Fresh Disasters (Stone Barrington 13)

“It’s perfectly relevant, as it’s part of the basis of our suit.”

“Maybe somebody insisted a little,” Dattila said, “without my personal knowledge.”

“Mr. Dattila, after repeated, unsuccessful attempts to collect the debt from Mr. Fisher, what steps did you take?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

“Did you order two of your employees, namely Cheech and Gus, who are sitting outside in the reception room, to kidnap and torture Mr. Fisher?”

“Me?” Dattila looked shocked.

“Answer the question, Mr. Dattila.”

“I wouldn’t never do nothing like that.”

“Did you enter the room where Cheech and Gus were torturing Mr. Fisher and order them to, quote, ‘kill him slow’?”

“I’m afraid you’ve got me mixed up with some other guy.” Dattila turned to Finger. “Can I go now?”

Finger turned to Stone. “I don’t think you’re getting anywhere here.”

“I’ll make the charge of perjury at an appropriate time,” Stone said. “No further questions, until I get him on the witness stand in court.”

“Then I think we’re done here,” Finger said. “I’ll call you, Carmine.” The two men shook hands, and Dattila left.

“My witness is ready,” Stone said. “Wait here, and I’ll get him.”

“Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary,” Finger said. “I’m not going to sit here and listen to a lot of lies.”

“You mean, like the lies we just heard from your client?”

“Good day, Stone. I’ll see you in court.”

“You certainly will.” Stone got up and walked through the reception area to the empty office where he had deposited his client.

Herbie was gone. He checked the men’s room: not there, either. He went back to the receptionist. “Excuse me, have you seen my client, the young man I put in the empty office?”

“Oh, he left about five minutes later,” the woman replied.

“What about the two large men who were waiting on the sofa over there?”

“They left right after your client did,” she replied, then went back to her People magazine.

Back on the street, Stone looked up and down the block. Herbie, Cheech and Gus were nowhere in sight. He was crossing Third Avenue, with the light, when the car struck him.

29

Like a film clip on a loop, the scene played over and over against the inside of Stone’s eyelids. He felt some sort of blow, then flew through the air, looking down at the top of a dark blue car. When he was about even with the rear bumper, the scene repeated. “Stop it, goddammit!” he yelled.

“Well, you’re awake,” a low woman’s voice said.

Stone opened his eyes and saw a ceiling of acoustic tiles and fluorescent light fixtures. He lifted his head, but a soft hand on his forehead pressed it back down.

“Just relax. Do you know where you are?”

He had caught a glimpse of a pretty girl in a green garment with a stethoscope around her neck. “Hospital, maybe? Just a wild guess.”

She laughed and pressed a button, raising the head of the bed. “Right the first time,” she said. “Do you remember anything?”