8
A full bladder woke Stone early in the morning, and he had relieved himself and crawled back into bed before he realized he was alone. He raised his head from the pillow. “Carpenter?” he called. No answer.
Stone struggled from the bed and looked in the bathroom, then in his study. She was gone, but her bags were still there. He stumbled back to bed, but as he lay there, his unconscious began to reveal what it had come up with during the night. After a few minutes of communing with his psyche, Stone sat up in bed and looked at the clock. Ten past nine, and he had slept like—excuse the expression—a stone.
He picked up the phone and called Dino at his office.
“Bacchetti,” Dino snapped into the phone.
“It’s Stone.”
“Don’t say another word. Meet me at Clarke’s for lunch.” He hung up.
“What the hell?” Stone said aloud. He was wide awake now, and he got into a shower and shaved, dressed, and went down to his lower-level office. He could hear Joan Robertson’s computer keyboard clicking away as he came into his office from the rear door. The clicking stopped.
“I’m in,” Stone called out.
Joan appeared in the doorway. “Herbie Fisher has called three times in the past twenty minutes,” she said, placing a call slip on his desk.
Stone groaned. “Get him for me. And I’m having lunch with Dino, so don’t book me for anything before three.”
Joan left, the light on Stone’s phone went on, and she buzzed him.
Stone picked up the phone. “Shut up, Herbie,” he said, before the kid could say anything.
“What have you gotten me into?” Herbie yelled.
“I told you to shut up, and if you don’t do it right now, I’ll hang up, and you can handle your own legal difficulties.”
Herbie shut up.
“Now listen to me very carefully, because this is the last time you and I are going to speak, on the phone or in person. Do you understand?”
“Yeah,” Herbie replied, sounding contrite.
“I’m going to work on getting the charges against you reduced—”
“Reduced? I’ll still have to go to jail.”
“Shut up, Herbie.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m going to work on getting the charges against you reduced to something that will get you probation instead of time.”
“But I’ll still have a record,” Herbie protested.
“Shut up, Herbie.”
“Sorry.”
“You don’t have any prior arrests or convictions, and you’re gainfully employed, so we can probably get you unsupervised probation, so you won’t have to report in every week.”
“That would be nice.”
“It would be very fucking nice, seeing that the alternative is probably five to seven for the manslaughter charge.”
“When do I get paid?” Herbie asked.