Fresh Disasters Read Free Page A

obtained by taking this case. Just think of yourself on the courthouse steps, after a day in court grilling Mr. Dattila. Think of a jury coming in with punitive damages of tens of thousands of dollars. You’d be all over the evening news, and so would Woodman and Weld. In fact, I’d be happy to come down to the courthouse and sit at your table for a few days, then share your moment on the courthouse steps.”
    “Bill, what have you guys been smoking over there? Whatever it is, it’s illegal.”
    “Stone, let me put it to you bluntly. If you want to go on drawing the handsome monthly sum we pay you, and if you want to continue to have cases referred to you by our firm, then you’re going to have to get on board with this case. The partners expect this of you.”
    “Oh, Jesus,” Stone moaned. “Send me the case file, if there is one.”
    “I’ll do better than that; I’ll send you your client.”
    “You mean Herbie is at your office now?”
    “Well, he was, but he’s already on his way to you. He should be in your office shortly.”
    Stone glanced down the hallway and saw the front door open. “Oh, shit.”
    “I take it Mr. Fisher has arrived,” Eggers said. “Do right by him, Stone. Make Woodman and Weld look good.” He hung up.
    Stone put the phone down.
    “Stone,” Joan said, “what’s the matter?”
    “Eggers has sent us a case.”
    “Oh, good.”
    “No.” Stone nodded toward the hallway.
    Joan followed his gaze. “Herbie Fisher? Yuck!”
    “My sentiments exactly.”
    “What does he want?”
    “He wants us to sue Carmine Dattila.”
    “Dattila the Hun?”
    “One and the same.”
    “That’s the case Eggers sent us?”
    “That’s the case.”
    “This is a bad joke. Make him go away.”
    “It is certainly a bad joke, but if we want to keep me of counsel to Woodman and Weld, I’m going to have to do this. Go and get your pad; I’ll dictate a complaint.”
    Joan got up and left, squeezing past Herbie Fisher and managing not to touch him.
    “Hey, Joanie,” Herbie said.
    “Yuck,” Joan replied.
    “Hey, Stone.”
    “Herbie,” Stone said, “come in, sit down and shut up.”

4
    S tone 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