BENNINGTON P.I. “BONITA” (2 page)

And yeah, I called her a broad.  Does that make me some kind of throw back, knuckle-dragging Neanderthal?  Maybe so.  I’ll tell you this, I ain’t one of those touchy-feely I just want talk it out pansies that seem to pass for men these days.  The Almighty gave us balls for fuck’s sake.  Let ‘em swing man.  Me Tarzan, you Jane.  Nothing wrong with a world where men are men and women are just about the best thing we men have going for us in this life.

After the congressman died, Ivanka and I became somewhat friends.  Not hugs and kisses, how you doing friends, which is all phony bullshit anyways, but the kind of friends who share a secret, and respect the other for keeping it, and what happened to the congressman was a secret she and I intend to take to our graves.

Silia’s suggestion held merit.  Ivanka had contacts throughout Washington D.C., and she was smart.  Seeing if she could help me find some kind of gainful employment couldn’t hurt – at least not much.

That is, unless she had her younger brother Arman kick the shit out of me for something I said or did and forgot about.  With me, there’s always that possibility.

I looked down at Silia looking back up at me as we both lay in my studio apartment bed, and sensed her genuine concern for my future.  Sure she’d left me once after I had collapsed, thinking I had died while my face was firmly ensconced between her thighs, but I can’t blame her for that.  Some fat, older guy stops breathing on you in mid-coitus is bound to spook most anyone.

Then again, maybe she just wanted to make sure I had enough money coming in to keep hiring out her services, and if so, well so what if that was her primary motivation?  In this world, we gotta survive or perish, right?

When it comes to women, I learned long ago to live by the mantra of “no hard feelings.”  Women are gifts, and any man who doesn’t understand that, and treat them accordingly, has no place in my universe.  I like to think I’m a pretty even keel fella, but a man who puts unkind hands to a woman, makes me capable of most anything in retaliation. 

And I mean anything. 

I’d say to ask the congressman about that, but he’s dead.  Yeah, that’s what most would probably call a not-so-subtle hint.

My father used to beat the hell out of my mom on a regular basis, leaving her covered in scratches and bruises, all things she dismissed as, you guessed it, just another little “episode”.  Even as a young boy I was evolved enough to know those beatings were all kinds of not right, and promised when I was big enough, my mom would never have that happen to her again.

My dad tested that promise.

Once.

After that, as best I know, he never laid a hand on my mother again, and ever since that time, I’ve tried to do my best to protect the women I know as best I can, even if I was a drunken, selfish, self-loathing asshole while I did it.

If that sounds like some kind of contradiction to you, well that’s ok.

I’m nothing if not a walking, talking, mess of contradictions.  Call it the Irish side of me if you like – or not.   Fact is, I could give a shit.

2.

Ivanka looked beautiful.  She really did.  Some guys who walk around with their pants hanging down their ass, their skin full of tats, and a bunch of metal jammed into their ears, or nose, and God knows what else, might see her as being too old.  Bullshit.  Thing is, I love all women.  Old, young, tall, short, blonde, brunette, redhead, it doesn’t matter.  Every woman has something about her that’s unique, beautiful, and deserving of appreciation – even the bitchy ones.  In fact, a little tip here fellas, sometimes,
especially
the bitchy ones.  Those ladies are just eliminating the weak and uncertain, so man up and get your game on.  Might just pay off big time for you.

So when I sat down inside of Ivanka’s place of business and looked over at her as she positioned herself across her dining room table, I saw nothing less than drop dead gorgeous.  She always dressed immaculately in a dress and matching shoes.  On this day it was a cream colored number with exposed shoulders.  Kind of reminded me of something Grace Kelly wore in that movie she did with Cary Grant called
To Catch a Thief. 
Ivanka’s attire matched well with the interior of the residence, which was just as artful, clean, and impressive as she was.

Classy, hot, and damn sexy.

Ivanka might have been pushing up on sixty, but her body remained a tightly wound weapon inside that dress, and I didn’t see mileage on her face, but rather saw experience.  The kind of experience that pays dividends in the bedroom, and that ain’t just talk – that’s a fact.  The kind of experience that could even teach a guy like me a thing or two, and I’m not so old yet I don’t love learning something new.

Real men know what I’m talking about.  Seems like society today is filled with people pretending to be something they’re not – namely young.  I say appreciate the time you have on the odometer, man.  Take pride in having more than a little been there and done that in you, right?

“Hello again Frank.  It’s been a while.  You look good.  Lost some weight.”

Ivanka’s softly purring Russian accent lent her voice a touch of the exotic that complimented her high cheek-boned, physical beauty.  Her well manicured eyebrows arched above her intelligent dark eyes, as her mouth curled just slightly upward when she looked back at me.

“Yeah, it seems almost dying has been good for my health.  Go figure.”

Ivanka allowed herself a quick smile.  She couldn’t help but find me amusing, and was comfortable enough to let me know that. That’s another thing I’ve found with women.  They like men who know how to make them smile.  This world can be a real shitty place, and a man who brings a sense of humor to it, won’t find themselves absent companionship.  At least, that’s been my experience.  Then again, with a face like mine, you damn well better have a sense of humor.

