Lucid Intervals (Stone Barrington 18)

“You know what kind of assault?” Stone asked.

“I talked to the officer when he brought Fisher in. I believe it was repeated jabs to the chest with a forefinger.”

“Trot him out, will you, Mac?”

“Two minutes,” the cop replied. “Number two’s available.” Stone went to interview room number two, sat down and waited. A moment later, Herbie, in restraints, was escorted into the part of the room on the other side of the thick plate-glass partition. One of his hands was uncuffed so that he could use the telephone. He picked it up.

“Stone,” he said, “a cop tried to beat me up.”

“Save it, Herbie,” Stone replied. “I’ve heard all about it, and the incident could get you up to a year at Riker’s but probably more like thirty days.”

“What?”

“I said, ‘Save it,’ Herbie. Now if you’ll behave yourself for half an hour I’ll try to get you out of here.” Stone pressed a button, and the escorting officer returned. “We’re done,” he said to the man. Herbie was escorted back to the tank, still protesting.

Stone left the interview room and walked upstairs to the detective squad room. Dino was sitting in his glass-enclosed office at the far end of the room, and he waved Stone in and pointed at a chair. He finished his conversation and hung up. “So,” he said, what brings you out of your cozy East Side town house and into this temple of justice?”

“Herbie,” Stone replied.

Dino rolled his eyes. “What now?”

“He had an argument with a cop during a traffic stop, and the guy ran him in for disorderly conduct; he’s in the tank. I’ll buy the next two dinners at Elaine’s if you’ll get him released and make the report go away.”

“Are you attempting to bribe an officer of the law?” Dino asked sternly.

“Yes,” Stone replied.

“The next five dinners,” Dino said.

“Four, and that’s my best offer. Herbie can rot.”

“Done.” Dino made the call. “You can meet him downstairs. See you tonight?”

“Yeah, and thanks.”

“I’m ordering the good wines,” Dino said.

“Don’t press your luck, pal,” Stone replied and went back downstairs.

HERBIE WAS LED from the cells and into the public area, rubbing his wrists. “I want to sue them,” he said.

Stone took him by the arm and marched him into the street. “Sue who?” he asked.

“All of them, the whole precinct.”

“For what?”

“Disrespect,” Herbie said.

“That’s not grounds for a lawsuit, Herbie, especially since you’ve been a guest here before. They tend to remember those things.”

The Maybach glided to a halt next to where they were standing, and the chauffeur got out and opened the rear door.

“I think I found the right penthouse,” Herbie said. “It’s on Park Avenue, up in the nineties.”

Stone thought that was probably far enough from his house. “Sounds great, Herbie.”

“You want to come and take a look?”