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

by D. W. Ulsterman

  “Now all you need do is carry this glass into the bathroom and smash it against the sink. Then take the biggest piece of it that remains, bring it to your neck, and rip the flesh from one side to other, back and forth, while watching yourself in the mirror. Don’t stop cutting until the job is done, Cassidy Wills. Your life to this point has been failure enough. Prove to everyone who has hurt you that you did not fail in this. Show them all what you are truly capable of.”

  Cassidy stared at the shot glass in her hand as the hint of a smile traced across her face. For the first time in a very long time, she felt relieved.

  It will all be over soon.

  Malthus whispered into her left ear.

  “Do it, Cassidy Wills. Do it!”

  As Cassidy rose from the bar, the overpowering stench of cigarette smoke filled Malthus’s nostrils, causing his lips to pull back into a snarl as he whirled around to see a man standing behind him.

  Gabriel looked even worse than Malthus remembered. The translucent skin pulled over the gaunt face was framed by long dark hair that appeared to not have been washed in weeks, perhaps months. He wore the same black overcoat as he did decades earlier, though it was now tattered and ripped in several places under which was an equally worn black and white Osmond Family concert t-shirt from the 1970’s.

  “You look like hell, Gabriel.”

  Gabriel shrugged, his attention primarily focused on Cassidy, who appeared ready to make her journey into the bathroom.

  “I guess you would know, Malthus. Now why are you bothering this beautiful woman?”

  Cassidy’s head turned toward Gabriel and the charming hint of a French accent in his voice, the fog that had descended over her mind already lifting.

  “Did you say beautiful?”

  Gabriel gave Cassidy a wide smile, revealing a row of uneven, nicotine-stained teeth as he moved to stand directly in front of her, his dark eyes conveying warmth, kindness, and understanding of the disappointment, fear and pain Malthus had so recently reminded her of.

  Each of his hands then caressed the sides of Cassidy’s face as he leaned down and gently kissed her lips.

  “What is your name, beautiful woman?”

  Cassidy’s face blushed crimson. Despite the stench of cigarettes that permeated his clothing, she found Gabriel’s breath to be oddly comforting, like the warm-sweet scent of an infant child.

  “I’m Cassidy, Cassidy Wills.”

  “Well Cassidy Wills, you are indeed a beautiful and sexy woman, and I promise that soon, someone will come to appreciate your kind heart, intelligence, and life experience. Are you here with friends?”

  Cassidy nodded slowly without speaking, hoping Gabriel would kiss her again.

  “Then please go back to them and tomorrow you will wake to another wonderful day – another opportunity for you to enjoy the many blessings of life.”

  Cassidy’s eyes threatened tears again, so grateful was she for Gabriel’s kindness. He was so disheveled, unkempt, and yet strangely the most attractive man she had ever seen.

  She reached up to pull his face back to hers and kissed him hungrily, her tongue dancing into Gabriel’s mouth and finding his own tongue more than willing to comply. In that brief moment, all of Cassidy’s depression, insecurities, and fears fell away from her. She felt for the first time, like the woman she had always desired to be.

  After watching to be certain Cassidy was safely among her friends again, Gabriel turned to see Malthus glaring back at him.

  “You really shouldn’t be involving yourself in my business, Gabriel. I know you were the one who prevented my intended meeting with Frank Bennington.”

  Gabriel shrugged, indifferent to the accusation.

  “Maybe I was, Malthus, but that’s only because I’ve taken such an interest in you.”

  Malthus’s eyes narrowed while his voice hissed a warning.

  “Stay away from me, Gabriel. This is our home, not yours, and we are many. Your friend the priest is dead, and this Frank Bennington will soon share that fate as well, and there’s not a damn thing to be done to prevent it.”

  Gabriel took a half full glass of some horrific greenish-blue alcoholic concoction that had been left on the bar, sniffed it, and then happily swallowed its contents.

  “Every human being dies sometime, Malthus. I’m simply here now to ensure your influence is not the deciding factor of when and where. I will no longer allow you to interrupt the intended process of free will.”

  Malthus’s left hand shot out to encircle Gabriel’s right wrist.

  “Allow? I will rip your flesh apart if need be, Gabriel. The vessel you have resided in all this time will be torn asunder. Don’t – ever – threaten – ME.”

  Gabriel winced at the force of Malthus’s grip, silently noting how much stronger the Illuminati operative had become over the years.

  “You sense my strength don’t you, Gabriel?”

  Gabriel smiled as he shrugged while his left hand began searching for something in one of his jacket pockets.

  “I need a cigarette.”

  Malthus gave a sneering growl of disgust.

  “A filthy habit for a filthy creature.”

  “I’m sorry, Malthus, what did you just say?”

