On the Street Where You Die (Stanley Bentworth mysteries Book 1) by Al Stevens Page B

rattle him?
    “Who besides you knows I was having trouble with the guy?” I asked.
    “Well, the whole fucking precinct for starters. And whoever your sister told at work. Probably the whole town.”
    “So there’s no chance of you burying it.”
    “No chance.”
    “Those Army guys think I did it.”
    “How do you know?”
    “They’re following me around again. They got no boss telling them to do it now, but there they are. Look down the street when you leave. Olive drab Chevy.”
    After Bill left, I finished breakfast and called Rodney to come get me. He was there in about a minute, and we walked across the street. The olive drab Chevy was still there. The glint of the afternoon sun reflected off of binocular lenses through the windshield in the passenger’s side. Or maybe a camera lens. Or a telescopic lens.
    “Watch for red laser lights,” I told Rodney.
    “Huh?” he said.
    As we crossed the street, a black and white pulled up next to the Army car. The cops rolled down their window and talked to the soldiers, after which the Army car pulled out and sped away. Good old Bill. Doing what he could.
    Rodney and I went around the building to my car, which Rodney had parked in the alley. He helped me in, and I gave him directions to Buford’s house.

Chapter 16 
     
    This time Officer Bob waved us right into the compound, but security was tight at Buford’s. A guard in a black suit and sunglasses was stationed at Buford’s personal gatehouse. He checked our identification and waved us through. Two black SUVs stood in the driveway near the entrance. Another black suit stood at the doorway talking on a walkie-talkie.
    Rodney helped me out of the car and to the door.
    “Wait in the car, please,” I said. He got a disappointed look on his face, which I pretended not to notice.
    The black suit stood aside and let me in. He said that Mr. Overbee was waiting on the patio.
    I went through the house and out to the patio. Buford was on a chaise lounge with Missy on one side and Serena on the other.
    Buford got up and said, “Let’s go in the study where we won’t bore the ladies with business.”
    However this conversation was going to go, he didn’t want anyone else in on it. Neither did I. Especially Missy and Serena.
    We went into the study and sat in facing leather easy chairs. Gravity allowed me to sink into the chair, but I’d need help getting up. I laid my crutches on the floor beside the chair.
    Ramon was there right away with drinks for both of us. We waited for him to leave.
    “You look like shit,” Buford said.
    “I get that a lot.”
    “Any trouble getting in?”
    “No. Bob and the Men In Black passed me right through.”
    “Some of Sanford ’s guys. I brought them on after I was outed.”
    “Tell me about the boat bombing.”
    “You mean the boat accident?” he asked, looking away.
    “Come on. You might get an onboard fire from a spark and gas leak, but they said there wasn’t anything left of that boat but flotsam.”
    He took a sip. I took a healthy swallow.
    “My boys had nothing to do with it, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he said. “Did you read about him being Army Intelligence and Homeland Security looking into it?”
    “Think they’ll find anything?”
    “Not if whoever did it is competent. I understand some of those terrorists are real good with explosives.”
    “Well, his soldier pals think I had something to do with it. They’ve been stalking me.”
    “I’ll tell Sanford . He might be able to discourage them.”
    “Okay, but don’t go blowing up any Army vehicles. At least not in front of my office. I don’t have the alibi any more.”
    He didn’t answer. I had the distinct impression that Buford Overbee would be a good friend to have and a fearsome enemy. I changed the subject.
    “Let’s talk about your case. Did the cops tell you where they found the gun?”
    “In the trunk of my Rolls. Under the wheel in the spare tire compartment. Whoever offed Vitole