Private Detective: BENNINGTON P.I.: A thrilling four-novel political murder mystery private detective series...

by D. W. Ulsterman

  As Ivanka’s words trailed off, her brother smiled, the room’s light dancing off his night-dark eyes.

  9.

  There was an unmistakable change in the atmosphere of the office when Congressman Latner arrived. Even Christina’s voice took on a slightly more attentive tone. Jolene scrambled to clean off her desk as Tracy made certain his tie was knotted correctly and the shine on his shoes remained a mirror like finish.

  “Hello, Christina! Another fine day working the machine of democracy I presume?”

  Christina smiled warmly back at the congressman.

  “Everything is going wonderfully well, Congressman. I’m surprised to be seeing you today. Is everything ok?”

  Congressman Latner didn’t look back at Christina as he walked past her desk.

  “Everything’s fine, I just needed to speak with Frank. I won’t be here long.”

  Christina Taylor paused in her chair as she listened to the congressman’s footsteps making their way toward the end of the hall and Frank Bennington’s office. She noted he didn’t bother to say hello to either Jolene or Tracy, which annoyed Christina. She long wished the congressman was more attentive to those who worked so hard to keep his office running smoothly.

  Inside of Bennington’s office the congressman saw both Frank and the new hire sitting at Bennington’s desk. Colin rose quickly from his chair and walked quickly toward Congressman Latner with his right hand extended out in front of him.

  “Very nice to meet you in person, Congressman. I’m a very big supporter of your work.”

  The congressman glanced at Frank and then back to Colin as he allowed his hand to be shaken enthusiastically by the younger man.

  “Uh, thank you. What’s your name again?”

  “Colin O’Shea, sir. I just started here today, and it’s a real honor to be working for you.”

  Congressman Latner’s thin smile expressed more annoyance than greeting, causing Colin’s hand to fall away from the congressman’s and return to his side.

  “And why are you sitting here in Frank’s office? Shouldn’t you be doing whatever it is Mr. Bennington hired you to be doing?”

  Bennington rose from his chair behind his desk.

  “He’s here because I asked him to be, Congressman. I wanted him to meet you. This is Colin O’Shea and he is the one who improved turnout at the campus by almost twenty percent the last election, which ended up being a hell of a lot of votes for you.”

  Congressman Latner’s somewhat odd, thin smile remained on his face as he gave Colin a half nod of his perfectly manicured head. Colin was surprised by how young the congressman looked in person, given the man was almost sixty years old.

  “That’s right, I understand you did quite a job for us on campus, Mr. O’Shea. Thank you. And uh, I hope you enjoy your first day with us.”

  The congressman then returned his focus onto Frank Bennington.

  “Frank, I need to see you in my office please - right now.”

  Bennington cocked his head to the side as he looked back at Congressman Latner.

  “You can just take a seat in here if you want congressman. No sense making me move.”

  The congressman ignored Frank’s attempt at humor, instead turning toward the door on his way out to the hallway.

  “Right now, Frank, hurry up.”

  As the door closed behind Congressman Latner, Bennington put his head back and inhaled deeply.

  “You know why so many people say politicians are assholes, Colin?”

  Colin shook his head.

  “Why?”

  Frank Bennington pointed a finger toward the door the congressman just exited from.

  “Because they are.”

  A few minutes later and Frank found himself in the congressman’s office. It was a stark contrast to the more chaotic clutter of Bennington’s own office. Most of the furnishings and assorted artwork had been chosen and placed in the space by Congressman Latner’s wife. A large, cherry wood desk sat in the far left corner facing the entrance, behind which a high backed leather chair resided. The chair had apparently been used by Eunice Latner’s great grandfather, a former Ohio state senator.

  The congressman rarely sat behind his desk though during his normal once a week visit to his congressional office, and today was no exception. Instead, he sat on one end of a long Tiffany leather sofa that had been imported from England. Directly in front of the sofa was a low, wide, steel framed coffee table with a stained glass top. It was custom made by a D.C. artisan who had been recommended to Congressman Latner by a New York senator. Like Bennington, the congressman’s office had an open view of the green grassed park area below.

  “Sit down, Frank. We need to talk about this Florida governor situation.”

  Frank eased himself onto the other end of the couch, trying to find a comfortable position to look over at the congressman.

  “Right off I need to say this Congressman – you shouldn’t be taking meetings like that without me. You know what they’re doing with that meeting, right? Why that fella is up here in D.C.?”

  Congressman Latner crossed his right leg over his left and rested his hands on top of his right knee.

  “I assumed they want to see if I look as good in person as I do on TV, and most importantly, if I am open to the prospect of being number two on a presidential ticket.”

  Frank Bennington snorted.

