On the Street Where You Die (Stanley Bentworth mysteries Book 1) (11 page)

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.

“What are you doing here?” she asked and went back to writing in the check book.

“Got bored at the Amanda Bentworth boarding house and nursing home,” I said. “What are you doing?”

“Paying bills.”
This time she didn’t look up.
All business, that lady.

“Didn’t you pay bills a couple weeks ago?”

“Funny thing about bills.
You pay them and they just come back. Like mowing the lawn or feeding your cat.”

“I don’t mow the lawn, and I don’t have a cat,” I said.

“You don’t pay bills, either. It’s a wonder we’re not both in debtor’s prison.”

“Both? I’m the one not paying bills.”

She shook her head. “One of which is my salary. I’ve been warding off the old bill collector myself.”

I did my best to put on a guilty face, but it didn’t work.

“I’ll be at Amanda’s tomorrow to look after you,” she said.

“I don’t like all this attention.
Amanda and you hovering over me, bringing me coffee and food, doing my meds, fluffing my pillow.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

I went in the office. There sat Rodney at a second desk.

“Where did the desk come from?”

“Salvation Army thrift shop.
I paid ten bucks for it. They threw the chair in. Getting it up the stairs was the hard part.”

“Tell me about it.”

I sat at my desk and dialed Buford’s number.

“Buford, I’m back in the office.
Anything happening with your case?”

I lit my last cigarette ever and tossed the match on the floor.
Just because I could.

“Got a continuance,” Buford said.
“Maybe two months before I go to trial.
I want this thing cleared up by then.”

“I’m working on it. How about if I come see you this afternoon? We’ll kick it around.”

“That would be good. This place is shut down like
Fort
Knox
. I’ll tell the guards to let you through. You
still driving
that piece of shit station wagon?”

“Yeah.
Rodney’s my driver now.”

“I guess you heard. That Captain Pugh won’t be bothering your sister any more.”

That was a surprise.
A nice surprise.
I couldn’t wait to hear why.

“No, I didn’t hear anything. What happened?”

“In this morning’s paper.
Had an accident in his boat.
Must have been a leaky fuel line and a short circuit.
The boat blew up in the middle of the river.”

“Was he on board?” That would be too good to be true.

“They think so. Somebody had to have sailed it out there. They didn’t find a body. But then, they didn’t find much else either. He’s on the menu. The fish got him.”

I didn’t trust the good news. “Could be maybe it wasn’t an accident?” I said.

“Couldn’t say.
But I bet that Penrod murder cop comes to see you about it.”

“He will. I have an alibi. I was imprisoned at my sister’s house.
And can’t get around on my own.
Shit, I can barely make it to the john without help.”

“Yeah.
Convenient, ain’t it? Alibi-wise, that is.”

We hung up, and I told Rodney, “We’re going out this afternoon. But I want to get some lunch first. You can help me down the stairs.”

“You want me to go for carryout?”

“No thanks. And don’t you start mothering me too,” I said as we went past Willa’s desk. “Leave that to your mom.
And Grandma Willa here.”

Willa made an audible snort and slammed the checkbook closed.

We left the office and went to the stairway. Rodney supported me with my good arm around his shoulder and his arm around my waist. He held the crutches in his other hand. We hobbled along like conjoined twins and went down the stairs. It took about ten minutes.

We went out the front door, and I looked up and down the street. About a block away was an olive drab Chevy parked on the street.

“Stay with me across the street,” I told Rodney, but I didn’t tell him why. I didn’t think the Army guys would do anything in front of a witness.

But I was sure they were pissed about their beloved Captain getting hit broadside in the face with a shotgun barrel. Not to mention being blown up.

Rodney walked with me across the street and into Ray’s.

“You want lunch?” I asked.

“No. I had my usual,” he said. He turned and headed back across the street.

Some things never change.

