The next morning my cell phone rang and woke me up. I looked at the caller I.D. Buford was calling. I pushed the but-ton 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.”