  “Yeah, that’s just part of it, Congressman. Are you aware that this guy is asking about you, and whoever else they are thinking of? He was up here to talk to other people about you just as much as anything. We’re talking about a national campaign congressman. They are looking for dirt on you, seeing if you’re clean enough to even consider as a potential running mate. That’s what that guy from Florida is doing up here. And you and I both know he won’t have to look too hard before turning up some dirt.”

  Congressman Latner’s face became slightly flushed, his eyes narrowing as he leaned toward Bennington.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Frank?”

  “What it means Congressman is that, look…I’m nobody to judge, but then again, I’m not running for office, and I’m not a married man.”

  Congressman Latner’s voice hinted at his just below the surface rage.

  “Get to your point.”

  “My point congressman is that there ain’t a campaign in the world, let alone a presidential campaign, that wants anything to do with a sixty-year old man sticking it to a nineteen year old Russian prostitute. You have to quit the whores, Congressman. As in right now - no more.”

  The congressman stood up quickly from the couch and walked toward the office window, keeping his back to Bennington.

  “Unlike you, Frank, I don’t drink, or do drugs. My marriage…you know what it is. What it’s always been. As long as I keep my other interests here in D.C., Eunice could give a shit. We’re more business partners than husband and wife.”

  Even though the congressman couldn’t see him, Bennington shook his head.

  “It doesn’t matter, Congressman. What if that girl took some money to talk? Imagine her sitting down with the media and telling the world what you like to do in bed? The same girl who is young enough to be your granddaughter. It would be a disaster and you know it.”

  Congressman Latner turned around, jabbing his right pointer finger at Bennington.

  “I pay for discretion, Frank. I’m not like you. I don’t try and stick it in any scrub skank that’ll have me. Where she comes from, she knows she can’t talk. That’s not a concern. So without her talking, it’s just rumors, speculation. And if rumors and speculation about a congressman messing around is enough to disqualify him to be Vice President, that leaves out just about everyone in D.C. This Governor Mendez needs Ohio. He needs a strong showing in the Midwest. I can give him that, and they know it.

  Besides, I didn’t call you in here to talk about me.”

  Frank folded his arms across his chest and leaned back into the sofa.
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  “Then why’d you call me in here?”

  “I called you in here because YOU are the liability in a national campaign. You’re the alcoholic, Frank. You’re the drug addict. If I get tapped to join the Mendez campaign, if I have a shot at getting into the White House, I can’t have you like you are now. It won’t happen.”

  It was Frank Bennington’s turn to rise up from the couch in anger.

  “To hell with you Joe! You owe me. You owe me big-time. If you think I’m gonna step aside and not be a part of this...”

  The congressman stepped toward Bennington, glaring down at him.

  “Frank, it’s real simple. You either get your shit together, or you’re fired. That’s it. This is non-negotiable. Mendez could be my own ticket to the White House, and I intend to punch that ticket, Frank with or without you. So do whatever it is you got to do to drop the drink, the drugs, and the sluts you throw your money at.”

  Bennington could feel the sweat once again forming on his face as his eyes and nostrils flared open.

  “You pretentious prick! Don’t tell me how I have to live my life! Not after what I did for you! You don’t get to judge ME congressman! Don’t ever forget that! And between the two of us, I’m the only one who has worked inside the White House! Not you – me! So go to hell! You’re not even a damn senator! Take your holier than thou attitude and shove it up your ass!”

  Frank strode out of the congressman’s office, slamming the door behind him. Christina, Colin, Jolene, and Tracy all stood in the hallway staring, their mouths hanging open in shock.

  Inside of his office, Congressman Latner took a seat behind his desk and stared out the large window to the world outside – the world he wished to return to. Kat was out there somewhere. He yearned to see her again. To kiss her, taste her…dominate her. To convince her she would never know a man more powerful, more capable, than him.

  As he recalled his most recent encounters with Kat, the congressman found his right hand groping himself from underneath his desk, his lust once again pressing upward, demanding release. It took no more than a few minutes for him to provide that release to himself as he looked outside, the rhythmic motion of his hand quickly growing in intensity and urgency.

  And when the culmination of his efforts arrived, followed by a barely stifled cry of pleasure, the congressman’s mind quickly turned to his plans to see Kat once again.

  It has to be tonight. I have to see her tonight.

  10.

  Frank Bennington walked past the other four staff members of Congressman Latner’s office as they remained standing in the hallway. Upon reaching the reception room door he turned around and pointed back at Colin.

  “I’m taking my lunch and I want you to come with me, Mr. O’Shea, my treat. We have more to talk about regarding your job here. Come on – let’s go.”

  Colin hesitated, looking at Christina for guidance. She smiled back at him and then tipped her head in Bennington’s direction while whispering it was ok.

  Bennington was already moving on his way out of the office as Colin scrambled to catch up to him. Back in the main hall of the Capitol building he called out to Frank to wait up.

