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

by D. W. Ulsterman

  “I knew you two were messing around. And see where it got him! Look at that! Thinks he was tough enough to take me out? No…not so tough. Not nearly tough enough!”

  The toe of the congressman’s right foot kicked violently into Colin’s left ribcage multiple times as he continued to grin, his eyes widening each time his foot struck the younger man’s body. It took seven kicks before the sound of a fractured rib rewarded the congressman for his efforts. The sound made the grin that slashed across his face grow even wider as he continued to kick Colin several more times, hoping to hear the sound of another rib breaking apart.

  “You’re not a man! You’re not a man! You’re one of them! Another one of them!”

  Congressman Latner paused, his chest heaving from the exertion of his attack on Colin’s body. Upon hearing a shuffling noise from just outside the room, he looked up to see the shocked expression of Frank Bennington staring back at him. Bennington’s mouth hung open, his eyes darting from Kat tied to the bed, to Colin laying on the floor, and then to the congressman who stood before him bathed in sweat, his face still covered in a manic grin.

  “What the hell is going on here, Joe?”

  The congressman wiped more blood from under his nose and then spread his arms wide as his head tilted back onto his shoulders.

  “Just another day in paradise Frank. Nothing we can’t handle, right? A little mess to clean up, that’s all.”

  Frank Bennington slowly retrieved his cell phone from his pants pocket, intending to dial 911.

  “Put that phone away Frank.”

  Bennington paused, sensing the icy aggression in his longtime political associate’s tone.

  “Or what Joe – you gonna attack me too?”

  The congressman took a step toward Bennington, his eyes now glowering from under his lowered face.

  “Are you one of them too Frank? Always putting me down? I’ll shut you up too, just like them. Give me the phone Frank. Give me the phone…”

  The congressman lunged at Bennington, his hands outstretched, the fingers curled into claws, the mouth twisted into a grotesque, inhuman snarl.

  Frank felt his right knee buckle underneath him as he moved awkwardly backward from the room, causing his right shoulder to slam painfully into the hallway wall. Bennington’s near fall was all the time the congressman needed to fall on top of him, his right hand grasping for the cell phone and then ripping it away from Bennington.

  “You want your phone Frank? Well HERE IT IS!”

  The cell phone smashed against the left side of Frank Bennington’s face, its shattered casing leaving plastic splinters imbedded in Bennington’s flesh. Again and again the congressmen pounded the cell phone remnants into his chief of staff’s head, until nothing of the phone remained.

  Bennington let out a panicked scream, his hands grabbing onto the front of the congressman’s white dress shirt, trying to throw the physically stronger man off of him. It was at that moment the earlier tension he had felt in his left arm while driving over to the congressman’s home turned into a very deep, stabbing pain that seemed to be squeezing the entire left side of his chest. The pain was so deep in fact, it left Bennington gasping for air, weakening him instantly and unable to fight back.

  Congressman Latner’s face moved inches from Bennington’s, leering down at him.

  “What’s the matter Frank? You finally doing the world a favor and dying? Is it your heart big fella? Here, let me help you out.”

  The congressman’s right hand formed a tightly balled fist and then sent it smashing into the middle of Bennington’s chest.

  “That better Frank? Gotta keep that fat heart of yours beating away!”

  Again the congressman’s fist rose and then smashed down into Bennington. Again, and again, and again.

  As his eyes rolled back into his head, with less and less air wheezing into and out of his lungs, Frank Bennington knew he was dying. Even then, as his mind retreated rapidly into unconsciousness, the longtime political operative found the ability to make a joke of his ending.

  Always knew politics would kill me someday. Just didn’t know it would happen so literally…

  42.

  Unlike Bennington, Colin O’Shea was not yet willing to allow death take him so easily. Though a rib punctured his left lung, his broken, painfully throbbing right wrist had swollen to nearly double its normal size, and his eyes refused to focus well enough to clearly see what was happening around him, Colin O’Shea demanded he get back up. Even Colin would have to admit grateful surprise that his body actually agreed to do so.

  Colin could barely make out the form of the congressman sitting atop another man, screaming words the young man’s still muddled mind couldn’t quite understand. His ears were filled with an odd sound, like rushing water, as his legs shook beneath him, fighting against his demand they continue to carry him across the room.

  “Hey, asshole we ain’t done yet.”

  Congressman Latner froze, then turned around slowly to stare back at Colin. It was then Colin realized the body underneath the congressman was Frank Bennington.

  “You don’t look so good Mr. O’Shea.”

  Colin took two unsteady steps toward the congressman and crouched into a fighting stance, his still good left hand cocked and ready.

  “Try me freak.”