  Malthus leaned forward to repeat his condemnation, thus allowing Gabriel the leverage he needed. Gabriel’s left arm swung upward to wrap itself around Malthus’s head while the rest of Gabriel’s body dropped off of the bar stool, bringing his entire weight down upon the back of Malthus’s neck and sending his forehead crashing into the top of the bar.

  By the time Malthus recovered enough to stand himself back up on still wobbly legs, Gabriel was gone.

  “Hey, asshole - no smoking.”

  It took a moment for Malthus’s pounding head to realize the youngish, well muscled man with the short cropped blonde hair behind the bar was speaking to him. He looked back at the man in confusion.

  The bartender pointed a thick finger at Malthus while repeating his demand with even greater threatened aggression.

  “I said no smoking.”

  Malthus turned to see his reflection in the mirror that ran the length of the wall behind the bar, his rage increasing exponentially as he looked upon the face staring back at him.

  A burning cigarette had been jammed into his mouth, courtesy of Gabriel.

  9.

  “So who are they – Gabriel and Malthus? Leaving out the mystery of how Gabriel could have been the same age when the photo of your mother and father was taken all those years ago in Paris, who are they?”

  Alexander sat in his chair silently, his eyes heavy with the fatigue of age and the imminent task and burden he knew awaited him.

  “I don’t know who Gabriel is. The Vatican has been attempting to follow him for decades, as have we in the T3 Group, but he has proven himself quite capable of disappearing for years at a time, and then emerging elsewhere. What I do know is he seems rather…unique.”

  “And what about Malthus?”

  Alexander Meyer closed his eyes and exhaled loudly before turning to look at his guest.

  “Malthus is part of a group responsible for a great deal of pain and suffering in the world, Mr. Bennington, and it now appears he has taken a considerable interest in you. As the tape we just viewed showed, Malthus will often appear shortly before a tragedy. The tape is the only visual evidence we have of this, but over the years, the T3 Group has accumulated several witness accounts of his presence prior to some terrible chaos.”

  “What group is he a part of? Is he some kind of terrorist?”

  The billionaire stood up from the chair and clasped his hands behind his back while his eyes appeared to look beyond the walls of the small study.

  “Something like that, yes. Tell me, Mr. Bennington, have you ever heard of the term, Illuminati?”

  Frank’s brow furrowed.

  “Sure, conspiracy bullshit. Some call it Illuminati, while people like me who’ve actually worked in D.C. call it politic
s.”

  Alexander pointed at the screen looming next to him.

  “What would you call the suicide of Frederick Foster moments after being visited by the man we know as Malthus? Would you consider that merely politics?”

  Bennington stood up as well.

  “I’d call that a loss for him and his family, but the tape made it clear it wasn’t Malthus who pulled the trigger.”

  The billionaire nodded his head.

  “True, Malthus was there, and then he was gone, leaving a high ranking member of the White House to kill himself while sitting alone on a park bench in Ft. Marcy Park in the summer of 1993. Gabriel wanted me to have that tape, to know Malthus’s involvement, to hint at what he is capable of, just as he also wanted you to come here as well.”

  Frank made no effort to hide his impatience.

  “So what do you want?”

  “Time, Mr. Bennington, I need you to provide me more time. Malthus is coming for you, which most likely means the Illuminati want you dead. It would appear Gabriel wants you alive and feels the best way to ensure your continued existence is as a member of the T3 Group. As for me, I need you to give me time to complete the next phase of my own existence.”

  Bennington’s right hand moved slowly across his forehead in a literal attempt to clear his own thoughts.

  “What do you mean your next phase, Mr. Meyer, and how am I supposed to buy you more time? You’re the one with all the money and power, not me.”

  Alexander Meyer stepped forward and placed a hand on each of Frank’s shoulders, hoping he was conveying both the sincerity and importance of what he was asking of the former political operative.

  “You will have money, Mr. Bennington, and the resources and power of the T3 Group at your disposal. Beyond just wanting you dead, find out what else Malthus is up to, and then prevent it from happening. Do that, and I am certain you will allow me the time I need.”

  Bennington suddenly realized part of what the billionaire intended to do – why his tone was so urgent.

  “You’re leaving New York, aren’t you?”

  Alexander’s hands slipped from Frank’s shoulders as he returned to his chair.

  “Yes, my concern must now be for the safety of my wife, and more importantly, my granddaughter Dublin. I also intend to try and save

  just a bit of what this country once was in the hopes it might someday have an opportunity to remember itself. It’s the future I now turn to, Mr. Bennington. Not so much my own, but the futures of others whose job it will be to rebuild what I feel will soon be lost.”

  “Where are you going?”

  The older man shook his head as a faint, sad smile lengthened the corners of his mouth.

  “That is not for you to know.”

  “Does Stasia know you’re leaving?”

  Alexander Meyer nodded.

