“Your involvement in this case is going to be limited to your testimony in court, and that had better be good. Now go home and get some rest, and go see Steinberg as soon as possible; I need his report for the complaint.”

“Oh, all right,” Herbie said dejectedly. “And what are you going to do?”

“Research. Now go away. Speaking of research, what’s your bookie’s name?”

“Carlo.”

“Carlo what?”

“Carlo the bookie.”

“And how much do you owe him?”

“Twenty-four thousand, as of yesterday. The vig is ten percent a week.”

“Good God! How did you ever get a bookie to let you owe twenty-four grand? Is this Carlo nuts?”

“They know I’m good for it,” Herbie said, miffed.

“I guess that’s why they didn’t break your legs, too. No, they would have broken your legs if Dino hadn’t shown up. You ought to write him a thank-you note; it’s the polite thing to do. Joan! Get Herbie out of here!”

Joan came in with a slip of paper and handed it to Herbie. “Steinberg / tomorrow at 10:30.”

Herbie stuffed the number into his pocket and shuffled out.

“I like the limp, Herbie,” Stone yelled after him. “Cultivate it for the jury!”

Herbie vanished down the street.

“How do you get yourself into these things?” Joan asked.

“Look, I was having a quiet dinner at Elaine’s with Eggers and Dino. Herbie turned up, and…Oh, the hell with it. I’m innocent! Now go pay some bills or something.”

“With what?”

“I know you keep a secret cache for emergencies.”

“It’s not an emergency yet.”

“Then don’t pay anybody until they send somebody around to break your legs.”

“Ho, ho, ho,” she said, closing the door behind her.

Stone called Dino.

“Lieutenant Bacchetti.”

“It’s me. I need a Mob expert; you got a guy over there?”

“Wait a minute. Is this for Herbie’s thing?”

“Yeah.”

“Why are you involved in that?”

“Eggers was hung over this morning, but not enough to forget to weasel out of doing it himself.”

“So he made you do it?”

“Can you think of any other reason why I’d be involved?”

“Joe Giraldi,” Dino said. “He’s one of my guys, and I lent him to the Mob task force. He could do a family tree. He hates those guys, and it makes him good at his work. Here’s his number.”

Stone wrote it down. “Then I bet he would enjoy testifying against them.”

“He might, at that. I hope you don’t think I’m going to testify.”

“You sure as hell are. You’re my only eyewitness; you saw everything.” He paused. “Didn’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“What do you mean, ‘maybe’?”

“What’s in it for me?”

“You’ll have Herbie Fisher’s undying gratitude.”

“I’d rather have his dying gratitude.”

“Me, too, but I haven’t figured out how to make that happen, yet.”