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

“they’re not on the best of terms.”
    “The daughter live there?”
    “I think so.”
    “I’ll question her too. When can you talk to Overbee?”
    I wanted that talk more than Bill did. I wanted to find out what happened and maybe even keep the meter running a ways past his ten grand retainer .
    “Any time. Let me know.”
    “I’ll call his lawyer. He wants to be there. Maybe tomorrow.”
    “Call me when you know.”
    “I will.” Penrod looked me square in the eye. “Then I expect full disclosure.”
    “I know.” I also knew that Bill Penrod wouldn’t let up on me. I’d have to spill most of it.
    Penrod started to get up to leave. Then I said, “Does the press have the story yet?”
    He sat back down.
    “Not yet.”
    “You got mug shots?”
    “Of course.” His tone said that I shouldn’t have had to ask.
    “Get yourself copies,” I told him. “You can sell them to one of the tabloids before the other news hawks get them. They’d all kill to get a photo of the elusive Buford Overbee.”
    Penrod laughed. “Might just do that, Stan. Then I can retire. Need a partner?”
    I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms. The idea of partnering with Bill Penrod again was beyond my wildest hopes. If only the business would support it.
    “I wish,” was all I could say. “Seriously, about the mug shots. The mob’s been looking for him for years. He pled out a murder rap with a deal that let him walk in exchange for testifying. They don’t know his name or where he is. You let his picture get out, and his life isn’t worth a rusty Al Gore campaign button.”
    “I’ll pass it on,” Penrod said.
     

Chapter 10             
     
    The next morning I stopped at McDonald’s and got coffee and a sausage biscuit. Then I went directly to the police station. My army pals were on my tail again. They knew where I lived. I hoped they’d think I was a cop. So far, both times they’d tailed me, I’d gone to the police station. When I pulled into the parking lot this morning they sped off just as they’d done the previous time.
    Whatever they had in mind, they obviously didn’t want to go into action here. Or at the McDonald’s drive-through. Too many cops here, too many witnesses there. It occurred to me that I might have to start carrying Roscoe. The last thing I wanted to do, though, was shoot an army spook. That would be some serious paperwork.
    Maybe they were just trying to scare me off so I wouldn’t get on Jeremy’s case if he bothered Amanda again. Fat chance. I might be scared, but I wouldn’t be scared off.
    I went into the station. The desk sergeant sent me to the interrogation room where Buford was waiting. He sat on the far side of the table where suspects were interrogated. A thin, greasy-looking guy in a cheap, ill-fitting black suit stood against the wall.
    “Stan, this is Sanford, my legal advisor,” Buford said, indicating the skinny guy.
    Sanford nodded and I nodded back. He did not look like a lawyer. He looked more like a street hustler, a pimp. The cheap suit didn’t fit him because it wasn’t tailor-made and he was as thin as a barbecue skewer. The pants were baggy and the jacket hung down off his shoulders. A thick watch chain dangling to the floor would have completed the fifties zoot suit persona, but he didn’t have one.
    “Did you confess yet?” I asked Buford. He smiled and shook his head.
    I told them what Penrod had told me about what he had on Buford so far. Sanford shrugged it off.
    “Not much to go on,” he said.
    “A witness seeing my car there, that’s kind of incriminating,” Buford said.
    I looked Sanford up and down. He returned the examination. Not a guy to mess with. I needed him out of there.
    “Buford, Sanford ought to wait out there,” I said, indicating the door.
    “I stay,” Sanford said.
    “We need someone out there making sure they’re not listening to what we say,” I said.
    “I’m Mr. Overbee’s counselor, Bentworth. They