On the Street Where You Die (Stanley Bentworth mysteries Book 1) (10 page)

Chapter 12
 

When I woke up, I was on a hospital gurney somewhere in a hallway. People in hospital uniforms bustled up and down the hallway, ignoring me. I could feel the bandages on my face and around my torso. One of my arms was wrapped and suspended by a cable from an overhead steel frame. One leg was similarly elevated. One eye was closed, the other one barely open. It seemed like one of everything was broken. I hoped my balls had made it through the meltdown.
At least one, anyway.

I ran my tongue around inside my mouth feeling for missing teeth. A couple of them were loose, but they were all there. At least the ones I had before the fight started.

An IV was dripping something into my arm through a tube. Everything hurt. I passed out again.

When I came to, I was in a hospital room. Willa was sitting in a chair at the end of my bed reading a book. Amanda was in another chair pulled up close to the bed. I scanned the room with my good eye, which could hardly see anything. A shadow of a man stood with his back to me looking out the window into what I assumed was a parking lot.

Amanda said, “He’s awake.”

I tried to speak, but my lips were swollen from the beating. I tried to say, “Who’s minding the store?” It came out like, “Whosh ninig da shore?”

Willa said, “Rodney’s manning the phone. Not much store to mind without you there.”

“Oh, great,” I mumbled. “Rodney.”

“Yeah, he’s taken over your office. Maybe he can book some more work for us.”

She laughed. I groaned. Then she said, “Your only client sent his man here.”

The shadow turned around. It was
Sanford
.

“What the fuck happened, Bentworth?” Sandford said.

“Don’t say ‘fuck’ in front of the ladies,” I said through the bandages in my new Rocky Balboa tenth round dialect.

“Mr. Overbee wants to know. Does this have anything to do with the case?”

“No.
Family fight.”

“What were you doing working on something else? Mr. Overbee has you on full retainer.”

“Like I said.
It was a family matter.
Off the clock.”

That seemed to satisfy him. “Mr. Overbee wants to help,” he said. “Who did it?”

“Two Army guys.
Don’t know them. Amanda’s boyfriend set them on me.”

“
Stanley
,” Amanda said, “Captain Pugh is not my boyfriend.”

“He doesn’t know that. Anybody got a mirror?” I wanted to see how bad it was.

“No mirrors,” Willa said. “We can’t stand looking at you, so you sure couldn’t. No point in you being more miserable and depressed.”

“I look that bad?”

“No. It’s an improvement,” she said.

“What’s happening with Buford?” I asked
Sanford
.

“At home.
Ankle bracelet.
House arrest.”

“You still his lawyer?”

“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.”