On the Street Where You Die (Stanley Bentworth mysteries Book 1)

by Al Stevens

  “No. Just his driver. He said you told him he needed a better-looking lawyer.”

  “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay. He needs a better-looking detective now.”

  Turnabout is fair play.

  “Tell Buford I’ll see him when I’m discharged. How long have I been here?”

  “Three days,” Willa said. “The doctor said once you woke up you’d be able to go home soon if there’s somebody there to look after you for a while.”

  “My house,” Amanda said. “I’ll look after him.”

  Oh great, I thought.

  “And when you’re at work,” Willa said to Amanda, “I can move the office into your house if that’s okay.”

  Just then the doctor came in. He brought my chart with him and sat on the edge of my bed.

  “Mr. Bentworth, I’m Dr. Goldenberg. You came through this pretty good.” He looked at the chart. “A dislocated shoulder, which we reset. A thin fracture in your shin. Another on your arm. You’ll need casts for a few weeks.”

  He pulled my nightgown up and pressed on my belly.

  “No internal injuries, although I don’t know how. A couple of fractured ribs and some facial bone fractures, all of which should heal up okay. Watch those loose teeth. They should set themselves. You might have a bit of a bent nose too.”

  “Might help with my undercover Mafia work.” Now for the part that had me worried. “How about my eyes?”

  “They should be okay. We’ll know better when we take the bandages off, probably tomorrow. You’ll have a couple of shiners.”

  “Will I be able to play the violin again?”

  The Doctor shook his head. “You know how many times I’ve heard that joke?”

  “Yeah, but I never had the opportunity to tell it before.”

  “What did you do to piss those guys off, Mr. Bentworth? Tell them a joke?”

  Now that made me laugh. It hurt so much that I stopped.

  “When you go home,” the Doc said, “You’re going to need some equipment and physical therapy. Are you up for that?”

  He stood up and looked down at me.

  “Can’t afford it,” I said. “Hell, I don’t know how I’m going to pay for this.”

  “No insurance?”

  “None.”

  “Well, at least get some crutches and maybe a wheel chair.”

  Amanda spoke up. “Stanley, I’ve still got Daddy’s crutches from when he fell off the stoop. They’re old, but they might still work.”

  Our father had been accident-prone. Particularly when he was drunk, which was most of the time. They say I’m a chip off the old block.

  I said, “You got to get me out of here, Doc. Have you seen what a hospital costs these days? Almost as expensive as gas and cigarettes. And lap dances.”

  Speaking of which—expenses, not lap dances—as the doc left, the lady from administration was there with forms about how I could pay for everything.

  “Send the bill to the Army,” I said.

  That afternoon, after all my company had left, Bill Penrod came to see me.

  “Willa called. What the hell happened to you?” he said.

  “You ought to see the other guy.”

  He pulled up a chair.

  “Does this have something to do with the Overbee case?”

  “No. This is a different fight.”

  “Want to tell me about it?”

  I explained the circumstances about Captain Jeremy Pugh and the Bobbsey twins. He sat without comment until I finished the story.

  “Get a good look at them?” he asked.

  “Good enough. They were just messengers, though.”

  “If you can identify them and testify, I’ll have them picked up on assault and battery.”

  He started to light a cigarette and then caught himself and put it back in the pack.

  “They’ve probably disappeared into some deep, dark military intelligence safe house,” I said. “Besides, they were just following orders. The Nuremburg syndrome. Captain Pugh is running the show.”

  “Anything I can do about him?”

  “Other than lean on him, I don’t think there’s much you can do. Nothing concrete to tie him to the two goons other than my word against his.”

  I rolled on my side just to change where the pressure was. It didn’t help.

  “Sounds like you want to handle this yourself.”

  “I want to keep the guy away from my sister. Whether I exact revenge for this beat-down will depend on circumstances. I’m not equipped to take on Army Intelligence.”

  Bill grinned and looked away.

  “Maybe we could write him a citation for a busted headlight.”

  “Yeah, right, Bill. That’d sure even things out.”

  “Seriously, Stan, our black and whites can harass the shit out of this moke. And make sure he knows why. We’ve done it before.”

  He was right. Bill and I had done it more than once back in the day.

  “God, that seems like such a long time ago,” I said.

  “And only yesterday too. You want me to do it?”

  “Not yet. I’ll let you know.” I was thinking about how Buford had disapproved when I said I let the cops clean up my messes. I’d handle this mess myself.

  Chapter 13

  The next morning my cell phone rang and woke me up. I looked at the caller I.D. Buford was calling. I pushed the button to raise the bed and answered.

  “How are you, Stan?”

  “Been better.”

  “Sanford said you look pretty bad. Was this beat-down related to you working for me?”

  Everybody asked that.

  “No.”

  “You working for somebody else?”

  They ask that too.

  “No. This was a private matter.”

  “That’s what Sanford said. Who are the two Army guys that beat you up?”

  “I don’t know them.”

  “Who’s the guy that set them on you?”

  “Army Intelligence officer. Captain Jeremy Pugh.” I found it difficult to say his name without spitting.

  “You want help?” Buford asked. I could imagine the kind of help he would send.

