That morning Stone headed for the district attorney’s office in a cab, but they were stopped dead by a huge traffic jam going downtown. Stone called Bob Cantor’s cell number.
“Cantor.”
“Bob, it’s Stone. Have you got Herbie?”
“Yep, we’re sitting in the D.A.’s waiting room.”
“I’m stuck in a huge traffic jam. Just know that I’ll be there at the earliest possible moment.”
“Do the best you can.”
“And you hang on to Herbie.”
“Don’t worry about that.”
Stone sweated his way through the jam and arrived at the D.A.’s office twenty minutes late. Cantor and Herbie were not in the waiting room.
“They’re in with Dierdre Monahan,” the receptionist said. “You can go in.”
The idea of Herbie in Dierdre’s office without an attorney to keep him quiet horrified Stone, and he practically ran down the hallway toward Dierdre’s office.
Dierdre and Cantor seemed to be having a nice conversation without any participation by Herbie. “Good afternoon, Stone,” she said pointedly.
“I’m sorry, Dierdre,” he said, shaking her hand. “I’ve been stuck in a traffic jam for half an hour.”
“Of course you have,” she said, pointing at a chair.
“Didn’t you tell her, Bob?”
“Of course I did.”
“Dierdre, I hope you haven’t been talking to my client without his attorney present.”
“I haven’t said a word to him,” she said innocently.
“That’s right, she hasn’t,” Cantor confirmed.
“Now, Stone, what do you propose we do about this charge of first-degree murder?”
“Now, wait a minute…” Herbie began to say.
“Shut up, Herbie,” Stone said, “and don’t open your mouth again until I tell you to.” He turned to the A.D.A. “Now, Dierdre, as I explained on the phone, these two goons have been after Herbie for a couple of weeks, seeking payment of illegal gambling debts. They’ve beaten him on the street, kidnapped him and held him under the threat of death. Obviously, they found him at home in his own apartment, and Herbie had to defend himself. Anyone would have done the same in the circumstances. I want the charges dropped immediately and my client released.”
“I didn’t kill anybody,” Herbie said.
Stone rounded on him. “Herbie, don’t open your mouth…” Stone stared at him dumbly. “What did you say?”
“I said, ‘I didn’t kill anybody.’”
Stone was flabbergasted. He had been at the point of having the charges dismissed, and suddenly Herbie was off on some other tangent.
“I want to hear this,” Dierdre said. “Go on, Mr. Fisher.”
“Don’t say a word, Herbie,” Stone said.
“But I’m innocent.”
“Your client says he’s innocent, Stone,” Dierdre said. “I’d like to know why he feels that way.”
“I’d like to speak to my client alone for a few minutes,” Stone said.
Dierdre turned to Herbie. “Now, Mr. Fisher, your attorney has told you not to speak, but you have the right to ignore his advice, if you want to.”
“Great,” Herbie said. “I’m innocent. Gus killed Cheech.”
“You want to speak against the advice of your attorney?” she asked.
“Yes, I do.”
Stone was half out of his seat.
“Go right ahead. Stone, you sit down and shut up.”
“I was at my place, watching television and eating a pizza,” Herbie said. “I know, Stone, you told me not to watch TV, because they could see it outside, but there was a rerun of The Sopranos on, and I pulled the curtains and everything. Anyway, I heard somebody fooling with the lock on my door, so I hid in the closet in the living room. A second later, Cheech and Gus came through the front door and looked around.
“Then they got into an argument. Gus said they should have covered the back door, and it was Cheech’s fault that I ran. Of course, I didn’t run at all, I was in the closet, and I could see them through a crack in the door.
“They argued some more, and then Cheech slapped Gus, and I mean slapped him hard. Gus just stood there for a moment, while Cheech called him a lot of names, then he went down the hall toward the kitchen, and when he came back, he swung his fist at Cheech, only it turned out he had one of my kitchen knives in his fist, and blood spattered all over the wall, and Cheech and Gus started to wrestle around. They fell on the floor where I couldn’t see anything but their legs, and I heard this sound like somebody being punched, then I heard this gurgling sound and a lot of heavy breathing. Then Gus stood up, and I could still see Cheech’s legs stretched out.
“Gus stood there, looking down for a minute, and then he said, ‘Fuck you, Cheech,’ and he turned around and walked out of the apartment. When I heard the door close, I came out of the closet and looked at Cheech. I was going to call nine-one-one for an ambulance, but then I saw Cheech die. It was like he just deflated, and he was just this dead lump on the floor. I felt for a pulse, and I couldn’t find one, so then I picked up the pizza box and got the hell out of there by the back way.”
Stone stared at Herbie, speechless.
“Okay,” Dierdre said, “I’ll buy that. The charge of murder in the first degree is dropped. You’re free to go, Mr. Fisher, but I’ll need you to testify against Gus at his trial, if he doesn’t roll.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Herbie said, getting to his feet. “Uncle Bob, can you give me a ride home?”
“Sure, Herbie,” Cantor said. The two men left the room.
“Stone,” Dierdre said, “I’ve never seen you at a loss for words.”
“What just happened?” Stone asked.
“Well, your client told me what happened at his apartment, and I believed him, so I dropped the murder charge. I’ll send you a letter confirming that he’s not a target of our investigation.”
“Let me get this straight: you hate Herbie Fisher, because he kicked your little brother, the cop, in the balls, and yet you dropped the murder charge against him, because you liked his story?”
“That’s about it,” she said.
“I’m going nuts,” Stone said. “I’m dreaming.”
“Of course,” she added, “there was the fact that we found Gus Castiglione’s prints on the butcher knife, and when we arrested him early this morning, Cheech’s blood was on his shoes.”
Stone stared at her in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me that to begin with?”
“Because it was so much more fun watching your face while Herbie told his story,” she said. “Can I buy you lunch?”