6.
“So you in Frank? Remember, this might make you, but it might break you too. That’s the business. There’s real danger here.”
Walt’s excitement was increasing exponentially, even as he was issuing his warning that the case might prove dangerous. The old guy wanted so much to be back in the game.
“What’s in it for you Walt? I’m assuming it has to be more than just your good nature in helping a newbie out.”
Frank returned his oxygen line under his nose and nodded as his right hand turned the tank back on.
“Yeah, you’re right. I’m not just being a nice guy. I want one last ride on the merry go ‘round. One last case, and it’s a biggie Frank. This thing, if it’s what I think it is, we’re talking about some very powerful people. Not just in this town, but this thing is global. The White House, the Kremlin, Downing Street, Beijing, Riyadh, this project is everywhere.”
I sat silently, waiting for Walt to catch his breath so he could continue. The light outside grew dim as late afternoon made its way slowly toward evening.
“I don’t want to say too much right now Frank. I just wanted to confirm you were interested, and then I can let my client know it’s a go and talk money with them at that point. It’s gonna be a big payday Frank. They’ve been sitting on this for years, and now they’re ready to release it, but they want me to help with that. You and me both.”
I had no idea what Walt was going on about, but the presentation certainly left me intrigued. He had worked with some very powerful figures in the past, but whatever this particular case was about, had lit a real fire under the old guy.
“Why has this person, or persons, been sitting on whatever you say this thing is…why release it now and not sooner?”
Walt removed the oxygen from under his nose and gave a small smile, his eyes looking outside the windows of the boat.
“Because this gentleman is like me – dying. Though he’s dying faster, and now figures there’s nothing to lose. They don’t know he has what he has. He’s ready to release it after all this time, to bring the entire deception down once and for all.”
I grew weary of the cloak and dagger talk.
“What are you talking about Walt? Who are these people, and what’s the deception?”
Walt pushed himself out of his chair and shook his head.
“Not yet Frank. I still have a few things to sort out before we open this case. Like I said, there’s the matter of our fee, right? No sense getting ahead of ourselves. I just needed to confirm you’re in, and so I want to ask you one more time – you really willing to be a part of this case?”
I nodded.
“Yeah, I already said I was, so what now?”
Walt walked over to a small table against the right interior wall of the boat where a record player sat.
“For now, we celebrate our new partnership Frank. I’ll contact the client first thing tomorrow and tell them we’re in, and then call you back here to map out the details. Your contacts in Congress will be a big help in all of this, which is another reason I wanted you involved.”
I opened my mouth wanting to ask more questions, but Walt held up a trembling right hand to cut me off.
“No more questions Frank. Tomorrow – I’ll have all the details ready for you tomorrow. Until then, I have a bottle of Malbec I’ve been keeping around for a few years. Told it’s some good stuff. You wanna help me drink it down?”
My shoulders offered up a small shrug. Walt wanted some company, was excited about a new case, and the whole thing might lead to some decent cash coming my way. Why the hell not?
“Sure Walt, I’ve never been one to pass up a free drink or three.”
Walt pointed to the bow of the boat.
“The galley’s down a couple steps that way. You’ll see the bottle on the table and a bottle opener. Glasses are above the fridge.”
I moved the short distance to the boat’s small kitchen area, finding the bottle, bottle opener, and two glasses just as Walt had described. By the time I was back in the main salon, he was placing an album onto the record player.
“I always celebrate the start of a case and the conclusion of a case with a little wine and music, Frank. Hope you don’t mind my keeping with tradition.”
Music filled the inside the boat as I poured a small amount of wine into each of the two glasses, noting the deep red color of the Malbec, and appreciating its rich, chocolate and plum scent.
Walt turned to me while pointing down at the record player with one hand and holding up an album cover with the other, his wheezy voice struggling to rise above the sound of the music.
“One of my favorites, Sinatra, a song called Bonita. He recorded it with Tom Jobim in the late 60’s. I used to dance to this one with a woman I dated almost forty years ago. She gave me the album as a gift and I’ve kept it ever since. It might be the most valuable thing I own! Very rare! Whenever I feel lost, Bonita seems to help me find my way back to myself.”
Though I was a Sinatra fan, I didn’t recognize the song. My attention though was focused on the wine – it was damn good.
For the next hour, Walt and I shared both the wine and some stories. He talked of old cases, while I talked of my former political work. During that relatively brief time, I found myself increasingly intrigued and charmed by the longtime private investigator, and he in turn, openly expressed his appreciation for my allowing him the simple pleasure of someone to talk to.
