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

by D. W. Ulsterman

  As Colin sat down across the small table from Bennington, the older man shouted across the room to the bartender.

  “Get us two single malts, Reg. Make ‘em doubles, and order up a couple steaks!”

  The bartender Reg was a tall man in his forties, with closely shaved brown and grey hair, a lean, athletic build, and kind brown eyes.

  “You starting a little early today, Frank?”

  Bennington spread his arms wide across the table and shouted his response.

  “Never stopped Reg – never stopped!”

  Colin looked about the room and saw only a few people seated at the bar, and a couple more at a table on the opposite side of the room.

  “It picks up in the afternoon, and by 6:00, it’s packed, been this way for years. You know this is the same table and chair that Tip O’Neill used to sit at almost every day for two decades? He’d come in around 3:30, light up a cigar, order a scotch, eat peanuts and bullshit with anyone who had the guts to sit down with him. Sometimes he’d only be here a half hour, other times he’d close the place and take a room in the hotel upstairs.”

  Colin was amused by Bennington’s enthusiasm and stalker like devotion to the memory of a man who had been dead for nearly as long as the recently graduated college student had been alive.

  “You sound like quite a fan.”

  Frank turned his head as Reg arrived at the table with the two drinks.

  “Thank you, Reg my boy! And go ahead and bring another one when our steaks arrive.”

  Reg paused at the table and looked over at Colin and then glanced back at Bennington.

  “Oh, sorry about that! Reg, this is Colin O’Shea, he just joined the congressman’s staff today by way of Ohio State.”

  Reg extended his right hand and shook Colin’s firmly.

  “Nice to meet you, Colin. I won’t hold it against you that you hang out with such a low life here. Can’t be helped sometimes, right?”

  Bennington raised a middle finger.

  “Already had to put up with one prick today, Reg, don’t be the second.”

  Reg put his left hand on Frank’s shoulder and leaned down toward him.

  “I pour drinks for a living, Frank. I have to deal with pricks like you all day and night.”

  “Ah yes, let us raise our glasses to the working people of this country, God bless their wretched little souls, and may they all continue to vote Democrat!”

  Frank emptied the double scotch in one drink while Colin merely sipped from his.

  “You behave yourself here, Frank. Don’t make me have to call Christina on you.”

  Bennington closed his eyes and smiled.

  “No worries, Reg, I have young Mr. O’Shea here to keep me in line.

  Twenty minutes later, the steaks and two more drinks arrived at the table. Colin was surprised to find himself salivating at the sight and smell of the finely cooked meal. Bennington was already cutting into his own steak with considerable enthusiasm.

  “Man, it don’t get better than a good single malt and a properly cooked piece of meat. Maybe a side of sweet young thing straddling my face for dessert! You know, I’m so sick and tired of these no meat, veggie this and veggie that assholes trying to convince everyone else to eat like them! Hell, I probably got enough meat stuck inside my colon to feed a third world nation, and I take pride in that goddammit!”

  Frank emptied another double shot glass and then plunged a piece of steak into his mouth and began chewing it rapidly while motioning for Reg to bring another drink.

  “So tell me, Colin, what the hell made you wanna to come to Washington D.C. and work in politics?”

  Colin O’Shea, who remained somewhat stunned at how good the steak tasted as it melted in his mouth, looked across at the man who had so recently hired him and shrugged.

  “You offered me a job and I took it. Like I said, I’m a fan of your work, and I think that a lot of good can be done, a lot of people can be helped if the federal government is run right.”

  Bennington’s face collapsed into a mixture of amused disgust.

  “Oh good Lord, you can’t be serious? There’s no fixing this place. We’re all whores here O’Shea. You know that, right? I was an idealist once too. I sat at that bar day after day watching people like Tip O’Neill walk in here…I worshiped them. And then I got lucky, ended up a junior staffer in the Carter White House, and saw it all up close at the highest level. I mean all of it, man. And you know what? At the end of the day, it’s all shit. It really is. We pack legislation with shit - it’s shit going in and shit coming out. None of it matters anymore. Who cares? I tell you who – NOBODY. So tell me this Colin, why do you call yourself a Democrat? What’s that mean to you?”

  Colin took another bite of steak and than drank from a glass of water, leaving his second shot glass of scotch nearly untouched.

  “Because…it’s the party of the working people, the middle class, the minorities. The people who don’t have a voice like big business does, or Wall Street.”

  The humor left Bennington’s face, leaving only his disgust.

