Private Detective: BENNINGTON P.I.: A thrilling four-novel political murder mystery private detective series...

by D. W. Ulsterman

  END.

  BENNINGTON P.I.

  “TAKE TWO AND CALL ME

  IN THE MORGUE”

  (Bennington #3)

  (Sequel to BENNINGTON P.I. "BONITA" )

  BY D.W. ULSTERMAN

  2014

  “Some of the FDA's own scientists have charged

  politics, not science, is behind the FDA's actions.”

  -New York Congressman Joseph Crowley

  Inspired by actual events.

  1.

  Some mornings I swear to God, I think I’d rather not wake up at all. This was one of those mornings.

  You ever have a headache so bad, so pounding, it makes your teeth hurt, and your eyes feel like they were gonna implode? I’m talking the kind of headache where every time you blink, it’s like a small detonation going off inside you brain, leaving you temporarily blind and whimpering to yourself how dumb it was to have that last drink – or five.

  So I’m laying there, my eyes shut tight, taking in as little air as possible because even the act of breathing has become an enemy to my own body’s well being.

  Ok God, you win. I’m a drunken pig bastard who deserves to die, so take me now asshole and let’s be done with it.

  I figure some of you will tell me I shouldn’t talk to God like that. Yeah, maybe so. Way back when, I used to be a pretty regular, church-going Catholic, sung in the choir even. Did Confession, the Holy Mary’s, all of it. My soul was i-n-t-a-c-t, right? Then puberty hit, my interest in girls became magnified about a thousand times, and some years later, the sweet siren song of Washington D.C. took me into its warm, sickly, heathen-loving embrace, and the rest, as they say, is history.

  So while me and God might not be totally copacetic, I think we’ve come to an understanding. He reserves judgment until the time comes, and I pretend to not give a shit either way. Call it something of a morality stand off between two former chums, who one day, will settle the score.

  Ah, forget what I just told you. That was a complete crock of crap.

  I think it was Dean Martin who once said life was all about women, wine, and song, and to enjoy the days we have, because once you’re gone, this old world will keep right on spinning. Well, there you go, if it was good enough for Dino, it sure as shit is good enough for me.

  My phone is ringing. Not my regular cell phone, but the one Dedra gave me after I accepted a position with the T3 Group. That’s short for the Tell the Truth Group, and Dedra is my primary contact. She’s a former soldier who works inside Congresswoman Betty Mears’s office. The right side of her body and face is scarred and busted from injuries she sustained in Iraq, but the fact is, I hardly notice those injuries on her. Actually, I find her to be one of the sexiest women I’ve ever met, and not to brag, but I’ve met my share of women of all shapes, sizes, and inclinations.

  Each ring was like an ice pick through my skull, forcing me to come to the unfortunate realization there would be no mercy from the Almighty. No merciful death to silence the hangover, and I’d have to open my eyes, roll over in bed, and take the call.

  “Bennington.”

  The sound of my own name caused me to squeeze my eyes tight again as a thunder clap reverberated inside my head. Dedra’s tone indicated she wasn’t happy at having to wait.

  “Six rings Mr. Bennington? We need you to show far more professionalism. I even waited until it was 9:00 before calling.”

  I lifted my right lid to peer at the digital clock that sat next to the bed, not sure if Dedra meant it was nine in the morning, or evening. The clock said 9:00 a.m. I’d been asleep for less than five hours.

  “Sorry Dedra darling. I was in the shower.”

  I smiled to myself, knowing full well Dedra already knew I had just lied, and was anticipating her response. She took the high road though, ignoring the fabricated excuse.

  “One hour, your table at the Off the Record. Be on time, Mr. Bennington.”

  The call ended. I placed the phone down on the night stand and suddenly realized I wasn’t alone. The sound of soft snoring broke through the silence of my small, studio apartment. I used to live in much more high-end digs when I worked in politics, but since those days have gone the way of the Dodo, money had become scarce, and this place was all a poor, sixty-four year old washed up political has-been could afford.

  That’s another reason I took the job with the T3 Group. It wasn’t that I felt some righteous obligation, or an overwhelming desire to be part of something bigger than myself. The simple fact of it is that I needed the money. Beyond the money though, I had to admit being impressed with how quickly the Global Electric information I had recently given the Congresswoman began to appear in various alternative media sources, and knew that once that information was released, those like myself involved in locating it, were now safe. Once you let air out of a balloon, there’s no putting it back in. That was the genius of the T3 Group, and it was a pleasant change to be involved in something I could actually take some measure of pride in.

  I turned back over and propped myself up on an elbow to peer at the luxuriously feminine shape of Silia. While I was content at having a beautiful Brazilian twenty-something lying next to me, I had no actual recollection of any sexy time with her last night. None. Zero. Zip. Zilch.

