Barely Legal

41

Herbie was out like a light, and it wasn’t from the lovemaking. Yvette was good, but she wasn’t that good. Donnie’s stuff had done the trick.

“Herbie?” she said tentatively.

There was no response.

Herbie was out cold.

Yvette picked up the phone and called Donnie.

“Okay,” she said.

Donnie was in a quarrelsome mood. “Okay he’s out, or okay you gave it to him, or okay you’re going to give it to him? Give me a little more than that.”

“He’s out cold. Really cold. Are you sure it wasn’t too much?”

“It wasn’t too much,” Donnie said, and broke the connection.

Donnie hoped it wasn’t too much. He’d given Yvette three times the normal dose, just to be sure.

Donnie left a dollar on the counter, paid his check, and swiped the pad. He walked up Lexington Avenue, fished a pizza box out of the garbage can on the corner, and wrote up a takeout order for a large pepperoni pie. He filled in Herbie’s name and address, and a twenty-dollar charge for the pizza. It occurred to him there was no reason not to collect the twenty bucks.

There was a lilt in Donnie’s step not entirely attributable to caffeine as he made his way over to Park Avenue.

The doorman was out front under the awning.

Donnie sauntered up and said, “Pizza delivery.”

“Who’s it for?”

“Let me see.” Donnie referred to the receipt. “Fisher? Herb Fisher?”

The doorman nodded. “Penthouse.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll have to call up.”

Donnie nodded. “Of course, of course. Classy joint.”

Donnie followed him inside, where the doorman called Herbie’s apartment on the intercom.

Yvette answered. “Yes?”

“Got a pizza delivery for Mr. Fisher.”

“Send him up.”

The doorman put down the phone and pointed. “Go on up. Take the elevator to the penthouse.”

“Which apartment?” Donnie said.

“It’s the whole floor.”

Donnie knew that. He just asked so he could express his contempt for the überwealthy. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. He headed for the elevator, thinking he really should have been an actor.