  The congressman’s grin returned as he stood back up, his hands clenching and unclenching rapidly at his sides. He moved far more quickly than Colin anticipated, closing the gap between them in a mere second, his arms spread out in front of him, hoping to overpower Colin in the same manner he overpowered Bennington.

  Unlike Bennington though, Colin O’Shea was not an overweight, sixty-plus year old man with little to no fighting experience. Although injured and weakened, his boxing instincts and adrenalin were enough to will his body to sidestep the congressman’s charge as the younger man’s left hand launched itself with a powerful jab that caught the congressman squarely on the jaw.

  The punch stunned the politician as his knees buckled beneath him. Still, the congressman remained on his feet, and whirled around, his right hand tightly grasping onto Colin’s broken arm and twisting it violently. Colin screamed, the pain from his arm exploding throughout his body. His left fist, unwilling to wait for instruction, seemed to strike out on its own, landing two lightning fast punches against the congressman’s head.

  Congressman Latner felt his legs finally give out as his body crashed to the floor of his bedroom, stunned at how hard the college kid from Ohio could hit.

  As for Colin O’Shea, he too found himself falling down, the pain from his broken rib and punctured lung finally overtaking the adrenalin that had managed to keep him fighting.

  Both men lay on the floor unmoving, their eyes locked onto one another, their bodies unwilling and unable to continue the fight.

  Ten minutes passed before Ivanka and Arman entered the congressman’s bedroom, both of them casually stepping over the motionless body of Frank Bennington. Neither of them expressed shock at what they saw. Such was the way of Russians – in this world, always expect the unexpected.

  Ivanka went immediately to the bed where Kat was bound, her wrists and ankles rubbed raw where she had earlier struggled against the ropes that held her. The D.C. madam gently stroked the young woman’s blonde hair as she leaned down to whisper to her.

  “Katalina, are you ok?”

  Kat’s eyes were closed, but Ivanka could see her chest moving slowly up and down. She was breathing.

  “Katalina, I am here. It will be ok.”

  Ivanka removed the duct tape from Kat’s mouth, silently enraged at how cracked and broken the girl’s lips had become. The rage turned toward Arman, who stood silently next to the bed. Ivanka hissed up at her younger brother.

  “This is partly your doing Arman. Look at her! You brought her to this place!”

  Arman turned his head to look down at Ivanka, his eyes a contrast of both regret and judgment. It was that judgment of h
is sister that spoke next.

  “You brought her here as well sister. You took his money. Do not pretend you are blameless in this.”

  Ivanka felt her own indignation welling up inside or her, wanting to challenge her brother’s words, but she instead remained silent. Arman was right – she too was to blame for what had happened to Katalina.

  “Is he ok? Is Colin ok?”

  Kat’s words were a dry, pained whisper emitted between her cracked lips.

  Ivanka smiled, grateful to hear the young woman speaking. She turned back to Arman and nodded toward where Colin lay.

  “Does he live?”

  Before Arman could check on whether Colin was alive or dead, Colin was already pushing himself up off of the floor with only his left arm, as he kept his broken right arm held firmly against his stomach.

  “I’m ok. How’s Kat?”

  Ivanka noted how both Kat and Colin’s first concerns were for the other’s well being. Whatever relationship the two had developed, it appeared to be genuine.

  Arman stepped aside to allow Colin to shuffle to the bed. Ivanka stood up to move aside as well, allowing Colin room to lean down and kiss Kat’s cheek.

  Kat looked up at Colin, her dry, cracked lips pouting as her face formed a scowl.

  “What took you so long?”

  Colin shrugged and kissed Kat again – this time on her lips.

  “Sorry, it won’t happen again.”

  Kat’s scowl remained as her eyes filled with tears.

  “Promise?”

  Colin O’Shea responded with every bit of truth and sincerity within him.

  “I promise.”

  43.

  Colin sat on the bed next to Kat as Arman proceeded to bind Congressman Latner’s hands and feet to a chair while Ivanka stared unblinking into the congressman’s eyes, pondering what to do with him next.

  The man must be punished, but the death or disappearance of a United States congressman would initiate a significant investigation that could lead back to her and her business. The congressman sensed Ivanka’s predicament, and snarled his defiance of her.

  “You can’t touch me you dried up old Russian bitch! And neither can your thug brother. Get the fuck out of my house or I swear to God I’m gonna see everything you have destroyed. I’m a fucking congressman for Christ sake!”

  Arman duct taped Congressman Latner’s mouth as Ivanka signaled her brother to join her in the hallway outside of the bedroom while also instructing Colin and Kat to keep an eye on the congressman. Arman followed behind his sister as she stepped over Frank Bennington’s body.

  The big Russian cried out as he felt a hand grip his right ankle.