  Ok God, very funny. I admit I’m a drunken pig bastard, and you decide to throw in some dementia to make things even more pathetic for me.

  I pay Silia for sex. Our relationship has been founded upon that simple premise for the last few years. I enjoy her company, and she pretends to enjoy mine. Last month she was part of that mess with Walt’s file, was even paid to try and get me to hand it over to some fellas looking to keep me and that file shut up tight. I didn’t blame Silia for her part in all that then, and I don’t blame her now. Life is too short to get hung up on blaming others for shit that’s your own doing in the first place. Silia’s just trying to survive like the rest of us. And maybe it’s my naturally protective instincts when it comes to women. I just think they should be respected and admired a hell of a lot more than they are. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not talking about any of that politically-correct, women’s lib crap here. What I’m referring to is straight up respect. Be a man who appreciates a good woman, simple as that.

  The memory of Dedra’s recent demand blared inside of my pained and muddled head.

  “Be on time, Mr. Bennington.”

  Given the small interior space of my studio apartment, it was just a few strides to the bathroom, but the hangover made it feel like a tragic Trail of Tears reenactment. Every time my bare feet hit upon the laminate flooring, it reverberated up my spine and left me wincing.

  The shower water was no better, each droplet like a little gunshot smashing into my skin. Somewhere in the small space where the more rational part of my mind resided, I quietly admitted to myself while brushing my teeth in the shower, that a new assignment was exactly what I needed. Free time was not something I handled well, for it inevitably led me on the path of too much drink, and at my age, with a just repaired ticker to boot, that kind of lifestyle would leave me for dead sooner rather than later.

  Even I had a limit to pushing the boundaries of a good time.

  After my shower, I found myself spending an inordinate amount of attention to my grooming. The craggy, high mileage face was given a careful, smooth shave, my now almost entirely gray and thinning hair was neatly combed to the side, and a dab or two of my favorite Green Irish Tweed cologne was applied to both face and neck.

  You old dog, you’re trying to look your best for Dedra.

  I smiled back at myself in the small mirror that hung on the wall above the sink. Yeah, I was attracted to Dedra, so what? And while she made it abundantly clear there was to be no chance for any kind of a physical relationship between us, I was never one to give up easy on that kind of thing. Always keep the door open, you know? Always be prepared, because sometimes, fortune smiles on those willing to wait out opportunity.

  In the words of
that great thespian Bruce Willis, Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker!

  Five minutes more and I was fully dressed in black dress slacks, white shirt, red tie, and dark grey overcoat. My greatly improved fashion sense was primarily the work of Ivanka, a nearly sixty year old Russian madam who in recent months had become something of a protector and emotional surrogate to me. She lends support, advice, and occasionally, we share a bed. As of now, Ivanka is the closest thing I have to a real friend in this world, and if I was somehow forced under great duress, I might even admit to loving her in some way, though was equally certain she considered me to be no more than an amusing side project for herself.

  “You going already, Frank?”

  Silia’s tired, heavy lidded eyes blinked back at me across the dimly lit space of my apartment as she sat up in bed, the sheets falling down far enough that her ample breasts were fully exposed, breasts that silently shouted for me to re-join them – to hell with Dedra and her meeting.

  “Yeah, got to go. You can go back to sleep, just lock up when you leave.”

  Silia’s eyes flashed mischief as she gently shook her shoulders from side to side.

  “A quickie?”

  I glanced down at my cell phone, which indicated I had just twenty minutes until I was to meet Dedra. My apartment was a nearly fifteen minute drive to the Off the Record. Though I hated to admit it, the unyielding laws of time and space made even a Silia quickie impossible.

  “Sorry honey, not this time.”

  Silia shrugged and smiled, then fell back against her pillow and pulled the sheets up toward her face. She saw life in moments, and when one passed, she went happily on to the next. I envied her easy transitions. This moment meant more sleep, and she was more than happy to embrace it. That left me walking out my door, wondering what my first full assignment for the T3 Group would involve.

  Whatever it was, I was glad to be back at work.

  2.

  Dedra looked as beautiful as ever, the prominent scar tissue on the right side of her face somehow complimenting the near flawless left side. It was the face of a woman willing to sacrifice everything in the name of duty and honor.

  The world needed a lot more of her, and a lot less of me.

  She was slightly taller than my own five foot nine height. Her left hand reached out to shake my own, while her prosthetic right hand hung at her side. Dedra’s brown eyes held my own for a moment before she sat down. She motioned for me to take a seat at my usual table in the corner near the fireplace at the infamous Off the Record bar.

  The place had been my second home for nearly three decades. Across the street from Lafayette Park and the White House, it was among the most prominent, yet discreet, of D.C.’s end of the workday power centers.

  “You look like shit.”

  I chuckled and shrugged my shoulders.