  “No, I’ll take care of it.”

  “Like you took care of it this time?”

  “I’ll be ready for them next time.”

  “Careful. You might wind up my cellmate.”

  “I think I can make a case for self-defense given what they already did to me.”

  “You probably can. I guess you didn’t make any headway on my case.”

  “Not yet. I hope to get back to work soon.”

  I meant that. I wanted to work. This lying around in a bed was getting to be a pain. And I already had more than enough pain.

  “I hope you do too,” Buford said. “I need you out there solving the murder. This hanging around the house with Melissa and Serena gets old fast.”

  “I’ll trade places. I’d never get tired of looking at Serena.”

  “It ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “You always have Sanford and son.”

  “Who?”

  “Sanford and Ramon.”

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot. We can play cribbage.”

  “Sure.” I turned onto my other side and adjusted the pillow. “How’s business?”

  “I lost a few clients because of this shit. And my picture made the papers. I had to beef up security. I figure on being visited soon. The mob.”

  “Well, we tried.” I didn’t have a solution for that one.

  “That shit’ll never go away. Those bastards are relentless. I might have to sell everything, cash in, and leave the country. After I beat this murder rap and get this fucking ankle bracelet off. The son-of-a-bitch chafes my skin.”

  “How did you manage to draw house arrest?” I asked. “They don’t usually do that for violent crimes.”

  “I am the mayor’s silent financial advisor, Stan. The judge’s too. They both want me out
here working.”

  “Penrod must have pitched a bitch.”

  “The police commissioner told him to back off.”

  “Him too?”

  “Him too.”

  “Next time I get a parking ticket,” I said, “I’ll bring it to you.”

  Chapter 14

  Doc Goldenberg discharged me about three days later. The bandages were off my eyes, and, except for some residual swelling around the lids, I could see okay. I still had bandages on my head, stitches in my face, and casts on my arm and leg.

  On my way from the bed to the pink lady’s wheelchair, I took a look in the mirror. I looked like the goalee in a javelin contest. Victor Frankenstein would have been proud.

  Amanda drove me to her house. I wanted to go to my apartment, but she wouldn’t have it. She was enjoying the caregiver role. I was not enjoying the caretaker role.

  She set me up in Rodney’s room.

  “You’ll sleep here,” she said. “He can sleep on the couch.” The room was an experience. Vampire and punk rock posters, lava lamps, a desk loaded with computer equipment, shelves of stereo gear, and laundry and junk everywhere.

  “It’s like living on the set of The Rocky Horror Picture Show,” I said.

  “You want him to clean it?”

  “No. I don’t want to know what might be living under all this grunge.”

  Amanda dug out Dad’s old crutches, and I was able to get around with them, but I wouldn’t be able to drive. The casts on my leg and arm would get in the way, and besides, the drugs were too good.

  “Don’t worry, Stanley, Rodney can take you wherever you want to go,” Amanda said.

  “Terrific. Where is he now?”

  “He goes into the office every day. He’s talking about becoming a full partner in the detective agency.”

  “Fat chance. When do I get to go back to work?”

  “When you’re better. Rodney will drive you.”

  “I don’t think I want to ride in that heap of his,” I said. “Besides, there isn’t room for me with all the trash he has in there.”

  “He’s been driving your car. Says it looks more professional.”

  “Oh, great. With his pants down around his knees, I hope he doesn’t leave any wedgies on the upholstery.”

  “Wait till you see him,” she said.

  I got to see Rodney that evening when he came home. I barely recognized him. He was wearing a white shirt, suit and tie, and a new trench coat. His hair was cut, combed, and back to its natural color. He had shaved. I had forgotten what a good-looking young man Rodney could be.

  “What the hell happened to you?” I asked.

  “Hi, Uncle Stanley. I remembered what you said about cleaning up to work with clients. This is the new me. I kind of like it.”

  “What will your friends say? The ones who still recognize you.”

  “Friends? Maybe you never noticed, but I don’t have friends.”

  “Maybe you will now. What’s this about clients? You have clients?”

  “Not yet. I’ve been waiting for you to get back. Mom said I’m to be your chauffer now until the casts come off. You want to go anywhere?”

  Amanda called from the kitchen, “Not yet, Rodney. Uncle Stanley isn’t ready to go anywhere just yet, dear.”

  Each day I got better. I still needed the crutches and couldn’t drive, but I was getting around the little house on my own. Willa came by each morning. The pretense was that we could keep the business going, which involved answering the office phone, which she had redirected to her cell, and putting off all potential clients until I got better. Rodney did the same thing at the office for walk-ins. That was the pretense. The real reason she was there was to look after me so Amanda could go to work. She left each evening when Amanda got home.

  I have to say I was eating better. Those ladies could cook.

  When I was able I tried to help out around the house, washing dishes and doing laundry with my crutches holding me up as I leaned on the sink or clothes washer. Those tasks didn’t often last long, though. I’d tire after a few minutes and have to go lie on the couch for a while.

