Desperate Measures

17

Stone was about to wrap up his day, a little late, when his phone rang. Joan had already left her desk. “Hello?”

“Is this Barrington?”

“It is.”

“This is Donald Trask.”

“I’ve no wish to speak to you,” Stone said.

“You can speak to me, or I’ll come over there,” Trask said. “You wrote this document, didn’t you?”

“Document?”

“My wife’s demands.”

“I do not represent your wife; I have not written or seen any document prepared for her; call Herbert Fisher at Woodman & Weld.”

“Tell you what,” Trask said, “you know the New York Athletic Club on Central Park South?”

“I do.”

“Are you a member there?”

“I am not.”

“Well, I am, and that’s good enough for both of us.”

“Mr. Trask, what are you talking about?”

“I’m suggesting that you and I meet there in an hour.”

“I’ve no wish to drink or dine with you.”

“They have a very nice boxing ring upstairs. I suggest we meet and settle the matter of the divorce terms mano a mano in the ring.”

“Mr. Trask, I can suggest one of two options,” Stone said. “First, seek professional help, which you are clearly in need of. Second, go to the New York Athletic Club gym, find a heavy bag, and punch it until you can’t stand up anymore. Either of those options will keep you out of jail. Now, don’t bother me again.” Stone hung up. He thought a moment, then called Herb Fisher.

“Herb Fisher.”

“It’s Stone.”

“Why do you sound exasperated?”

“Because I am exasperated.”

“All right, tell me. Cry your heart out.”

“I’ve just heard from Donald Trask, who persists in believing that I, not you, represent his wife in her divorce action.”

“Hey, that’s okay with me,” Herb said. “I don’t want him on my back.”

“Well, that’s where he’s going to be, if I have to hit him over the head and deliver him to you personally.”

“How kind you are!”

“I’m just letting you know that I think the man is unhinged and, as we know, prone to violence. He’s been set off by a document containing his wife’s demands that you apparently handed to his attorney, and eventually, after he’s been told a few more times, he’s going to finally get the idea that he should be dealing with you and not me.”

“I suppose he will, after Terry Barnes explains it all to him.”

“Have you met Donald Trask?”

“I have not.”

“Well, physically, he makes one and a half of you, and you don’t want to let him back you into a corner.”

“Thank you. I will avoid corners until further notice.”

“Have you heard back from Terry Barnes?”

“I have not.”

“Well, I don’t think you’re going to — not today, anyway. I suspect that Mr. Barnes is in a dark bar somewhere, nursing loosened teeth, broken ribs, and a triple scotch.”

“What do you advise?” Herb asked.

“Armed guards,” Stone said, then hung up. He rang Fred on the house intercom.

“Yes, sir?”

“Fred, we have an imminent threat somewhere, possibly circling the neighborhood.”

“Of what nature, sir?”

“Name of Donald Trask: tall, heavyset, in excellent condition for a man of his age, enjoys inflicting pain on those who annoy him.”

“Have you annoyed him, sir?”

“Without even trying.”

“Then I’ll take a turn around the block, sir, and see if I can spot him.”

“Be careful, Fred. Don’t let him get a punch in.”

“He’ll be expecting you, not me, sir.”

“A good point. Be careful.”

Stone hung up and called Dino.

“And what service may the NYPD render to you this fine day?” Dino asked.

“I believe you employ people who are schooled in the art of removing dangerous characters from the street and housing them elsewhere.”

“We’ve been known to do that.”

“Well, there’s one around my house somewhere: to wit, one Donald Trask, six-four, two-twenty, good shape, mean.”

“Has he threatened you?”

“He has formed the opinion that I am representing his wife in a divorce action against him.”

“Are you?”

“I am not. Herbie Fisher is, but I have not learned enough of the man’s language to convince him of that. He invited me into the ring at the New York Athletic Club to settle the matter of his divorce.”

Dino laughed heartily. “I’d pay for a ringside seat to that! Are you taking him up on it?”

“Are you insane?”

“Well, I don’t think an invitation to a boxing match at a gentlemen’s club constitutes a threat of actual violence, so I can’t yank him off the street. You’re lawyer enough to know that. Call me from the ER after he’s found you, and I’ll see what we can do.”

“With friends like you, who needs assassins?”

“All right, all right, I’ll get a couple of guys to brace him and tell him he’d be happier in a bar somewhere, getting unconscious.”

“I think he may have already spent considerable time in that effort, and you should tell your guys to be careful with him, he’s dangerous. Tell them to keep their Tasers at the ready.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.” Dino hung up.

Fred left the house by the front door, pausing to select a golf umbrella with a thick, heavy briar handle from the stand in the hallway. As he descended the front stairs he unbuttoned his jacket and transferred the umbrella to his left hand, leaving his right free for other action. He walked down the street to the corner of Second Avenue, stopped, and looked around. On the corner opposite him, looking thoughtful, was a man answering the description Stone had provided. Fred crossed the street.

The man looked up, saw Fred coming, and clearly dismissed him as a threat.

“Mr. Trask?” Fred asked. “Mr. Donald Trask?”

Trask looked down at him and shifted his weight, as if to be ready. “Yeah, what?”

Fred took hold of the golf umbrella with both hands and swung it at the load-bearing knee.

Trask made a loud noise and collapsed in a heap.

“Have a nice day,” Fred said, “but do it in another neighborhood.” He walked away, back toward the house.

Stone’s direct line rang. “Stone Barrington.”

“It’s Dino. My guys located your guy on the corner of Second Avenue, lying in a heap, clutching a knee.”

“What happened to him?”

“He said he was attacked by a midget with an umbrella.”

Not far wrong, Stone thought, given the disparity between Fred’s size and Trask’s.

“They got him into a cab and sent him home,” Dino said. “Happy?”

“Happy,” Stone replied.

“Dinner?”

“Sorry, otherwise engaged.” They both hung up.