  “Of course, she is to be working with you. Where you go, she goes.”

  Frank’s eyebrows rose well above his eyes.

  “Really, she agreed to babysit me?”

  Alexander chuckled, grateful for the return of Bennington’s sarcastic humor.

  “She respects your potential, just as I do. Together you will make a formidable team and she will be more than adequate in getting you up to speed on how things work within the organization.”

  Bennington folded his arms across his chest, still contemplating far more questions than what few answers he had been given.

  “And she’s not too bad on the eyes, either. You wouldn’t be using my weakness for attractive women as a way of pushing me to accept your offer would you?”

  The billionaire’s mouth formed an exaggerated “O” as he attempted to appear shocked over such an accusation.

  “Absolutely not, Mr. Bennington, Ms. Wellington is a remarkably capable individual, well versed in the art of espionage and self defense.”

  “Uh-huh, I’m sure she is, Mr. Meyer. That said, this all sounds pretty optimistic on your part. You want an old guy like me with a bad ticker no less, to try and track down this Malthus who you think is part of some group called the Illuminati that has been around for hundreds of years, and eliminate him so it gives you more time to abandon ship here in New York and disappear to some secret location where you want to wait it all out until things get better. Do I have it about right?”

  Alexander Meyer gave the private detective a frowning shrug.

  “Well, when you put it that way, I admit it all sounds more than a little crazy, even with you neglecting to mention the mystery of a man who doesn’t appear to have aged in the last seventy-five years.”

  “Ah, yes, our mutual acquaintance Gabriel, the one who suggested that you leave New York for safer pastures.”

  Alexander Meyer drew back in his chair, startled by Bennington’s knowledge of Gabriel’s communication to him.

  “How did you know that?”

  Frank shook his head.

  “I didn’t – until now.”

  The billionaire sat silently regarding Frank’s successful ruse and then reached toward the half empty bottle of 1926 single malt.

  “You’ve once again proven my faith in your abilities, Mr. Bennington. So shall I fill our glasses one more time so that we may toast your acceptance as a full member of the T3 Group?”

  Frank Bennington had actually already made up his mind long before the proposed toast, but by not sharing that decision, managed to glean just a bit more information from his wealthy host. Now satisfied with what he knew, as fantastical and improbable it all was, he proceeded to grasp his shot glass and hold it out in front of him.

  “An ancient battle with an unknown enemy, a somehow ageless mystery man, some spooky dude who wants me dead, one of the wealthiest men in the world as my benefactor, and a beautiful sidekick – how could I not accept that?”

  Alexander Meyer re-filled each of their shot glasses and then lightly clinked his glass against Frank’s.

  “Welcome to the war. May you remain safe to always fight another day so that good might prevail over evil and God’s will be done.”

  Frank tilted his glass into his mouth and emptied it as the sound of Malthus whistling Sympathy for the Devil echoed in his head.

  10.

  The following morning saw Frank Bennington startled from a deep sleep by the sound of knocking at his guest room door. His phone indicated it was just past 6:00 a.m.

  “Mr. Bennington, it’s Stasia, can I come in?”

  After quickly putting on the same pair of pants and dress shirt from yesterday, Frank opened the door and motioned for Stasia to enter.

  “Something wrong?”

  Despite the early hour, Stasia appeared as put together and ready for action as ever, her hair and lightly applied makeup perfectly complimenting each other.

  Stasia made certain the door was locked behind her.

  “Alexander Meyer has already left New York. I know he’s been keeping his family at their estate in Centre Island for some time, but if he’s not there, then I have to assume he’s gone for good.”

  Frank sat down at the end of the bed and nodded.

  “Yeah, he mentioned to me last night about his plans to leave. He said he needed to focus on keeping his wife and granddaughter safe.”

  The fingers of Stasia’s right hand were gently pulling down on her lower lip as she contemplated what Bennington told her.

  “Did he say where he’s going?”

  Frank shook his head.

  “No, he said that wasn’t for me to know. He also said you knew he was leaving.”

  Stasia placed a hand on each of her hips.

  “Yeah, I knew he planned to leave, I just didn’t know exactly when, or where to. Now it seems he’s already gone.”

  Bennington sensed Stasia’s unease – something beyond the billionaire’s absence.

  “What’s going on? You seem worried.”

  Stasia was again tugging on her lower lip.

  “I am. If Mr. Meyer is in fact gone, that means Peter Berg i
s now fully in charge of his business empire, and I’ve never fully trusted Berg.”

  “Does that mean Berg is running the T3 Group?”

  Stasia looked at Frank directly as her eyes narrowed.

  “No…the T3 Group is beyond Berg’s control. Alexander Meyer was a member of the group, an important and powerful member, but not its leader. The T3 Group is bigger than even Mr. Meyer.”