Fresh Disasters

27

Stone drove back to the city early the following morning, trying to remember every detail of what he and Celia had done to each other for much of the night, right into the dawn. Occasionally, he had to slap himself to stay awake through the drive. Once, he stopped for coffee.

Back at home, he pulled the car into the garage, let himself into the house and went to his office. Joan heard him and came down the hall.

“I hope the lovely Celia is safe and sound.”

“She is, indeed, but I would be neither safe nor sound if I had spent another night there.”

“You do look a little peaked,” she said. “Nothing much to do today. Sam Teich says he’ll have an accounting to you by close of business, which probably means tomorrow morning, and he needs five days to liquidate assets and produce a check, unless you want to just divide some of the assets, like the stocks. He says to give him a call tomorrow and let him know how you want to handle it.”

Stone shook his head, “Frankly, I can’t believe how cooperative Bernie is being.”

“I bet it’s not Bernie, but Sam, who is doing the cooperating. I bet Bernie is screaming bloody murder.”

“You’re probably right. I assume Bob Cantor came and took his nephew away.”

Joan looked at the floor. “Well, there was a teensy problem with that.”

Stone’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by a ‘teensy’?”

“Well, Bob is actually in Atlanta for a couple of days, and he doesn’t want Herbie in his house while he’s gone, for fear that Herbie will hock everything and bet on the ponies.”

“So, where is Herbie?”

“In the third-floor guest room.”

“My third-floor guest room?”

“He’s so sweet; I couldn’t just throw him into the street and let Dattila’s thugs get him again.”

“You’re fired.”

“Okay, but who’s going to do everything for you?”

“All right, you’re hired back, but how could you leave that little creep alone in my house? He’s probably hocked everything I own.”

“No, he hasn’t; I locked him in when I left last night, so he couldn’t get any of your stuff out of the house. Anyway, he seems to sleep most of the time.”

“Did you drug him?”

“I would have, but he didn’t seem to need it. He’s probably exhausted after his ordeal in the attic.”

“Did he have any cuts on his body?”

“Not on the parts of his body I saw, but I didn’t do a full inspection.”

“He’s lying, the little bastard! He said he jumped clean through a glass window and fell from an attic, and yet he doesn’t have a mark on him!”

A voice came from the doorway. “I’ve got a nick right here, on my elbow, that I used to break the window.” Herbie was standing there in one of Stone’s Sea Island cotton nightshirts.

“Take off the nightshirt,” Stone commanded.

“Huh? Right in front of the lady?”

“She’s not that much of a lady, so take it off.”

Herbie lifted the nightshirt over his head. There was some bruising around his ribs.

“Turn around,” Stone said.

“Please,” Joan echoed.

There were bruises on his back, too.

“All right, so you got pounded a little; how come no cuts from the glass and the fall?”

“Well, the window was actually open, and it was only a short fall to the canvas.”

“Canvas?”

“They had a big piece of canvas draped over some stuff, and it broke my fall. I sprained my ankle, though, when I went over the fence and landed on the sidewalk.”

“How did you get here?”

“I sprinted down the block, ignoring the intense pain from my ankle, went into a subway station, jumped the turnstile and here I am! Can I put the nightshirt on again?”

“No. Go get your clothes on and give the nightshirt to Helene, in the kitchen. You’re leaving here immediately.”

“But where am I going to go?” Herbie wailed.

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t care where you go?”

Herbie turned to leave the room.

“Wait a minute,” Stone said.

“Huh?”

“Put on the nightshirt to save Joan’s modesty. Joan, get me Bernie Finger.”

Joan picked up the phone on Stone’s desk and dialed. “He’s on the line,” she said.

Stone picked up the phone. “Bernie? Let’s do the depositions today. Three o’clock at your place?”

“I thought your client was unavailable,” Finger said.

“He’s just become available,” Stone replied. “Didn’t your client tell you that Herbie made good his escape from the attic where Carmine had him imprisoned and beaten?”

“Of course he didn’t tell me any such thing.”

“All right, three o’clock at your office. Tell Sam I’ll pick up the accounting while I’m there.”

“I’m under strict instructions from my attorney not to discuss that with you.”

“Just give him the message.” Stone hung up and pointed at Herbie. “Does he have any clothes at all?” he asked Joan.

“Helene should have them washed and ironed by now.”

“Herbie, get dressed; we have a three-o’clock appointment.”

Herbie looked at the clock on Stone’s desk. “Can I watch the soaps until then?”

“Please, but do it in the kitchen. And give Helene that nightshirt and tell her to disinfect it.”

“Sure, Stone,” Herbie said happily, as he padded off to the kitchen.

“Is he driving Helene crazy?” Stone asked Joan.

“No, she thinks he’s sweet, too.”

“You’re both crazy or hormonal or something.”

“Careful, you’re treading a thin line, on one side of which is the kind of sexism that could result in a lawsuit.” She went back to her office.

Stone’s phone rang, and Dino’s cell number came up on the caller ID screen. Stone answered. “Morning, Dino.”

“Good morning. What was that thing the other night about bad cops?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Two bozos with badges were tailing Celia until I rousted them. I didn’t get any names or badge numbers.”

“Next time I.D. them, and I’ll put the fear of God into them.”

“Thanks, I’ll remember that.”

“So, is Celia safe from her ex-boyfriend?”

“For the moment. I stashed her in the Connecticut house.”

“That should do it. Those downtown artsy-fartsy types can’t breathe in Connecticut; the air isn’t dirty enough.”

“I hope you’re right; I don’t want to have to move her to Maine.”

“Dinner tonight?”

“See you then.” Stone hung up and began making a list of questions for Carmine Dattila.