Stone Cold Dead by James Ziskin (android e book reader txt) 📗

the Fulton reformatory instead. Dr. Arnold Dienst, principal of that facility, is present in the courtroom today and will assume responsibility for the boy.”

Damn Steve Herbert! Whose side was he on anyway?

“That’s correct, Your Honor,” piped up Dienst from the back of the room. “I will guarantee the boy’s detention until the fact-finding hearing.”

“Wait a minute,” I said, jumping from my seat. “If the floor is open to all, I’ve got a few things I’d like to add to the record.”

“Sit down, miss!” ordered the judge. “I’ll have order in this courtroom. Now, who are you, exactly?”

“Eleonora Stone, Your Honor. I’m the person whose car that little delinquent stole,” I said. “Twice.”

“Allegedly, Your Honor,” interjected good old Steve.

“All right,” said Albertone. “Procedure will be followed in my court. Now, I see no reason to set bail, as the defendant was already under an order of detention at Fulton at the time of these offenses. Do you have anything to add, Mr. Herbert?”

Joey Figlio tapped Steve Herbert on the shoulder and leaned in to whisper something in his ear. Steve stood and addressed the judge.

“My client would like to ask the court a question,” he said.

Judge Albertone frowned, but allowed it. Joey stood and dug his right hand into his trouser pocket to retrieve a wadded-up piece of paper.

“I want to show you that that lady, Ellie Stone, can’t charge me with nothing,” he said. “She wrote me love letters and asked me to take her car.”

“What?” That was me, on my feet again. “Your Honor!”

“It’s all right here, sir,” said Joey, taking a few steps forward and holding out the sheet of paper. The court clerk took it from him and handed it to the judge.

I looked to Steve Herbert for some assistance, but he was watching Judge Albertone, who was reading the paper Joey had produced.

“‘Dear Joey,’” read the judge. “‘Please come to my car and I will help you escape from Fulton. You can take my car and drive it to wherever you want.’”

At this point, I decided to sit down and keep my mouth shut. Joey’s letter was speaking eloquently enough for me.

“‘Also, thank you for the knife for my kitchen,’” continued the judge. “‘It’s a nice present ’cause I said I wanted one for spreading butter on my toast.’”

Judge Albertone peered over his reading glasses at Joey, who looked as inscrutable as ever. “Young man, are you telling me that that young lady over there—Miss Stone, is it?—wrote this letter to you?”

“Yeah,” said Joey. “She digs me.”

“Miss?” the judge asked, looking to me. “Please spell your full name.”

I stood and complied.

“Thank you,” he said then turned back to Joey. “The handwriting on this letter is an abominable scrawl, written in pencil, with many misspellings of simple words. Furthermore, if I am to believe you, Miss Stone has misspelled her own name.” He paused to let his words register. “What do you have to say about that?”

Joey sat silent for a moment, then opined that I was probably too emotional and girlish to get the spelling right.

“Her own name?” asked the judge, incredulous.

Joey shrugged. “Sure. Look at her. She came here today to beg my forgiveness for getting me pinched by the cops.”

Judge Albertone sighed and put down the paper. He shook his head in woe and pursed his lips.

“The defendant will be remanded to the Fulton Reform School for Boys until the date of the fact-finding hearing, which I will schedule for next week. I request that counsel make a recommendation so we can avoid an actual hearing. As for you, Mr. Figlio,” he said, staring down my nemesis, “you will not leave the school grounds, and you will keep your distance from Miss Stone. And, for God’s sake, stop stealing automobiles.”

“Yes, sir,” said Joey. “But please tell her to stop bothering me. My heart belongs to another.”

The judge cracked a smile and shook his head. “Miss Stone, the court hereby instructs you that Mr. Figlio’s heart belongs to another. Try to cope with it.” He pounded his gavel and declared the hearing adjourned.

Joey was escorted from the room, and Dr. Dienst followed him out. Orlando Figlio stayed put in his seat, still watching me in startled anger. Steve Herbert sidled up to me.

“I’ll bet you weren’t expecting to see me,” he said, smiling broadly, flashing his perfect white teeth.

“I certainly wasn’t expecting you to double-cross me,” I said. “That kid should be locked up in the county jail until they can ship him off to Attica.”

“Come on, Ellie,” he said, waving a hand at me. “You’re overreacting, don’t you think? And I was doing my job. The kid deserves a proper defense, doesn’t he?”

“He didn’t throw you out of your car onto the frozen road.”

“He’s not a bad kid, Ellie. Come on, let’s go somewhere quiet for a couple of hours. I don’t have any appointments until after lunch.”

“Start holding your breath, Steve,” I said.

“Don’t you mean, ‘Don’t hold your breath’?”

“No, Steve. I was suggesting you asphyxiate yourself,” I said and turned on my heel.

As I approached the door, Orlando Figlio stood and blocked my exit. I took a step back and scanned the room for the bailiff. He’d already decamped. Why had I been so rude to Steve Herbert?

“Is there a problem, sir?” came a voice behind me. Stan Pulaski. “Is he bothering you, Ellie?”

“No problem, Officer,” said the man. Then to me, “I don’t mean no harm, miss. I’m that no-good boy’s father, and I just want to apologize for the trouble he’s given you.”

“It’s all right, Stan,” I said, dismissing my champion, who seemed unsure about leaving me. He stepped away but watched intently as Joey’s father and I sat down on the bench to talk.

“He’s just no good,” said Mr. Figlio, shaking his head. “I’ve tried to reason with him, tried beating some good behavior into him, but nothing works. He’s just a stubborn little so and so.”

“Can you tell me about his girlfriend?” I asked. “Darleen Hicks.”

“He never brought her