Barely Legal

62

Herbie woke up to a knock on his door. He rolled over and saw Helene coming in with a breakfast tray.

“Not hungry,” he said.

She nodded. “That’s what Stone said you’d say.” She put the tray down on a side table. “He said to leave it anyway. You have to be in court at ten o’clock.”

“What time is it?”

“Seven.”

“Seven,” Herbie muttered.

“He said you might not want to wear a sweat suit.”

In a rush it all came back to him.

Herbie groaned. He sat up and groped for the coffeepot. He poured a cup, took a huge sip, and burned his tongue. He staggered into the bathroom and gulped some cold water.

Herbie stood under the shower for a long time. He had trouble finding the motivation to get out.

Eventually, he stumbled back into the bedroom and discovered he had no socks or underwear, or, if he did, he couldn’t find them.

Herbie went downstairs and found Stone sitting at his desk.

“You are reading the transcript.”

“Well, I’m trying. It’s pretty boring, actually. Not your fault. Court transcripts are boring. But it’s clear from this your client was framed.”

“It is?”

“It is to me. You can’t count on the jurors to follow the logic. Are you going home to change?”

“Yes, but I don’t have any money.”

“Check the pocket of your sweatpants. You should have enough to get you through the day.”

Herbie put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash. “Thanks, Stone.”

Herbie went out and got a cab back to his apartment. It was strange walking into the building. The doorman didn’t know what to say to him, and opted for saying nothing. That would have been fine with Herbie. Unfortunately, he needed a passkey. The doorman had to get it from the super, who wasn’t in his apartment, so Herbie had to stand in the lobby in his sweats while the other tenants walked by.

Finally, he got the key, went upstairs, and opened the door.

He was almost afraid to go in.

He steeled himself, walked in, and went straight to the bedroom.

The bed had been stripped, but all traces of the crime scene unit were gone, with the exception of the small hole in the headboard where they’d dug out the bullet.

Herbie went into the living room to catch his breath.

His cell phone was lying on the coffee table. He picked it up and clicked it on. The battery was almost dead, but he had a message from around midnight. He called voice mail and listened through the interminable mechanical voice droning the date and the time.

Beep.

“We have your girlfriend. Lose the case, and lose it today.”

Herbie dropped the phone as if it were hot.