“Hey, Stone.”
“Herbie,” Stone said, “come in, sit down and shut up.”
4
Stone gazed across his desk at Herbert Q. Fisher, Esquire. “You incredible fuckup,” he said, as pleasantly as he could manage. Herbie had a plastic cup taped across his nose, and two big black eyes. “You look like a demented raccoon.”
“Stone,” Herbie said, reprovingly, “I don’t think Bill Eggers and the partners at Woodman and Weld would like you to speak to a client that way.”
Stone resisted the urge to throw himself across the desk and strangle Herbie. “Joan!” he yelled. “Come in here and bring the Polaroid camera!”
“Are we going to write a complaint?” Herbie asked.
“Stop pretending you’re a lawyer,” Stone replied.
Joan came into Stone’s office. “We haven’t had any film for the Polaroid camera for two years,” she said, “but I brought my phone.” She held up a cell phone.
“I don’t want to make a call,” Stone said. “I want to take pictures of Herbie’s injuries.”
“There’s a camera in my phone, Stone; there’s one in yours, too.”
“There is?”
Joan swiveled Herbie around in his chair and turned Stone’s desk lamp on his face. “Don’t smile,” she said, holding up the cell phone.
Herbie smiled. “Cheese,” he said, revealing a missing tooth.
Joan snapped several pictures, front and profile.
“Do you have any bruises on your body?” Stone asked.
“Oh, sure,” Herbie said.
“Take off your shirt and stand against the wall.”
Herbie slipped out of his jacket and shirt and stood up. He had half a dozen big bruises around his ribs and belly.
“Did they kick you in the balls?” Stone asked.
“Uh-uh,” Joan said quickly. “That’s where I draw the line.”
“Never mind,” Stone said. “Herbie, have you seen a doctor?”
“The girls made me go to the emergency room at Lenox Hill Hospital.”
“Do you have a receipt for your bill?”
Herbie groped his jacket, then held up a credit card slip. “Here it is!” he said triumphantly.
Stone looked at it. “You have a working credit card?”
“Well, of course. Oh, I have to see a plastic surgeon to get my nose fixed.”
“Joan, who’s a good nose guy?”
“How should I know?” she asked indignantly.
“Who did your sister?”