  “Can you slow down, Mr. Bennington? I don’t think we should be running in here.”

  Bennington stopped and whirled around to face Colin.

  “I’ve been running around in here since your momma was wiping your ass. Just shut your mouth and keep up.”

  Colin noted how flushed Frank Bennington’s face was, and how the hair at the back of his head was drenched in sweat.

  “I take it your meeting with the congressman didn’t go very well?”

  Bennington stopped and leaned against a wall, his right hand wiping off sweat accumulating on his forehead. He took several deep slow breaths, and then shook his head slowly.

  “Sorry I’m taking it out on you. That isn’t fair. It’s just…the congressman…he can be about the biggest asshole I’ve ever met, and I’ve met my fair share in this business. Just who the hell does he think he’s talking to?”

  Frank’s head lifted and then he shrugged, the red hue of his skin returning to a more normal color.

  “Ah, screw it. Let’s go get a bite to eat, have a few drinks, and talk. You and me, O’Shea.”

  Colin followed Bennington into an elevator that took them downward into one of the basement parking areas underneath the massive Capitol complex. Bennington walked up to a plain, black colored four dour sedan parked just forty feet from the elevator entrance.

  “Took me six long years to get this spot, and they’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands. See this empty space right here? It’s that prick congressman’s, but he doesn’t even own a car. He has a limo service pick him up and drop him off everywhere he goes, but he still keeps this spot just for the status value of it. Asshole.”

  The interior of Frank Bennington’s car was in an even more disordered state than his office. Piles of paper were strewn across the back seat, discarded boxes of fast food containers, several copies of the New York Times, and a pair of black bra and panties.

  Without looking for any vehicles behind him, Bennington put the car into reverse and backed out of his space, the sedan’s tires screeching as he pushed the transmission lever into the drive position, and mashed down onto the accelerator.

  “You ever been to the Off the Record, O’Shea?”

  Colin shook his head.

  “No.”

  Bennington grinned as he turned his car sharply to the left, following the signs pointing toward the garage exit.

  “There’s been more big time political deals struck inside that little bar than inside the Oval Office. And that’s no lie. It’s a living, breathing, institution of power brokering mixed with alcohol. Everyone who’s anyone in D.C. makes their way to the Off the Record eventually. It’s a law of nature around here, like gravity. And the best Rib Eye in the entire city. You’re gonna love it!”

  The black sedan plunged into daylight, the tires again squealing as Bennington turned right and into the congested traffic that dominated the streets of Capitol Hill during the work week. Colin’s hands gripped the sides of his seat as Bennington swerved his car from one lane into another, and then back again, repeating the process as he cursed the slower drivers.

  Colin looked to his right and saw the massive pillared structure of the Treasury Building pass by, as rows of people scurried up and down the multiple steps that led into and out of the building. Bennington noticed Colin’s attention and pointed a dismissive hand at the Treasury site.

  “Poor bastards who have to go in and out of that place every day of their miserable lives. Bureaucracy kills Colin, in more ways than one. Eats away at people as they sit at their desks pushing one pile of paper for the next, week after week, month after month, year after year. It’s no way for a human being to live a life.”

  Bennington suddenly veered left and pulled the car into an alley where a prominent no parking sign was posted at its entrance. Colin’s eyebrows rose as he watched Frank put the car into park and remove the keys from the ignition.

  “Ok, let’s go.”

  “The sign back there said no parking.”

  Bennington chuckled.

  “Yeah, I’ve always viewed that as more of a suggestion. This has been my space for years and nobody’s towed me yet.”

  The two men walked another half block before they came to the entrance of the beautiful, multiple white pillared Hay Adams hotel building that sat directly across the street from Lafayette Park where, beyond that, the upper portion of the White House could be viewed. Bennington strode through the doors, nodding at the doorman and looking as pleased and comfortable as he had been all day.

  Colin followed close behind him as Bennington turned to the left inside of the Italian Renaissance themed hotel lobby. Colin had to pause to look up at the massive wood paneled pillars that rose up nearly fifteen feet to the marble façade ceiling above.

  “O’Shea, hurry up!”
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  Bennington was calling from across the lobby, standing at the top of a stairway next to the hotel elevator. He said something to a black bellman standing at the elevator entrance that left both men laughing.

  Colin trotted toward Bennington who was already heading down the stairs. A moment later and the recent Ohio State University graduate stood on what some in D.C. considered hallowed ground, the basement bar dubbed the Off the Record.

  Bennington passed by the somewhat circular dark wood and marble bar, making his way to a far corner of the room adjacent to a large, ivory encased fireplace mantel where a small round table and two chairs sat empty. The walls of the bar’s interior were a deep, purple-red that nicely complimented the gleaming hardwood floors and tastefully placed throw rugs.