I went in and slowly lowered myself into a booth. The lunch crowd had left, so I had the joint to myself. I leaned my crutches against the wall and looked at the menu. Not that I had to, but it gave me something to do.

Bunny came out of the kitchen and stared at me. It took her a while to figure out who I was. She scribbled an order for me, passed it through to the kitchen, and came over to where I was sitting. She looked at me a while before speaking. She had tears in her eyes.
Great.
Another woman getting all weepy over a few cuts and bruises.

“Stan, what happened?”

“Fell off my skateboard.”

“Were you in the hospital?”

“Yeah.
Maybe a week.
How do I look?”

“Not good, but better than when you had the hangover.”

I could always count on Bunny to lighten a dark moment.

“Nobody told me you got hurt,” she said. “I wondered why I hadn’t seen you. I’d have come to visit you. You got some place to stay?”

“Yeah, don’t worry.”

I finished breakfast. Bill Penrod came in and sat across from me.

“Willa said you were here. She was right. You do look like shit. Who’s that guy working for you?”

“That’s Rodney. You remember him.”

“Holy shit!
The punker?
What a difference! How’d you get him to scrub up?”

“His idea.
Wants to be a private dick like me.”

“Man, the way you look now, nobody’d want to follow in your footsteps.”

“What’s up, Bill?”
As if I didn’t know.

“You hear about the boat that blew up in the river? The boat owned by Captain Jeremy Pugh? The boat upon which said Jeremy Pugh probably died?”

“Yeah.
Real
shame,
isn’t it. I’m all broke up about it. I’ve heard that was a nice boat.”

“You have anything to do with it?”

Of course, he had to ask.
Just doing his job.

“Me? Look at me. What could I do? Besides, all my time is accounted for.”

“Maybe, maybe not.
The charge could have been set at any time.
Could have been detonated from a cell phone.
From a sick bed, even.”

On the one hand I was proud that Bill credited me with having the savvy and balls to blow up a boat. On the other hand, I was uncomfortable being a suspect.

“You know me,” I said. “I don’t know shit about explosives. Did you find a detonator?”

“Christ, Stan, we didn’t even find the rudder. That was one hell of a blast. Should have kicked off a tsunami and wiped out the whole fucking town. There wasn’t anything left of the boat.”

“And no body.”

“Right.
He hasn’t been seen since it happened. His wife is worried sick.”

“She
say
anything to you about leaving him?”

“No. Why?”

“That’s what he told Amanda when she threatened to call her.”

“He
say
why?”

“No. But I’d guess based on how he treated
Amanda, that
he was knocking his wife around too.
Might be some motive there.”

“Interesting theory.
But she seemed worried about him.”

“Yeah.
No body. Insurance companies make you wait seven years. That’d make anybody worry.”

“In the meantime, you are still a person of interest.”

I didn’t like him saying it that way. How many times had the two of us said the same thing to a suspect just to rattle him?

“Who besides you knows I was having trouble with the guy?” I asked.

“Well, the whole fucking precinct for starters. And whoever your sister told at work.
Probably the whole town.”

“So there’s no chance of you burying it.”

“No chance.”

“Those Army guys think I did it.”

“How do you know?”

“They’re following me around again. They got no boss telling them to do it now, but there they are. Look down the street when you leave.
Olive drab Chevy.”

After Bill left, I finished breakfast and called Rodney to come get me. He was there in about a minute, and we walked across the street. The olive drab Chevy was still there. The glint of the afternoon sun reflected off of binocular lenses through the windshield in the passenger’s side. Or maybe a camera lens.
Or a telescopic lens.

“Watch for red laser lights,” I told Rodney.

“Huh?” he said.

As we crossed the street, a black and white pulled up next to the Army car. The cops rolled down their window and talked to the soldiers, after which the Army car pulled out and sped away. Good old Bill. Doing what he could.

Rodney and I went around the building to my car, which Rodney had parked in the alley. He helped me in, and I gave him directions to Buford’s house.