Stone Barrington 06-11

Herbert J. Fisher!” he yelled.
    “Oh, shit,” Stone said under his breath.
    “What’s the matter? This means we get out of here sooner, doesn’t it?” Herbie asked.
    “Herbie, try and get this through your head,” Stone said, dragging Herbie toward the gate in the rail that separated the lawyers from the courtroom. “You’re not getting out of here, except in a police van. Got it?”
    The judge watched Stone drag Herbie through the gate, and his gaze could have melted ice. He looked down at his papers. “Mr. Fisher, you’re charged with driving with a suspended license, DUI, and resisting arrest with violence. How do you plead?”
    “Well, Your Honor…” Herbie began.
    Stone leaned toward him. “Say guilty and nothing else.”
    “Guilty and nothing else,” Herbie called out to the judge.
    Stone winced.
    “Mr. Barrington, do you have any objection to sentence being imposed at this time?”
    “No, Judge,” Stone replied.
    “Ms. Monahan,” the judge said, “do you have a sentence recommendation?”
    Dierdre stood up. “Yes, Judge. The people recommend suspension of Mr. Fisher’s driver’s license for five years, twelve months’ imprisonment, and a ten-thousand-dollar fine.”
    “WHAT?” Herbie yelled.
    “Shut your mouth,” Stone said. Something had gone terribly wrong here.
    “That sounds good to me,” the judge said. “Mr. Fisher, you are sentenced to suspension of your driver’s license for five years, a ten-thousand-dollar fine, and twelve months’ imprisonment.”
    Herbie began to cry.
    The judge looked down at his desk and said, quietly enough so the full courtroom could not hear him, “Imprisonment suspended on condition of good behavior.”
    The four policemen sitting behind Dierdre were on their feet, protesting loudly, while Dierdre tried to calm them.
    “Pay the clerk,” the judge said, rapping his gavel. “Next case?”
    Stone took Herbie’s arm and dragged him out of the well of the courtroom, hoping to get him out before the Monahan brothers regrouped and came after Herbie.
    Lance moved out of a row of seats and met them at the rear of the courtroom. “Let’s step outside,” he said, and they went into the hallway.
    “You said you’d make it go away!” Herbie wailed.
    Stone grabbed him by a lapel and shook him. “It did go away. Didn’t you hear the judge?”
    “He said a year!”
    “He also said suspended.”

    Herbie wiped away a tear. “He did?”
    “He did,” Lance said. He took an envelope from an inside pocket and handed it to Stone. “Pay his fine, and let’s get him out of here. Go ahead, we’ll wait here.”
    Stone went back into the courtroom, found the clerk, and paid Herbie’s fine with the ten thousand dollars in cash in Lance’s envelope. He got a receipt, then rejoined Herbie and Lance in the hallway.
    Lance led them out of the courthouse, and they paused at the bottom of the steps.
    “Herbie,” Stone said, “do you know what ‘suspended’ means?”
    “It means I’m a free man, doesn’t it?”
    “No, it means you’re a free man until the second you fuck up again—until you get a ticket for jaywalking or for playing your car radio too loud—for anything at all. That happens, you’re doing a year at Rikers. You understand that?”
    “Yes,” Herbie said.
    “Herbie’s not going to fuck up again,” Lance said, staring at Herbie. “You remember your little sojourn in the Virgin Islands last year, Herbie?”
    “Yeah, sure,” Herbie said.
    “Did you like it there?”
    “Yeah, it was great. I had this great deal going where I took pictures at the hotels.”
    Lance took an envelope out of his coat pocket and handed it to Herbie. “I’m glad you liked it, Herbie, because you’re going back. Here’s your ticket.”

    “I am?”
    “Your flight leaves at six-twenty this evening. A man will pick you up at your home at four o’clock. You have until then to sell your car and pack.”
    “I have to sell my car?” Herbie wailed. “But I just bought it!” He pointed at a new Mustang parked at the curb ten yards from where they stood. There were three parking tickets on the windshield.
    “I’m afraid there’s no car ferry service to the Virgin Islands,” Lance said. “And since you can’t drive that or any other car for five years, you’ll have no need of it. By the way, there’s a voucher in the envelope for two weeks in a small hotel in Charlotte Amalie and transportation from the airport. There’s also two