  One evening I was sitting in the living room trying to make my way through the latest cop TV show. How come those guys are always young hunks that get to work with gorgeous babes? I’m a middle aged hump, and all I get to work with is Willa. The best-looking woman I know is my sister. Life ain’t fair.

  Rodney was standing at the window looking out and probably wishing he could drive me somewhere.

  He said, “Uncle Stanley. Guess who’s here. The Captain.”

  Damn. I hadn’t asked Rodney to bring Roscoe home from the office, mainly because I didn’t want him to know where I kept it stashed. And he’d have needed the combination to the safe. Not a good idea.

  Then I remembered the shotgun.

  “Get me Grandpa’s shotgun from the closet.”

  Rodney got the shotgun, and I stood with my crutches propped under my arms and opened the breech. The shotgun was loaded. I closed the breech and got up against the wall beside the door. The doorbell rang.

  “Open it,” I whispered to Rodney.

  He opened the door. Jeremy said from the stoop, “Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m Rodney. Go away.”

  He started to close the door. Jeremy pushed it open again.

  “I didn’t recognize you in drag. Get your mother, kid. I want to talk to her.”

  “She doesn’t want to talk to you,” Rodney said.

  “Get her anyway. Or I will.”

  “Who is it, Rodney?” Amanda called from the kitchen.

  “It’s your asshole ex-boyfriend,” Rodney answered.

  “You little shit,” Jeremy said. He was still on the stoop out of my sight.

  “Step back,” I whispered to Rodney.

  Rodney stepped back and Jeremy began to come through the door, his eyes on Rodney. I swung the shotgun with full force and hit him across the bridge of his nose with the barrel. Thump! Must have been a bit of a surprise. He fell back out of sight. I hobbled into the doorway. He was sprawled on the sidewalk just beyond the stoop, holding his face with both hands, blood streaming out of his nose and down his chin. I pointed the shotgun directly at him.

  “You have a short memory, Captain. I told you to leave my sister alone.”

  He rolled over and got up on his hands and knees. A shiner was forming around both eyes. Not as pretty as mine, but he’d have it for a while as a reminder. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his face.

  “Now get the fuck out of here,” I said. “The next time you come back, me and this shotgun will decorate the sidewalk with your insides. At the first sign of you, I shoot. No questions asked. No explanations offered. None accepted. Just a big bang. Leave. Now. While you still can.”

  I looked out at his car. The windows and headlight had been replaced, but the dent was still in the door.

  “You don’t learn too easy yourself, Bentworth. Do you need another session with my boys?”

  “Thanks, stupid. My sister and nephew just heard you confess to putting them onto me. That might come in handy when I take your ass to court. Oh, by the way. Did I say leave?”

  I pulled the hammers back on the old shotgun. I wondered whether it would even fire. Maybe blow up in my face.

  He stood up and backed slowly toward his car, keeping an eye on me and the shotgun. About that time a police cruiser pulled up.

  “I called them, Stanley.” Amanda was standing behind me now.

  “I can handle this, Mandy.”

  “You’re not a hundred percent yet. A little help can’t hurt.”

  “I think Uncle Stanley did just fine, Mom.” He seemed proud of the old man.

  Two uniforms got out of the cruiser.

  “Wait right there,” one of them said to Jeremy.

  He stood with Jeremy and the car while the other uniform came to the door.

  “Everything under control, Detective, I mean, Mr. Bentworth?
”

  “Everything’s fine,” I said. “Thanks for stopping by.”

  “Sergent Penrod spread the word at the precinct. When the call came in, we knew it was you. Anything we can do to help, we will.”

  He walked back to Jeremy’s car.

  “Looks like we have a couple of violations here, Fred,” he said to his partner.

  He took his nightstick off his belt, went in front of the Beamer, and busted a headlight and parking light lens. Then he took out his citation pad, wrote on it, tore off the page, and handed it to Jeremy, who wisely accepted it and kept his mouth shut.

  “Get away from these people’s house and do not bother them again,” the other uniform said to Jeremy. “Otherwise, you’d be surprised at how many of your days can be ruined.”

  Everyone drove away. But I was more than certain that I hadn’t seen the last of Captain Jeremy Pugh.

  My cell phone rang, and I horsed it out of my pocket. Buford again.

  “How’s everything going? You back to work yet?”

  “Not yet, but soon, maybe tomorrow. I’ll call you from the office and we can get together.”

  “Any more problems with that Army guy?”

  “Funny you should ask.”

  I told him about what had just gone down.

  “Sounds like you and the cops have a handle on it.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think I’ve heard the last of him.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “He made it clear. I’ll probably get another visit from the two goons.”

  Chapter 15

  By the next day I was suffering from terminal cabin fever after doing nothing but sitting in the living room watching daytime TV. If ever there was a reason for a man not to retire, Jerry Springer and Law and Order reruns are it.

  Amanda had taken the day off so Willa could do some work at the office. After a session of me pleading and her objecting, I wore her down and persuaded her to take me to the office. She dropped me off at the front door.

  “Will you be able to get up the stairs okay?” she asked.

  “Sure. See you later.”

  The stairs were not easy. It took me a half hour to climb the two flights. When I went in the office, Willa was busy at her desk writing checks to pay bills.