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.”

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.