[Lady Justice 01] - Lady Justice Takes a C.R.A.P.

by Robert Thornhill

  “What happened?” Ox asked.

  “Two men wearing gray jumpsuits and red nylon stockings on their heads robbed the exchange office. There was a big sale today, and they made off with a wad of cash. They can’t be too far away. A clerk triggered a silent alarm, and we responded in minutes. We’ve got every available man searching the area.”

  We helped erect the crime scene tape and stood guard as a large crowd began to gather. There was no pushing or shoving, just curious people with boring lives hoping for a vicarious thrill.

  As I was surveying the crowd, a gray jumpsuit caught my eye. I looked closer and saw what I initially thought was a red bandana sticking out of a back pocket. I looked again. My God! That’s not a bandana. It’s pantyhose! Either that guy had just come from a shopping spree at Victoria’s Secret or he was our perp. Pretty clever. They knew they were surrounded, so the best place to hide was in plain sight. They could just blend in with the crowd while the cops are busting their butts searching the area.

  I leaned over to Ox. “Look,” I said and pointed to Mr. Pantyhose.

  At that moment our eyes met, and the guy realized he had been made. He grabbed his cohort, and off they sprinted toward the livestock pens.

  Ox and I took off in hot pursuit. As they reached the pens they split up, going in opposite directions. Ox went left and I went right. I saw my guy with the red pantyhose hanging out of his pocket scale a fence and disappear.

  Without giving much thought I scaled the fence as he had. I was straddling the top board, congratulating myself on my agility and dexterity, when I looked down and saw the perp standing in the middle of the corral. A 9mm Beretta was pointed right at my head.

  They didn’t cover this at the academy.

  I was thinking my career in law enforcement was about to come to a premature end when I noticed movement in the far corner of the corral. A huge Black Angus bull had emerged and was pawing the ground. His attention seemed to be focused on the perp’s rear end.

  The red pantyhose!

  I remembered something about bulls hating red things and at that moment I hoped that included pantyhose.

  The perp’s attention had been entirely on me, and too late he turned as he heard the thundering hoofs of Mr. Quarterpounder.

  Wham! The bull hit him square in the butt. The Beretta flew one direction as he was launched about six feet in the air. Whoof! He hit the ground, and while the bull’s attention was still on its conquest, I scurried down and retrieved the gun. I fired a round into the ground, and the bull, startled, retreated to the far end of the corral. I grabbed my cuffs, fastening one end to the perp’s hand and the other to the metal gatepost. I pulled the red stocking from his back pocket and hung it on the fence next to him but just beyond his reach. I figured Mr. Bull might as well stand guard until I could get back.

  I scaled the fence and ran in the direction I last saw Ox. I heard voices coming from a stall, and I cautiously peeked through the slats in the fence. Apparently the perp had gotten the drop on Ox just as his buddy had with me. Ox was on his knees, and the perp had a gun pointed at his head. I looked around hoping for another bovine miracle, but the pen was empty except for a high loader with its bucket poised in mid-air.

  The stall that Ox and the gunman were in was apparently in the process of being mucked when the robbery occurred. The guy running the loader must have been ordered to stop so the cops could secure the area. He had left the loader suspended in midair filled to the brim with steamy cow poop. Like my perp not noticing the bull, this guy was so focused on Ox he didn’t realize he was standing directly under the bucket.

  I had never operated a high loader before. I figured that it couldn’t be too difficult. Guys with big necks do it all the time. I cautiously slipped into the driver’s seat. Geez. How many levers does this thing have? I pulled the first lever. Nothing. I pulled the second lever. Nothing. I pulled the third lever and bingo—jackpot.

  The perp heard the big bucket groan, and as it swung down to release its steamy load, the perp looked up and opened his mouth to scream.

  That was the wrong thing to do.

  “Oh shit!” he screamed as the waste of a hundred heifers cascaded on his upturned face.

  Yep, you got that right, I thought. I could tell right away that Lady Justice had a sense of humor.

  Ox got up from his knees, took my small hand in his large paw, and held on for a long time.

  Not too bad for my first day on the job.

  CHAPTER 5

  I was feeling pretty good as I drove back to my apartment building. As usual, my old friend Willie was sitting on the front stoop.

  Willie could be a black me. I am just a year older than Willie, we both have a slender build, and we’re both as gray-headed as can be. There is, however, one significant difference. Willie has certain physical endowments that I am not blessed with. We’re not in the same ballpark, so to speak.

  One day when we were feeling particularly chummy, I said, “Willie, we’re about the same age. How come you’re not starting to shrivel up like me?”

  “Exercise, Mr. Walt. You got a muscle you want to beef up, you gotta give it plenty of exercise. The mo’ the betta. You know de ole sayin’; use it or lose it!”

