and chunks of glass fell among the liquor bottles, breaking some of them.
The dozen people standing at the bar and the two bartenders froze, staring at Dino.
Finally, a bartender, a red-haired, freckle-faced Irishman who looked right off the boat, spoke up. “The last one o’ dose got broke cost eight hundred bucks, Dino,” he said sadly. “And that was six, seven years ago. They prob’ly went up.” He looked at the mess, shaking his head. “And dere’s the booze, too.”
Dino put a fifty-dollar bill on the bar. “That’s for our drinks, Danny,” he said calmly, “and the change is for your trouble. Send me a bill for the rest.”
The bartender nodded and began picking up glass. The customers went back to their drinking as if nothing had happened.
Outside, the rain had stopped, and the night had turned clear and frosty. Dino hailed a cab. “Stone,” he said, while the cab waited, “I owe you. I’m always gonna owe you. You call me any time you need something. Anytime.”
Stone nodded. They shook hands. Dino got into the cab and drove off into the night. Stone walked home thinking that both he and Dino had done all right out of Sasha Nijinsky’s trouble.
The only loser had been Hank Morgan.
Chapter 34
Stone sat in Frank Woodman’s large office and sipped strong coffee.
“Stone, I’m very pleased that you’re going to be… associated with us,” Woodman was saying. “I think that, with your help, we can take what has been a nongainful irritant and turn it into a profit center for the firm. That’s with you fully on board, of course, after our initial feeling-out period.”
“Frank, I should tell you that, for the long term, I’m really more interested in a general practice than solely criminal work, and I’d appreciate it if, after I’m admitted to the bar, you’d consider putting me on an occasional noncriminal case.”
“I understand your feelings, and I’ll keep that in mind.”
Warren Weld, the other name on the door, spoke up. “Are you interested in corporate work, Stone?”
“Not really, Warren. I think I’d prefer to represent individuals.”
“That puts you right back in Frank’s bailiwick, then.” Weld stood up. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’ve got a meeting. Welcome aboard, Stone.”
They shook hands, and Weld left, leaving only Frank Woodman and Bill Eggers in the room with Stone.
“Bill, you take Stone back to your office, will you? I’ve got a client coming in.” Woodman stood and shook Stone’s hand. “I think Bill already has a couple of things for you, Stone. He’ll brief you.”
They returned to Eggers’s office and sat down.
“Frank had a word with your banker yesterday – we keep our trust account at your branch, so we have a little pull there. You’re off the hook for the principal reduction they were demanding. You’ll still have to make the interest payment, though.”
“Thank you, Bill, that’s good news.”
Eggers handed him an envelope. “And here’s ten grand against your retainer.”
“You’re full of good news,” Stone said. “Thanks again.”
“Not at all.” Eggers looked at his watch. “There’s somebody I want you to meet, Stone. He’s due in here in ten minutes.”
“A client?”
“Son of a client. The father is Robert Keene, of Keene, Bailey amp; Miller advertising.”
“I don’t know them.”
“The three partners left Young amp; Rubicam fifteen years ago and set up on their own. Now they’re a medium-sized agency well known for good creative work. Warren Weld represents the agency, and I represent Bob personally. Bob Keene is as nice a guy as you’d want to meet.”
“And the boy?”
“That’s why I want you to meet him. I want your opinion. Bobby Junior is a senior at Brown, and there’s a daterape accusation against him by a girl student. She turned him in to the administration, and, when she wasn’t happy with the level of support she got, she added his name to a list of alleged date rapists on the ladies’ room wall in her dormitory. Bobby denies everything, and he seems credible. No criminal charges have been filed, yet, but if they are, and, if we feel he’s innocent, I want to go on the offensive – sue the girl for defamation, sue the university for allowing his name to remain painted on a bathroom wall, really blast them. And we’ll call in a top gun to defend him.
“On the other hand, if he’s really guilty, I’ll insist that he abjectly apologize to the girl and the administration, and try to avoid criminal proceedings and keep him in school. That would certainly be cheaper for his father, but Bob Senior is willing to do what it takes to defend the boy if he’s innocent.”
“What does the father think about the boy’s guilt or innocence?”
“Oddly, he doesn’t seem to have an opinion. I think that, what with the work it’s taken to build his business, he hasn’t spent a hell of a lot of time with the boy, and they’ve grown apart. We can’t solve that problem for them, but I hope we can give Bob Senior good advice on how to proceed.”
“I’ll be glad to meet the boy.”
“As a cop, you must have gained some insight over the years as to whether an accused man is guilty or not – I don’t mean reading the evidence, I mean reading the man.”
“I think I have. It doesn’t always work, of course. I’ve been fooled before; so has every cop.”
“I want you to question the boy, pull out all the stops, see if you can shake his story.”
“You want him cross-examined, as if I were representing the girl?”
“I want him questioned, as if he were a suspect.”
The phone on Eggers’s desk rang. “Yes? Send him in.” He hung up and turned to Stone. “Ready?”
“You be the good cop,” Stone said.
“Right.”
Bobby Keene was a large young man, whose neck was wider than the top of his head. Stone thought there had been a handsome face in that head once, before the boy had discovered weight training.
“Bobby, how are you?” Eggers said, sticking out a hand.
“I’m very well, Mr. Eggers,” Bobby said earnestly.
“Bobby, I want you to meet another lawyer who’s helping us out with your case. This is Stone Barrington; Stone’s had a lot of experience in this sort of thing, and I think he’ll be able to help us a lot.”
“Gosh, I hope so.” Bobby stuck out a ham-sized hand. “How do you do, Mr. Barrington?”
Stone kept a poker face, shook the hand limply, but did not return the greeting. “Sit down,” he said, and it was an order.
Bobby sat, looking worried.
“Tell me about it,” Stone said, sounding bored.
“Sir?”
Stone turned to Eggers. “Jesus Christ, Bill, is the kid stupid, or what?”
“Bobby,” Eggers said gently, “tell Mr. Barrington what happened on the evening you went out with” – he glanced at a pad on his desk – “Janie Byron.”
“Oh, of course, sir. I’m sorry, I didn’t know what Mr. Barrington meant.”
“Just tell me,” Stone said.
“Well, there isn’t much to tell. We went to a movie-”
“What kind of a movie?”
“An old one; a John Ford western.”
“Downtown, shopping mall, drive-in?”
“Oh, a drive-in, right outside town.”
“Then what happened?”
“Well, we got some popcorn, we ate it, we watched the movie, we made out a little.”