His isolation was something I understood all too well. Our lives were not filled with obligations of family, or friends, but rather layer upon layer of memories and experience. There was a certain liberation in the lack of personal obligation to others, but also a deep and sometimes painful loneliness.
That afternoon, Walt’s pain was lessened just a bit by my being there, and I in turn remained hopeful of my pending involvement in what could prove a very significant and lucrative case, each of us taking and offering something from, and to, the other man. As I stood on the dock looking back at Walt’s Chris Craft, I could hear the sound of Bonita being played once again.
The day’s former light had grown murky, the impending night’s darkness creeping closer.
7.
Waking up to a gun pointed at your face isn’t something I’d recommend. And yet, that’s exactly how my morning started the day after my meeting with Walt.
“Don’t move.”
Now in the movies or TV shows, you see the private investigator looking back smugly at whoever is pointing a gun at them.
That’s bullshit.
Don’t care who you are, you find yourself staring back at the barrel of a weapon, it tightens the old sphincter up real quick. I don’t pretend I’m something I’m not, namely a guy who’s tougher than a bullet shot at me point blank. So I did what I was told – I made sure to stay real still.
There were three cops in my bedroom, a uniformed one with the gun pointed at my face, and two other plain clothes detectives rummaging through my drawers and closets.
“Can I ask what this is about?”
The cop with the gun looked at me and then over to the tallest of the three, who I then assumed was the one in charge. The taller officer was well over six feet, with a thin build, receding hairline, and glasses. He wore what looked like an off the rack dark blue dress jacket, white dress shirt, solid red tie, and was about fifty or so years of age.
“Are you Frank Bennington?”
I nodded.
“Yeah, now what the hell is going on here?””
The detective in charge walked over to my bed and handed me a card.
“Mr. Bennington, I’m Detective Lon Mears, with the D.C. Police Department. We’d like to bring you to the precinct for a few questions.”
I sat up, and then realized I was wearing no clothes, which was par for the course for me. When I slept, I wanted to drift off just like I came into this world – bare ass naked.
“I’m gonna ask you again, what the hell is this about?
Why are you in my house?”
Detective Mears jabbed a thumb toward the door of my small apartment.
“Door was halfway open, Mr. Bennington. We feared for your safety, so came on in.”
I knew it was bullshit. I might have left the door unlocked, but I sure as hell didn’t leave it open last night. After I left Walt’s boat, I stopped off for a few drinks at the Off the Record, my favorite D.C. bar, and then made my way back home. I wasn’t drunk, just tired, so no way I left the door open.
“Mind telling me why you thought I was in danger, and why your guys are snooping in my stuff?”
Detective Mears ignored the question.
“We’d like you to come with us, Mr. Bennington. Just a few questions, it won’t take too long.”
I sat up in bed and folded my arms across my chest.
“And if I don’t want to?”
Detective Mears glanced at the uniformed officer and then back at me.
“I’m actually not asking, Mr. Bennington. Get up out of that bed and come with us.”
I knew the detective was crossing a line there. Whatever was going on, they hadn’t arrested me, and thus, had no authority to force me to go with them.
“You arresting me?”
Detective Mears gave a brief, half smile, and then placed his hands on his hips.
“Just a few questions, let’s go.”
“I asked if you’re arresting me! If not, get the hell out of my apartment! I’m not some little asshole on the street you know – I know people in this town! One more time then…are you arresting me or not?”
Detective Mears looked increasingly pissed, his frustration at my non- compliance causing the corner of his left eye to twitch.
“There’s been a crime committed Mr. Bennington, one that we believe you may have information on. That’s all, just a few questions.”
Whatever crime this was, had to be serious for them to send two detectives and a uniformed officer to my apartment. The last thing I wanted to do was say anything that might incriminate me.
“Detective Mears, you and the other two need to leave. Get the hell out.”
The detective paused, as the uniformed officer continued to point his weapon at me. The more I woke up, the more pissed off I was at these pricks being in my apartment.
“And tell this asshole to stop pointing his gun at me.”
Detective Mears abruptly turned around and motioned for the others to follow him. Before closing the door, he looked back at me with eyes that made no confusion as to his feelings for me. Whatever they thought I was involved in, he didn’t like it one bit.
“Back soon, Mr. Bennington. We’ll have a car outside. I would ask that you remain here at home until we get back.”
The door closed and I was left once again alone, wondering what the hell had just happened. My bedside clock read a quarter past nine. By his tone and the look on his face, Mears intended to be back to my apartment before the end of the day with guns a blazin’. I needed to lawyer up quick, and find out what was going on.