  He looked down at Bennington in disbelief, his mind not fully comprehending the reality of a dead man coming back to life.

  “Hey asshole, you mind helping me up?”

  Arman was frozen, his wide eyes still staring down at Bennington’s fleshy, smiling face. Ivanka snapped her fingers, focusing Arman’s attention on helping Frank Bennington up off of the floor. Once standing, Bennington looked into the bedroom to see Colin staring back at him, his jaw hanging open, his eyes like large, round saucers.

  “Frank? What the hell…”

  Bennington took a deep breath and shrugged.

  “Ah, guess I must have died for a little bit again. Suppose I should go get checked out by a doctor some day. Think my heart might not be firing right.”

  This was the second time Colin O’Shea had seen Frank Bennington seemingly back from the dead. Being the second time did not make it any less remarkable.

  “Yeah, Frank, I think that might be a good idea too.”

  Bennington turned around and looked at Ivanka.

  “What happens now? I figure you can’t just let the congressman go, but killing him, that’s probably not the safest thing for you either.”

  Ivanka stood silent for several minutes, her mind working out a viable solution. Both her personal principles and future business reputation could not allow the congressman to live. Finally, her eyes narrowed as a small smile formed on her face.

  “Would you say your congressman’s behavior in public has been erratic of late Mr. Bennington? That perhaps he suffers from depression, emotional instability, and bouts of violence?”

  Frank Bennington nodded his head.

  “Hell yeah that about sums him up to a tee, why?”

  Ivanka looked up at her brother and then back to Bennington.

  “Such a man, if they were to commit suicide, would not be such a surprise then?”

  Bennington found himself looking back at the bound and gagged congressman, who in turn, glared back at Bennington.

  “I’m not sure exactly what you’re implying Ivanka, and maybe that’s best I don’t.”

  Ivanka gave Bennington a wise, knowing smile.

  “You are no fool, Mr. Bennington. I think you know exactly what I imply. No sign of conflict inside the home will be discovered. The body in the freezer will be removed, and---“

  Frank Bennington interrupted, his hands held up palms outward in front of him.

  “What body?”

  Arman’s deep voiced response came from just over Bennington’s shoulder.

  “He killed a whore, a black girl. Her body has been kept in a freezer in the garage. It is probably not the first time he has used the freezer for that purpose.”

  Bennington lowered his head, his disbelief over that bit of information whispered just under his breath.

  “Oh, Lord…”

  Ivanka continued speaking.

  “As I was saying, all signs of conflict in the home, the body, all of it will be removed. We have people very good at such things. And the congressman, he will leave a letter indicating his great unhappiness that will be left for the authorities to find. There will be questions, an investigation, but it will pass quickly. The evidence of suicide will be overwhelming.”

  Bennington felt his stomach churning, wondering how many girls had been killed at the hands of the man he had worked with for so many years.

  “You sure about that? You think you can make it all that cut and dry?”

  Ivanka gave one short nod, her eyes almost completely devoid of emotion, her voice slow, measured, and utterly confident.

  “This is not the first time my people have done such a thing Mr. Bennington.”

  Frank Bennington began to ask what other times Ivanka was referring to, and then quickly thought the better of it, his mouth closing shut as he nodded his head.

  “Ok, so we just walk out of here like nothing happened?”

  Again Ivanka nodded.

  “Yes, Mr. Bennington, like nothing happened. I need to be assured you are capable of doing so.”

  Bennington realized the implied threat. If Ivanka or Arman had even the slightest hint that Bennington, Colin, or Kat could not fully and completely embrace the story of the congressman’s suicide, they too would find themselves facing Ivanka’s judgment.

  Frank Bennington looked at both Colin and Kat, who nodded silently. They accepted Ivanka’s solution.

  “Ok then Ivanka, we’ll head out, get into my car, and be out of here. Like you said – nothing happened, right?”

  Ivanka said nothing, waiting for the three to leave her and Arman alone with the congressman. A moment later, Frank Bennington closed the front door of the home behind him, watching as Colin and Kat made their way across the street to his car. The two were clearly in love, their initial romance having survived the twisted, deadly psychotic emotional dementia of a U.S. congressman.

  Bennington took a deep breath and looked up at the darkening Washington D.C. sky, feeling both incredibly tired, yet equally grateful to be alive.

  I need a drink.

  Epilogue.

  In the weeks following Congressman Joseph Latner’s reported suicide by a single gunshot to his head, Ivanka was proven correct in that what little investigation D.C. law enforcement conducted, proved brief. A suicide note was found, written
in the congressman’s handwriting, indicating his deep unhappiness at being overlooked by the Mendez campaign, and a sense of having overstayed his welcome in Washington D.C.