  “Yeah, well you look beautiful as always, Dedra.”

  I turned halfway around to signal to the ever-present bartender Reg.

  “Eggs Benedict, Reg, lots of sauce, and coffee - lots of coffee.”

  Reg smiled and nodded. He had ordered up my hangover breakfast countless times over the years.

  Dedra was staring at me again, likely wondering if I was up to the task of another assignment. Actually, this would be my first full assignment with the T3 Group. Walter, who was now dead, had done most the heavy lifting the last time.

  “I’m good to go, Dedra. No need to worry. Now what’s this about?”

  Dedra glanced around the room, her eyes pausing for a brief moment on the two older men who sat at the bar, and a younger couple who sat at a table eating breakfast some twenty feet from us.

  “What do you know about the Food and Drug Administration here in D.C., Mr. Bennington?”

  I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, still trying to quiet the thunder in my skull.

  “Powerful, mean sons-a-bitches. Most of the politicians are scared to death of that agency and their relationships with the very deep pockets of the drug and healthcare industry. There’s no cure for dead. Everybody’s gonna get sick and everybody’s gonna die. Lots of money to be made off that undeniable fact.”

  Dedra continued.

  “Do you have any contacts associated with the organization?”

  I focused on who I might know with ties to the FDA.

  Bruce Morehouse.

  That was a name I hadn’t thought of in nearly ten years. I wasn’t even sure he was still working for the drug industry lobby. In the 80’s and 90’s, Bruce Morehouse was the most consistent and influential link between the drug corporations, D.C. politicians, and the Food and Drug Administration. The guy had made millions, and likely spent tens of millions more from the people he represented, buying up influence and votes when and where it was needed.

  “Yeah, I might know someone. Why?”

  Again Dedra’s eyes scanned the room before answering.

  “There is pending legislation in the House regarding fast-tracking FDA approval for newly developed cancer drugs. Congresswoman Mears is a co-sponsor of the bill. We’re having a terrible time gaining support within the House Subcommittee on Health. The entire bill is going to be killed unless we can gain some traction.”

  Reg delivered my eggs and coffee, pausing at the table to smile down at Dedra.

  “Can I get you anything, ma’am?”

  I noted a twinge of jealousy as Dedra looked up at Reg’s tall, athletic form and smiled back.

  “No thank you.”

  Reg squeezed my left shoulder with his right hand while nodding at Dedra.

  “Ok then, I’ll just leave you with my boy Frank here. You change your mind, just let me know.”

  Dedra’s eyes followed Reg’s departure for a brief second before looking back at me.

  “So, Mr. Bennington, the legislation is stuck in committee, and we need ideas, information, anything to help us push it through to an actual vote.”

  I sat eating my eggs, not responding to Dedra’s explanation. Frankly, it didn’t sound like much of an assignment.

  “Did you hear me?”

  I stopped chewing long enough to wash down a delicious mouthful of soft poached eggs, English muffin, and rich, creamy Hollandaise sauce.

  “Yeah, I heard you. What I didn’t hear is anything that involves my services. I don’t work in Congress anymore – you know that. So if the congresswoman has some piece of legislation stuck in committee, I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

  Dedra straightened in her chair as her eyes flashed a brief signal of frustration with my less than enthusiastic response.

  “We believe there are certain forces within the FDA responsible for the committee’s push back on this. It is our hope you have the contacts to find out if that belief is in fact true or not, so that we can then plan, and act, accordingly.”

  I knew Dedra was holding out on me. There was more to this than just some bit of legislation stuck in congressional purgatory.

  “So is this a T3 assignment, or something specific to just the congresswoman?”

  Dedra’s hands folded tightly atop the table as she leaned forward slightly, her voice a barely audible whisper.

  “Both, Mr. Bennington, and we need your help.”

  I took another sip of coffee and felt my eyes narrow as I stared back at Dedra.

  “I do know somebody with connections to the FDA. That said, before I go looking them up, I need to know how this involves the congresswoman. Your tone…you seem almost rattled. So spill it – what’s this really about?”

  Dedra was staring at the two older men still sitting at the bar. She was nervous, and that made me nervous, because Dedra Donnigan was a woman who had been to war and back, a journey that had left remnants of her body and soul spread across the sands of Iraq, so whatever it was that had her jumping out of her skin was enough to put me on edge as well.

  “You ok? Something about those two guys over there you don’t like?”

  Dedra lowered both her voice and her head as
she replied.

  “You come in here a lot, right?”

  I nodded, watching Dedra stare at the two men at the bar.

  “Yeah, several times a week.”

  “And have you ever seen those two men in here before today?”

  I turned around slowly to glance toward the bar and then looked back at Dedra.

  “No, but there’s a hotel upstairs. Those guys could be anybody, tourists, businessmen, whatever. Why are you so uptight?”