Barely Legal

22

Herbie got to court to find that reinforcements had arrived. Unfortunately, they were not in the form of James Glick, but rather his client’s father, who seemed more likely to horsewhip the boy than offer any source of comfort. The councilman managed to tear himself away from haranguing his son long enough to demand why Herbie had rejected the plea bargain he had worked so hard to set up, whereupon his son jumped in saying he was the one who had rejected it, and the whole merry-go-round began again.

Having observed Herbie’s entrance into the building, Mookie went outside and called Taperelli. “The lawyer’s here.”

“Which one?”

“Fisher.”

“What about Glick?”

“He’s not here.”

“Shit.”

“His name’s Herb.”

“What?”

“The lawyer. His name’s Herb Fisher.”

“Right.”

Taperelli already knew that. He’d called the firm first thing in the morning and asked for an attorney named Fisher. The switchboard girl said, “We have a Herb Fisher, but he’s not in yet.” Taperelli had hung up, hoping that meant the man was coming into the office and not going to court. No such luck.

“You want me to talk to him?”

“Fisher?”

“Yeah.”

“Not in court. When they break for lunch.”

“Should I lean on him?”

“Depends what he does in court. If he keeps stalling, give him a talking-to. If he takes a dive, let him go. If you’re not sure, call me.”

“Gotcha.”

“Whatever you do, call me.”

“What if they decide to take a plea?”

“Shoot him in the fucking head.”