11
Stone was at his desk the following morning when Herbie Fisher appeared at his office door, unannounced. The phone buzzed, and Stone picked it up. “Yes?”
“Mr. Herbert Fisher to see you,” Joan said drily.
“Thank you so much,” Stone said, and hung up. “What can I do for you, Herbie?” he asked.
Herbie came in and took a seat across the desk from Stone. “I know who’s trying to kill me,” he said.
Stone held up a hand, a stopping motion. “Herbie, think back a couple of years: someone was trying to kill you then, remember? Dattila the Hun?”
“Oh, yeah. I remember that.”
“We sued him, remember?”
“Yeah.”
“And what happened?”
“Uh, I shot him.”
“Right.”
“It was easier than suing him.”
“Easier for you,” Stone said, remembering what he had had to do to keep Herbie from being tried. “If you kill somebody else you think is trying to kill you, the DA is going to remember that little incident with Dattila. You understand?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Don’t guess, Herbie, know it. You can’t make a habit of that sort of thing and stay out of prison.”
“All right, I know it.”
“Now, who’s trying to kill you?”
“My bookie,” Herbie said.
“And what is his motive?”
“I stopped betting with him.”
“You got a new bookie?”
“No, I just stopped betting. I went into the bar he works out of, put a hundred and forty-eight grand on the bar-that squared me with him-and told him I wasn’t betting anymore.”
“What was his reaction?”
“He didn’t take it very well,” Herbie said.
“He didn’t take it very well how?”
“Well, first he shook my hand and slapped me on the back and offered me a credit line of a quarter million.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Stone said.
“When I told him I wasn’t betting anymore he backhanded me across the face and told me if I tried betting with anybody else he would kill me.”
“He assumed you would change bookies?”
“I guess.”
“I suppose that would upset him.”
“I explained it to him: I told him I just wasn’t going to bet anymore… with anybody. That really pissed him off, like I had violated his constitutional rights or something.”
“And you think he took it hard enough to want to kill you.”
“Well, if I’m not going to bet anymore, what does he have to lose?”
“Herbie,” Stone said, “that may be the first entirely logical thing you’ve ever said to me. You’ve just had a lucid interval.”
Herbie looked puzzled. “Huh?”
“You paid off your loan shark, too, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. I only owed him ninety grand.”
“How did he take it?”
“Not very well, either. Of course, he’s my bookie’s brother, so maybe it runs in the family. He told me I would have to go right on paying the vigorish, and I told him to go fuck himself.”
“Who are these people?”
“Joe and Moe Wildstein.”
“That sounds like two-thirds of the Three Stooges,” Stone said.
“Well, it’s not. They’re known around town as the Wild Boys.”
“Tell me, Herbie-not to digress-why did you decide to stop betting and borrowing with the Wildsteins?”
“The Wild Boys.”
“I stand corrected. Why?”
“I thought about it, and I think it’s because when you’re betting with money you don’t have, it doesn’t seem real.”
“Until they try to collect.”
“Well, yeah. But up until that moment, it’s like Monopoly money, you know? But if you’re laying a bet with money you actually have, it doesn’t seem like such a good idea. I mean, you could lose, you know?”
“I can guess,” Stone said. “Now let’s get back to your lawsuit against the, ah, Wild Boys. Is it both of them you want to sue?”
“They’re both trying to kill me,” Herbie replied.
“How do you know that?”
“You were in Elaine’s when they fired through the window.”
“Okay, Herbie, the bullets may have had your name on them-I buy that-but they didn’t have Moe and Joe’s names on them. The police would have noticed.”
“I just have a very strong feeling about it,” Herbie said.
“Herbie, being an attorney, as you sort of are, you do understand that your feeling, no matter how strong, is not admissible as evidence in a court of law.”
“Well, it ought to be,” Herbie said, “when I feel this strong about it.”
“Let’s go back a minute. Did you say that Moe-he’s the bookie, right?”
“Right.”
“Did he say he was going to kill you?”
“If I bet with anybody else,” Herbie said.
“Have you bet with anybody else?”
“I told you, I’m not betting anymore.”
“Then Moe has no motive for killing you.”
Herbie thought about this. “That’s important, isn’t it?”
“I think you’re getting the picture,” Stone said.
“Then I can’t sue him?”
“Not until you can prove that he has tried to kill you, and if you’re in a position to do that, it would be much faster to let the police take care of it.”
“Why?”
“Because, Herbie,” Stone said with all the patience he could muster, “lawsuits take months or years, but when the police have good evidence, they make an arrest immediately. That’s also cheaper than a lawsuit.”
“But he could get bailed out, couldn’t he?”
“Not if we can prove that he might try again to kill you.”
Herbie nodded gravely. “That makes a lot of sense, Stone.”
“Thank you, Herbie. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other work to do.”
Herbie stood. “Yeah, okay, I understand. But…”
“But what?” Stone asked and was immediately sorry that he had.
