. “May I see the dessert menu, please?”
5
Herbie Fisher was up early the next morning. He ordered his car from the garage for nine a.m., then he showered, shaved, and returned to his bedroom, where he made love to Allison, Stone’s associate and Herbie’s girlfriend for the past few months.
He was dressed and ready to go when Willie and Jimmy Leahy arrived. They renewed their acquaintance, then Herbie gave them coffee and sat them down. “Did Stone tell you anything about what we’re doing today?”
“Not much,” Willie said. Willie usually did all the talking for his brother. “He said you wanted us to talk to some people.”
“Not exactly,” Herbie said. “I’m going to do the talking. Your job will be to stand there and look just a tiny bit menacing.”
“We can do that,” Willie replied.
“Okay,” Herbie said, “we’re off to New Haven.” He led them to the elevator and down to the garage.
“What is that?” Willie asked, pointing. “It looks like an overgrown Mercedes.”
“It is an overgrown Mercedes,” Herbie replied. “But it’s called a Maybach. One of you drive, I’ll sit in the back.” Herbie settled into the backseat and called out directions to Jimmy, who was at the wheel. Then he put on a headset and tuned in WQXR, the classical station. Herbie loved sitting in the backseat. No one at Woodman amp; Weld knew that he owned this car. He felt it was not good policy to outdo the partners.
They stopped in front of Dink Brennan’s dormitory at the stroke of eleven.
“What if our boy is in class?” Willie asked.
“My guess,” Herbie said, “is that our boy didn’t make it to class this morning, or on many other days. Let’s go.” He hopped out of the car and walked over to a van parked close by, which bore the name Winwood Farm on its door. He rapped on the passenger window, and it slid down. Two men in green hospital garb sat inside.
“Are you Mr. Fisher?” one of them asked.
“That’s right,” Herbie replied. “We’re going upstairs to speak with the young man. Give me your cell number.” Herbie tapped it into his iPhone. “I’ll call if we need you,” he said. “Did you bring a straitjacket, as requested?”
“In the back,” the driver said.
“I’ll also let you know if we’ll need it.” The window slid back up.
Herbie led the Leahys into the dorm and looked up Dink Brennan in the directory, then they took the elevator to the fourth floor and found the boy’s suite. Herbie knocked on the door and got no answer. He tried the door, but it was locked. “Anybody know how to get this open without breaking it down?”
Willie produced a credit-card-sized sheet of plastic and, in a flash, had the door open. They walked into the sitting room, which looked as though a hurricane had swept through it.
“Ugh,” Jimmy Leahy said, uttering his first sound of the morning.
Herbie opened the bedroom door and walked in. Both beds were disheveled, and one contained a large lump. Herbie drew back the sheet. “Hey, Dink?” he yelled, close to the young man’s ear.
“Huh?” the boy said, lifting his head from the pillow. “Yeah? Who are you guys?” He sat up. “Oh, I get it; you’re from Carlo. Tell him I’ll have his money in a few days.”
“Get on your feet, Dink,” Herbie said, and the boy obediently got out of bed and stood there, awkwardly.
“Have a seat at your desk,” Herbie said. Dink did so. Herbie produced two documents and a pen. “Sign these.”
“What are they?”
Herbie slapped him smartly on the back of the head. “Questions later. Sign them.”
Dink signed his name.
“Willie, Jimmy, witness, please, in the spaces provided.”
The Leahys did so while Dink looked nervously at Herbie.
Herbie tucked the documents into his pocket, walked over to a leather club chair, swept it free of dirty clothes, and sat down.
“If you’re not from Carlo, who are you?” Dink asked.
“We’re not from Carlo,” he said. “We’re the good guys. The bad guys come later, if you and I don’t have a satisfactory conversation.”
“I don’t get it,” Dink said, now fully awake.
“I’m your new attorney,” Herbie said. “Don’t worry, your father is paying.”
“Paying for what?”
“For my getting you out of this terrible fix you’re in.”