Fresh Disasters

32

Daltry turned to face him, stepping away from the window. “Oh, I see you’re using a cane these days,” he said, still smiling. “When I finish with you, you’ll be in a wheelchair.”

Stone glanced to his right, through the restaurant window and into the bar. A man was standing there, staring at them, a camera in his hands.

Stone flashed his badge. “You’re under arrest for making terroristic threats,” he said. “Don’t move.” He flipped open his cell phone and punched the speed-dial number for Dino.

“Bacchetti.”

“I’ve just arrested Devlin Daltry for making terroristic threats. Come out here and take him off my hands, will you?”

“Sure thing.”

Stone snapped the cell phone shut. “You thought I would hit you and your buddy in there would get a picture, right?”

Daltry looked around him.

“If you run, you’ll add fleeing arrest to the charges.”

Dino came out the door, and, simultaneously, a squad car screeched to a halt in front of the restaurant, its lights flashing, and two cops got out of the car.

“Careful,” Stone said, “there’s a guy in the bar with a camera.”

“Lieutenant,” one of the cops said. “What do you need?”

“Make sure that guy doesn’t go anywhere for a minute,” Dino said. He turned and walked back into the restaurant and Stone could see him at the bar, flashing his badge at the photographer. Then Dino took the camera from him and came back outside. “Okay,” he said to Daltry, “you’re under arrest for…” He looked at Stone questioningly.

“Making terroristic threats,” Stone said. “He said when he got through with me, I’d be in a wheelchair.”

“For making terroristic threats,” Dino said to Daltry. “Cuff him,” he said to the car, “and take him back to the station house and book him.”

“You haven’t got any witnesses,” Daltry said.

“I have the testimony of a retired police hero,” Dino replied. He turned to the cops. “You got a complaint form in the car?” The cop went to the squad car and returned with a sheet of paper. “Make sure this guy doesn’t stub his toe. Come on, Stone.” He turned and led the way back into the restaurant. Once inside he tossed the camera to the photographer. “Let’s see some I.D.,” he said.

The man produced a wallet.

“Who do you work for?”

“I’m freelance, but this job is for The Sheet,” he said, naming a gossip rag.

“I ought to arrest you for entrapment,” Dino said.

“Hey, wait a minute, I haven’t entrapped anybody. Daltry just asked me to stand inside and take pictures; I didn’t know what was going to happen.”

“If you’ll testify to that, I’ll let you go,” Dino said.

“Sure, I’ll testify.” He handed Dino a card.

“Beat it,” Dino said. “I’ll be in touch.”

The man beat it, and Dino and Stone returned to their table and Eliza Larkin. “Retired police hero?” Stone asked Dino.

“Well, I stretched that a little bit.”

“What was that all about?” Eliza asked.

“That was about the man who drove the car that hit me trying to lure me into taking a swing at him, so he could have me photographed doing it. It didn’t work.”

“Are all your evenings like this?” Eliza asked.

“No, thank God. Usually I have a drink, eat some dinner and go home. We arranged this evening’s entertainment just for you.”

Dino handed Stone the complaint form. “I expect you remember how to fill out this thing.”

Stone whipped out a pen and began writing. “Doing your work for you,” he said, writing rapidly, then signing the document. He handed it back to Dino.

“I’ll drop by the precinct on the way home and file this,” he said, folding it and tucking it into a pocket.

“I’ll have to arrange some ER entertainment for you fellows some evening soon,” Eliza said.

“You don’t want to do that,” Dino said. “Stone can’t stand the sight of blood.”

“I can so, as long as it’s not mine,” Stone retorted, “but I’d just as soon not watch people suffer, unless you can get Devlin Daltry admitted for grievous wounds. That I’d like to watch.”

“Devlin Daltry, the sculptor?” she asked.

“One and the same.”

“He was the one you just had arrested?”

“For making terroristic threats,” Dino said. “He threatened to put Stone in a wheelchair.”

“I know a woman who went out with him a couple of times,” Eliza said.

“With what result?”

“She broke it off, and he stalked her for weeks. Her name is Genevieve James; she works at the hospital.”

“How long ago was this?” Stone asked.

“Late last year, between Thanksgiving and Christmas. She had to leave town for the holidays in order to have any peace.”

“I’d like to talk to her,” Dino said. “Do you think she’d testify to all this in court?”

“I doubt it,” Eliza said. “She was pretty shaken up by the whole business. But I’ll ask her.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Stone said. “I’m representing another woman who’s had major problems with Daltry. She fears for her life, and I had to get her out of town.”

“Well, I hope you can put the creep away,” Eliza said, returning to her drink.

Stone returned to his second bourbon.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“A whole lot better,” Stone said, raising his glass. “Ah, the wonders of medical science.”

“So you’re a lawyer?” she asked.

“That’s debatable,” Dino said. “‘Disreputable lawyer’ would be more like it.”

“That’s a dirty Communist lie,” Stone said. “I mean, you’ve got to have a disreputable client or two to make a living. After all, they’re the ones who need lawyers.”

“Are you telling me you can’t make a living representing reputable people?” Eliza asked.

“Well, reputable people occasionally sue or get sued, or get divorced, but that’s not likely to lead to a protracted trial, the kind that runs up billable hours.”

“When was the last time you had a protracted trial?” Dino asked.

“That’s beside the point,” Stone replied. “I’m simply replying to your baseless charge of disrepute by using an illustration.”

“It says Woodman and Weld on your card,” Eliza pointed out. “That’s a very reputable firm.”

“Yeah,” Dino said, “and they stay that way by handing off the disreputable clients to Stone.”

“It’s a mutually convenient solution to both our problems,” Stone said. “For instance, at the insistence of Woodman and Weld, I’m currently suing a big-time mafioso on behalf of a client they would never represent.”

“Which big-time mafioso?” she asked.

“One Carmine Dattila.”

“Dattila the Hun?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“You clearly need to be reading a better newspaper,” Stone said. “Try the Times.”

“Oh, I read the Times,” she said, “but not for fun. I like the Post and the News for that.”

“You sound like my secretary,” Stone said.

Later, when they had finished dinner, they left the restaurant.

“Can I offer you a nightcap at my house?” Stone said.

“No, you can put me in a cab and send me home.”

“Where do you live?”

“Not far, but you’re in no condition to walk.”

“I didn’t have all that much to drink.”

She pointed at the cane.

“Oh, that. The pain has temporarily subsided.”

“Not enough for you to walk me home. I’ll accept the drink offer when I’m not looking at an early shift on the morrow.”

Stone stepped into the street and flagged down a cab, then opened the door for her.

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for dinner. I liked Elaine’s.”

“Another time soon?”

“I’m around this weekend.”

“Alas, I’m out of town. Early next week?”

“Call me.” She got into the cab, and it drove away.

Stone sighed and started looking for his own cab.