  “Is that what passes for education these days? Is that what they are filling your heads with? What a pile of garbage you just laid out there. You know who seven of the ten richest members of Congress are? DEMOCRATS. Just about every one of them sends their kids to private schools, they fly around on private planes, are driven around in limousines, have vacation homes in Aspen, or Palm Springs or the Bahamas. Take Congressman Latner. He didn’t work for his money – he married into it! He’s a spoiled brat, just like most of them up there are. We’ve been spoon feeding that bleeding heart liberal crap for generations now, and it’s all bullshit. Democrats don’t care about the poor, or little black babies, or saving the whales any more or any less than the people running around calling themselves Republicans do. It’s all smoke and mirrors, made for television bullshit. There’s more difference between the hair on my ass and the hair on my balls than there is between the Democratic and Republican parties today.”

  Colin put his fork down and took a sip of scotch, and then looked back at Frank Bennington, his head filling with so many questions it was difficult to pick which one he should ask.

  “So why are you still doing this, Frank? Why bother with it if it’s all bullshit?”

  Bennington nodded his head toward the bar where two well dressed women in their thirties had just sat down together.

  “Because I love the life. I love this bar, I love women like that who look so good, and smell so good and taste so good. I love to hear them laugh, talk, all of it. That means I have to make a living, and I’m much too old to be trying to learn something new at this point. So here we are, huh? My favorite bar, eating a great steak, drinking some decent scotch, surrounded by the powerful people. I can say it’s all shit, but that don’t mean I ever want to leave it. It’s what I am. It’s what I do. And that my young friend is that.”

  Over the next hour, as the bar filled with more people, and Frank Bennington consumed yet more drinks, he began to share with Colin O’Shea his feelings toward Congressman Latner.

  “The guy can be hard to work for, no doubt about it. Thing is, he gets re-elected every time, so it’s a job I know is there for me as long as I want it. He pays me well, I still make some coin doing speaking engagements, and I have a publisher pushing for another book, so I can’t complain. It’s a good living, even if it leaves me feeling used up and put away wet most the time.”

  “What if the congressman fired you? Don’t you worry about that?”

  Bennington downed another scotch. He had begun to slur his words several drinks ago and his eyes had taken on a glassy, unfocused look.

  “That won’t happen. Look, him and I, we go way back. Lotta years, you know? You have that kind of history, that means you know things, and I know some things. So no way, no how, does Mr. congressman give any kind of serious thought to firing Frank Bennington. He thinks I’m the screw up? Shit, that guy…”

  A
s Bennington’s voice trailed off, a tall, very attractive woman in her late thirties, with shoulder length blonde hair and dressed in a tight fitting red dress, walked up to our table and put a well manicured hand on his shoulder.

  “Well hello there, Frank. Who’s your young friend?”

  Bennington smiled broadly up at the woman as the bottom of his left hand tapped the top of my right hand. Colin noted her slight accent. It sounded Eastern European, possibly Russian.

  “This is Colin O’Shea – he’s new to our staff, a very bright kid. Colin, this beautiful piece of heaven is Samantha Cordroy. She and I have known each other…it’s been a few more years than I care to admit. We go way back her and me.”

  Samantha smiled at Colin and then leaned over Bennington and whispered into his ear.

  “You have any candy, Frank?”

  Bennington’s smile grew wider.

  “Meet me outside in a few minutes, honey. We’ll be able to work out something.”

  As Samantha made her way toward the exit, Frank leaned over the table, trying hard not to slur his words as he shared with Colin his intent.

  “Ok, here’s the deal. Me and Ms. Cordroy are going to walk back to my car and uh, catch up on old times. You should hang out here, talk up some of the pretty young things, have whatever else you want while you wait, and I’ll be back here in an hour.”

  Colin grabbed Bennington’s arm as the older man went to stand up.

  “Frank, you look a little wobbly. You think that’s such a good idea? And is that woman…is she a prostitute?”

  Bennington sat back down, his face a scowl of irritation.

  “She’s a nice woman who I’ve known a few times over the years. Hell, she works for the same woman the congressman’s current number one does, a tough older Russian lady. The Russians are taking over the whole damn city. At least all the good stuff. Don’t worry about me – I’ll be back before you know it.”

  Colin watched as Bennington disappeared into the growing crowd of people filling the bar, and began looking around the room, taking in the sights and sounds of the Off the Record.

  Outside, as day was turning to night, Frank Bennington happily walked with Samantha Cordroy, enjoying the feeling of the woman’s arms wrapped around his upper right arm and shoulder.

  “I’m in my regular parking spot, Samantha. Just a short walk and we’re there. How’s life been treating you?”

  Samantha’s response sounded somewhat tense, though Frank’s alcohol muddled mind was slow to pick up on the warning signals.

  “Oh, it’s been ok, Frank. You know, same shit different day around here.”

  As he turned into the ally and neared his car, Frank fumbled for his keys inside of his right pants pocket.

  “Give me just a second here, Samantha, having a little trouble----“

  By the time Bennington heard the scuff of a shoe on the pavement directly behind him, it was too late. His face was propelled forward, smashing into the upper door frame of the sedan. He felt strong hands pull him violently backward, causing the back of his head to crack against the brick exterior of the building on the left side of the ally. Bennington’s vision flashed a searing white, and then went black, as his legs collapsed underneath him, his body falling onto the ground in a barely moving heap.

