“Old Bob? Probably time for his nap.”
“The ankle bracelet was already off Overbee and on the leg of a statue in the foyer. He didn’t tell me how it got there, and I didn’t ask.”
Good for Rodney. I could forgive him for pinching Roscoe as long as he never did it again. I walked over to him. “Where’s my holster?”
“In my truck.”
“Go get it.”
He went to his truck and returned with the holster. I put the pistol in it and clipped it to my belt.
“What made you try a stunt like that?”
“The guy’s a nut, Uncle Stanley. He was coming after my Mom. You’re all crippled up. Somebody had to do something.”
“So what did you learn from all this?”
“Learn?”
“Yes, learn. What did you learn?”
“Not to take your gun?”
“No. You learned that having a gun doesn’t make you the baddest badass on the block. You walked right into it. He took the gun away from you, and you’re lucky he didn’t shoot you with it.”
“He was already in the house when I got there, but I didn’t know that. When I went in, he was standing there pointing Grandpa’s shotgun at me. He tied me up, and when Mom got home he tied her up.”
“Yeah. I heard all that.”
“What’ll happen to him?”
“The cops and the Army will have to fight that out. I don’t care as long as they put him away somewhere for a long time.”
Amanda said, “I’m proud of both of you.”
She rubbed Rodney’s hair, and he squirmed to get out from under her caresses.
“That man who got us out of there,” she said, “we met him in the hospital. Who is he?”
“A very good friend named Sanford. Wants to maintain some distance. But we all owe him big time.”
Rodney said, “I feel a ‘hiyo, Silver’ coming on.”
“I should cook dinner for him,” Amanda said.
“I’ll pass the invitation on. He’ll say thanks and decline. But you owe him your lives. Chances are if the cavalry had come storming in, Pugh would have killed both of you before they got him.”
Neighbors started to come out of their houses and line the sidewalk. They watched the vehicles pull out. Amanda and Rodney went into the house. The neighbors talked among themselves, speculating about what had taken place.
A Channel 6 news van pulled up. Late to the party. A cameraman and a pretty woman holding a microphone got out.
“What happened here?” the woman asked, her microphone stuck in my face and the camera pointed at me and grinding away.
“Beats the shit out of me,” I said and walked away toward my car. The news team went to interview neighbors. I hoped they’d leave Amanda alone. If not, Rodney could tell them how he had saved his mother from a horde of madmen, home invaders, stalkers, and rapists.
I got in my car and headed to the office. On the way I stopped at the liquor store to get another jug. This time I got the good stuff, went to the office, climbed the stairs, got my cell phone from Willa’s desk, and sat alone at my desk. I sipped bourbon and thought about the day. Two cases closed on one shift. It doesn’t get any better than that.
I looked at my cell phone. Buford had called. I punched the redial button. He answered right away.
“Sanford called,” Buford said. “He says you got your Army problem cleared up,” he said.
“Yes, I did with his help. I can’t thank you guys enough.”
“You earned it. I’ve got to clear out of here. The mob knows where I live and who I am now. Hell, the whole fucking world knows who I am and what I look like. Reporters and cameras all over the place.”
“Maybe Sanford can shoo them off.”
“Yeah. Well, anyway, I’m out of here. Want to buy a mansion? Real estate’s way down.”
“Where will you go?”
“Offshore. I can run my business just as easily from some island. I never did get face-to-face with most of my clients anyway. And Serena can get that year-round tan she’s always wanted.”
“And you can be closer to your money.”
“Right.” He laughed for the second time since we’d met. “Thanks for everything, Stan. If I ever need somebody found, I’ll call. Do I owe you any money?”
“No. We’re good. Keep in touch.”
There goes my perpetual retainer, I thought. I knew it was too good to be true.
I didn’t want to get drunk tonight, so I paced myself and used the time to update the files on the Overbee case. There were no files on the Jeremy Pugh case, it being a personal matter, so I wrote entries in my journal to capture for posterity all the relevant times and events. Maybe I’ll write a book some day.
Chapter 31
I got home at about nine o’clock. I was hungry. A pizza slice or something edible might be in the freezer. I had a surprise waiting.
Bunny sat on the stoop in front of my door, a big grocery bag on the sidewalk next to her. She gave me that doe-eyed look. I knew she was playing me, and it was working.
“Can I come in?”
“What for?” I wasn’t about to give in right away. I intended to be strong.
“I brought groceries. I can fix you some supper.”
Strong, my ass. I am one weak son-of-a-bitch. The combination of the woman I want and a home-cooked meal was too much. My resolve collapsed.
“Come on in,” I said with a heavy sigh.
We went into my apartment, and I tossed the cane in a corner and collapsed on the couch.
“I’ve had a day,” I said.
“You can tell me about it after I get this going.”
She took a bottle of wine out of the grocery bag and opened it. Wine? I don’t drink wine. But my only jug of bourbon was at the office. So, I lit a cigarette and sipped the wine.
She unloaded the rest of the groceries. “I thought you quit smoking.”
“Not in months with an ‘R’.”
She got supper going on the stove and came over, pushed me onto my side against the back of the sofa, stretched out beside me, and began unbuttoning my shirt. She took the burned-down cigarette out of my mouth and stamped it out in the ashtray. The kiss she followed up with was to die for.
“The Spoiler,” I said.
“What?”
I said under my breath, “Two stones that pass in the night.”
“What?”
“Nothing, Bunny. Just thinking out loud.”
“Now you can tell me about your day,” she said, cuddling up and kissing my chest.
“Oh, nothing special,” I said. “Just your typical boring, routine day in the life of a private investigator.”
I lit my last cigarette ever and settled in.
From the Author
Thank you for reading On the Street Where You Die, the first in the Stanley Bentworth Mysteries series.
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Al Stevens, 2015
About the Author
Al Stevens is a retired author of computer programming books. For fifteen years he was a senior contributing editor and columnist for Dr. Dobb?s Journal, a leading magazine for computer programmers.
Al lives with his wife Judy and a menagerie of cats on Florida?s Space Coast where he writes by day and plays piano, string bass, and saxophone by night.