“So you indicated needing my advice?  Or help?”

I nodded back at her, not even trying to put up a front to hide the fact I really did need some help.  Besides, my rumpled clothes and scuffed shoes had likely already made that fact more than abundantly clear to her.

“Well, thing is, after the congressman’s death, I’m out of work, and nobody wants to hire me on.  So Silia thought that maybe you might have some ideas on what I could do to get some cash coming in.  I’m willing to work, I just don’t know at what.”

Ivanka sat unmoving.  Not even her eyes blinked as she stared back at me.  It was a tactic she used often to intimidate others in her presence. 

“You have been working in Washington D.C. a long time, yes?”

Again I nodded back at Ivanka.

“Yeah, and that might be part of the problem.  Seems my, uh, way of life has turned some people off of me.  Or they think I’m about to die, or I’m dead already…I don’t know.  I’ve tried, but nobody seems to want to give me a shot.  The phone’s no longer ringing, you know? And thing is, I’m running low on cash, with no prospects for more to be coming my way Ivanka.”

Ivanka’s curling at the corners of her mouth smile returned.

“You do enjoy life, don’t you Frank?  Why not simply retire altogether?  You’re old enough for Social Security, right?”

I knew my face was falling into itself, unable to hide my disgust at Ivanka’s suggestion I join the ranks of the undead.  Social Security wasn’t for living off of, at least not for someone of my particular appetites.  And besides, I
wanted
to keep working.  I was pretty sure it was helping to keep me alive.

“I want to work Ivanka, not sit around waiting for some little government check to come in.  That ain’t for me.  I’d sooner curl up and die.”

Ivanka rolled her eyes and waived a dismissive hand at me.

“You men and your penchant for dramatics.  Instead of telling me what you don’t want to do, how about you tell me what you
do
want to do Frank?  What are you good at?”

I couldn’t help myself, leaning forward to raise my eyebrows up and down several times.

“I’d love to have the opportunity to show you what I’m good at Ivanka.”

The Russian madam reverted back to her silent staring, seemingly both unamused and unimpressed at my attempted humor.

“If you can’t be serious Frank, you’re welcome to leave.”

I apologized, hoping I hadn’t offended Ivanka.

“You know many people in Washington D.C. right?”

I nodded.

“These people are both great and small, yes?  From congressmen to bartenders, correct?”

Again I nodded, having no idea where Ivanka was taking me.  Perhaps she had no idea as well.

“Tell me Frank, when you were running political campaigns, what did you do to find out the more…unsavory details of your opponent?”

That was easy, and I found myself getting excited at having somebody to talk political shop with again.

“We’d hire out for opposition research.  There was the political stuff, and the personal stuff.  If things got tight, that’s when we broke out the personal file, drop a story with someone we were tight with in the media, and watch the other guy burn up after the smear was released.  Is that what you’re asking about?”

Ivanka nodded, her eyes twinkling approval.

“Did your campaign pay well for those research services?”

I paused, my mind travelling back to previous campaigns, doing a quick tally of monies spent on opposition research.  The amount was considerable.

“Yeah, I’d say so.  Usually ten or even twenty thousand dollars every campaign.”

Ivanka looked at me and shrugged, waiting for me to respond to what she assumed I was figuring out. The light on the old porch finally went on inside my head.

“Really?  You think I could do that kind of thing?  I don’t know…”

Again Ivanka rolled her eyes as she shook her head at me.

“Stop acting like a weak, old man Frank!  You have information, you know how to get information, and you know how this political game you spent so many years inside of works.  So just do it!  Become a, what is it called, a private investigator.”

Part of me was saying no way in hell.  I was sixty four years old!  No time to start up that line of work!  Then again, Ivanka made a good point.  I did know a little something on just about everyone who was anyone in Washington D.C., and the things I didn’t know, I knew where to look to find out.  And people did pay good money for that kind of information.  Real good money.  My heart was working right, I felt better than I had in years, lost some weight…why the hell not?  It sure beat sitting around cooped up in some studio apartment waiting to die.

“Ok, I’ll do it.  Not sure exactly how yet, but I’ll do it.”

Ivanka clapped her hands together, her face breaking out into a wide grin.  I’m pretty sure it was the first time I’d ever seen her smile like that.  She looked ten years younger, and even more beautiful.

“Very good Frank.  We should celebrate.”

I felt the smile on my own face communicating agreement at the suggestion.  Celebration?  Hey, I’m always game for that.

Ivanka stood up and moved toward the back part of the residence’s first floor.

“Where you going Ivanka?”

The Russian woman turned to look back at me, the twinkle in her eyes seeming to illuminate the space around her.

“To my room – to celebrate.  I assume you’re coming?”

Another crude joke entered my mind, but thank God I kept my mouth shut to avoid sharing it out loud.  Instead I simply stood up and quickly followed behind Ivanka.

At that moment, I was simply and fully content that life for old Frank Bennington was about to get GOOD.