  A large shoe slammed into his right side just underneath his armpit, causing the air to leave his lungs, leaving him gasping for breath. The momentum of the kick sent Bennington rolling onto his back where, once his vision cleared, he saw the frightening face of a tall, ponytailed man glaring back down at him. It was the man’s oddly dark eyes that worried Frank the most – they were the eyes of a man who all too familiar with death.

  “You tell your congressman no more damaging the merchandise, ok? You tell him that.”

  The man’s accent was unmistakably Russian.

  As Frank Bennington continued to struggle for breath, he tasted the salty trail of his own blood entering his mouth via a gash across his nose where he had struck the outside of his car.

  “I’m so sorry, Frank – he made me do it. Please don’t be mad.”

  Bennington looked up at Samantha as she dabbled the blood away from his face with a small white maxi pad she had taken from her purse.

  “Who the hell was that guy?”

  “That was Arman, Ivanka’s brother. Was he talking about Congressman Latner? I know he’s been seeing Kat a lot lately. Did he hurt her or something?”

  Bennington pushed himself into a sitting position and then quickly turned his head to the side and threw up most of the steak he had so recently consumed.

  “The hell if I know. Man this has been one shitty day.”

  Samantha offered a sympathetic smile as she wrapped her arms around Frank’s chest.

  “C’mon, let me help you up.”

  Bennington found himself unable to be angry at Samantha. He knew she had no choice, and was only doing what her bosses told her to do. It was no different than what Frank had done so many times before in his own job. A shit sandwich was a shit sandwich, and sooner or later, you found yourself eating one.

  “Hey, how about you make it up to me? Wanna hang out in the car? Do a little coke and see what happens?”

  Samantha shook her head.

  “You need to get yourself to the hospital Frank. That cut might need stitches.”

  Bennington shook his head as he opened the driver’s side door, wincing slightly as a pain shot out from the right side of his chest.

  “I’ve had worse. C’mon, it’s good stuff.”

  With both of them safely inside the sedan, Frank removed the small clear bag of coke from his locked glove-box and deposited a sizeable line along Samantha’s left thigh, pushing her dress up around her waist as he did so. An appreciative smile covered his face as he realized she wore no underwear. Samantha in turn, put some of the coke at the end of a long fingernail and inhaled it deeply into her nose.

  The coke dulled the pain of the beating Frank had just received, while the blue pill he swallowed just before leaving the bar was already going to work re-starting the otherwise barely capable engine below his waist. Samantha expertly unclasped his suspenders and lowered his trousers as she slid over and straddled him in the driver’s seat of Bennington’s car.

  “Hello there, happy boy.”

  Bennington closed his eyes and forced his mind to put away the stress and anger of the day, and instead focus only on the pleasure of the moment. With each slow and deliberate thrust of Samantha’s hips, Frank’s mind grew more calm, even as his breathing became increasingly labored, his dress shirt drenched in his own sweat.

  Each of his hands cupped Samantha’s breasts as he kissed them gently, while Samantha responded with a soft moan and more urgent movement from her lower body. This urgency soon intensified as Frank drew his head back against the seat and let himself be taken fully by Samantha’s talents, his hands kneading her breasts more forcefully as she moved up against him with even more intensity, her hands pushing his face into her chest.

  Release came soon after, leaving Frank spent, the air in his lungs escaping between his clenched teeth.

  “Sorry again, Frank, he told me he just wanted to talk to you.”

  Bennington smiled as he opened his eyes to stare back at Samantha.

  “That’s ok, it’s not your fault. People like me…sooner or later we always get what’s coming to us.”

  11.

  Joseph Latner looked down at his phone. It was his wife Eunice. A call from her was rare. A shiver of worry went through the congressman as he feared there was an emergency – perhaps someone in the family had been hurt.

  “Eunice, what is it?”

  Eunice Latner was, as many already knew throughout Washington D.C., the primary source of Joseph Latner’s wealth. They had married twenty-nine years ago, just a few months after Latner had won election to the Ohio state senate. Hers was a family historically invested in both Ohio politics and business, and so most viewed her
choice of the then young and ambitious up and coming politician as a perfectly normal, if not entirely loving, arrangement.

  By the time Latner had successfully secured a seat in the United States Congress four years later, the couple had two children. Joe Jr. was now an instructor at Oberlin College in Ohio, while their twenty seven year old daughter Kate was still “finding herself”, having changed her major, and dropped out and then enrolled in various universities multiple times. She was currently travelling Europe with her latest boy toy friend, using one of her mother’s credit cards to finance her way. That journey had started almost a year ago, and was apparently still underway. It was Kate’s safety the congressman worried most about.