There was one person I knew of who was dealing with cops all the time, whether it was paying them off, or dealing with them face to face just like I found myself doing this morning. If anyone had a line on a good attorney, it would be her.
Ivanka.
She picked up on the second ring.
“Hello, Frank, what is it?”
Ivanka knew a call this early in the day was unusual for me. I’m more a late to bed later to rise kind of guy.
“Ivanka, I just had a visit from three cops this morning, and I have no idea what about. Was hoping you could recommend a lawyer to keep these guys off my ass until I figure out what I’m up against.”
There was a brief pause before Ivanka replied.
“You have no idea what they wanted?”
I found myself shaking my head with the phone to my ear, even though I was alone in my apartment.
“Not a clue. They looked serious, real serious. One of them was pointing his gun at me like I was al-Qaeda.”
Ivanka paused again, and then gave me a name and number.
“Stanislov Nedkov, 202-239-1455. Tell him you’re a friend of mine and then tell him everything that happened with the police. He is very good, but also very expensive. And he will expect to be paid Frank, and has the means to make sure that happens. Don’t call him unless you are certain you want his help.”
I didn’t want to ask the question, but had to, wanting to be sure about what I might be getting myself into.
“Does he work for the Russians?”
Ivanka’s laugh was brief, as was her subsequent reply.
“He’s good, Frank. You want good, you call Stanislov. Let me know how it goes.”
She ended the call, leaving me to stare at the clock as I wondered if I should call the number Ivanka had given me.
I took a deep breath and moved out from the bed sans clothing toward the apartment’s small kitchen area. Decisions like this demanded I make certain my mind was firing on all cylinders.
It was coffee time.
8.
Most people think they drink coffee, but I find that in today’s world, what they actually drink are sugar laden, mocha java this and that garbage that looks more like a milkshake than anything remotely resembling actual coffee. As for me, I’m a just give it to me straight up dark kind of guy. No cream, no sugar, just plain old black bean goodness to get the heart rate up and the fog pushed out of one’s head.
I was nursing my third cup of brew by the time I had made up my mind to call the number Ivanka had given me. It was almost 10:30 in the morning.
The voice that answered my call had no hint of a Russian accent, and sounded surprisingly cheerful.
“Good morning, this is Stanislov.”
“Hello Mr. Nedkov, my name is Frank Bennington. I was given your contact number by Ivanka. She’s a friend of mine. I need a bit of help, and she said you were the one to provide it.”
Stanislov’s cheerful nature continued as he responded to my initial words.
“Well of course. A friend of Ivanka’s you say? Very good. Where are you located, Mr. Bennington?”
I gave the attorney my address, surprised at how quickly he was willing to see me.
“I’m no more than twenty minutes away. See you soon.”
The called ended. It took me a few minutes to realize I had not yet gotten dressed. Coffee in the nude was a common practice for me. Call it one of the perks of being single.
Twenty minutes later and I was clothed, my teeth brushed, hair combed, and looking like something at least approaching competent. A light knock on my door sounded and soon after entered Stanislov Nedkov, in all of his colorful glory.
He appeared to be in his mid forties, was of average height, very lean and fit, with a narrow, high cheek-boned face and short cropped hair. A neatly manicured, dark haired goat-tee framed his mouth and chin. He wore a perfectly tailored dark grey pinstriped suit, with a brilliant pink tie, and diamond encrusted cuff links. The attorney’s hand reached out to shake my own, and despite his long, rather thin and delicate looking fingers, the grip was strong and confident.
“Nice to see you, Mr. Bennington. Is that law enforcement parked outside your apartment?”
I nodded, remembering Detective Mears promising to do just that.
“Yeah, the cops said they’d be back later today. I’m assuming with a search warrant.”
“And you have no idea what any of this is about?”
I shook my head.
“Not a damn clue.”
I spent the next ten minutes recounting my morning to the attorney. He sat with a slight smile on his face, nodding his head occasionally, taking no notes, and giving little indication of what he thought about what I was telling him.
“So is that it, Mr. Bennington? You spoke with this Walt last night, had a few drinks, and then came directly home?”
Again I nodded.
“Yeah, just like that.”
/> Stanislov leaned back and closed his eyes for a few seconds, then opened them and looked back at me.
“Have you spoken to Walt since then?”
I was surprised, and a bit embarrassed, that I hadn’t thought to call him.
“No, I haven’t. He was going to call me.”
The attorney nodded and smiled, though his eyes were a flinty cold stare.
Private Detective: BENNINGTON P.I.: A thrilling four-novel political murder mystery private detective series... Page 24