  His exercise program was obviously different than mine.

  Willie probably had never heard of Confucius, but he certainly had lived his life according to one of his dictates: “Foolish man give wife grand piano; wise man give wife upright organ.”

  As I came up the sidewalk, Willie waved. “Evenin’, Mr. Walt.”

  “How are you doing today, Willie?”

  “Well, not doin’ too good today. I kinda got me a personal problem.”

  “Exactly what kind of personal problem?” I asked, figuring he needed to borrow some money until his Social Security check arrived.

  “Well, it’s like dis. I had me a date with Emma yesterday, and I was all lookin’ forward to it, but something didn’t feel quite right, you know, down dere.” He pointed to his crotch. “You know, it’s kinda like when you got a six-cylinder car and it’s only hittin’ on four cylinders. It’s needin’ a tune-up. I didn’t want to disappoint Emma. I got a reputation to protect, you know. So I figured I’d get me a tune-up. Bought me some of that Viagra stuff from Benny down on Twelfth Street. He said it was real good shit. So I took it, and sho’ enough, it was good shit. Problem is the directions said if yo’ erection lasts longer dan fo’ hours you betta see yo’ doc.”

  “So,” I asked, “did your erection last four hours?”

  “It sho did! Like to killed the po’ girl. When she couldn’t take no mo’, I came on home, but it still wouldn’t go away. “I was beginnin’ to get concerned, so I took myse’f down to Doc Buleah’s free clinic. She’s real discreet, you know. That woman took one look at my problem, said, ‘Oh, Willie!’ and jumped my old bones right there on the exam table.”

  “Well, did that take care of the problem?” I asked.

  “Hell no,” he replied.

  “Have you tried taking a cold shower?”

  “Yep, I had me one of them too. Didn’ work, but I found a really good place to hang my soap-on-a-rope.”

  I hadn’t noticed that the professor had been sitting quietly on the porch swing listening to our conversation. He rose, walked over, and simply said, “Think a thought that’s iffy and you’ll lose your stiffy.” He went inside.

  “What dat ole man talkin’ about?” Willie asked.

  “Gosh, Willie,” I said. “I think what you need is a distraction. Something to take your mind off your…you know what.”

  Just then, old Mrs. Bassett from 1-A came out the door. She’s eighty-five, wrinkled as a prune, her boobs hang down to her waist, and she has a big, hairy mole on her lower lip. But she’s really sweet. As she walked by I whispered in Willie’s ear, “How’d you like to have a piece of that?”

  “Oh mercy!” he screamed. “Don’t even say dat. Oh, dat’s one picture I can’t get outta my mind and…
and…” Then he looked down, felt his crotch, and a big grin spread across his face. “You done did it,” he exclaimed. “It’s gone! I knew I could count on you, Mr. Walt. Well, I better go see if Emma’s okay.”

  And off he went.

  As I watched my friend mosey down the street, I thought of the old saying, “You can’t judge a book by its cover.”

  To the casual observer, Willie would probably be just another old street guy, somebody they would try to avoid, but I knew the real Willie, a man who had given up a life of crime, a man with a heart of gold, a true friend.

  I know that it’s difficult for people to get past the color of your skin, the silver in your hair, or the wrinkles around your eyes.

  As I thought of my new career, I wondered how a sixty-five-year-old gray-haired rookie cop would be perceived.

  Maybe it’s a good thing that Lady Justice wears a blindfold.

  After Willie left, I started upstairs to fix my supper, but somehow, a frozen Hungry Man dinner from the microwave just didn’t seem appropriate tonight, this being the first day in my new career.

  It was a beautiful spring evening, so I decided to walk to my favorite eatery, Mel’s Diner on Broadway.

  I eat there a lot. At Mel’s I can get a platter of biscuits and gravy and two eggs any way I want them for four bucks. When Mel fixes my favorite lunch, he plops a big glob of real butter on a piping hot grill and sautés sweet onions until are all gooey and sweet and don’t taste like onions anymore, and he piles them high on a half-pound ground beef patty with fries, all for six bucks. In the evening, I can get a ten-ounce t-bone, a baked potato as big as a football, and Texas toast for $9.95. What a deal.

  And gravy! Wow! For me, gravy is one of the major food groups. White cream gravy with ground sausage over biscuits, a hot beef sandwich with rich brown gravy, and best of all, creamy fried chicken gravy with the little pieces of the chicken coating floating around.

  The t-bone sounded just right.

  Mel has a sign over his cash register that says, “If you leave here hungry, you didn’t clean your plate.”

  “Healthy?” you ask. Well, nobody’s died at Mel’s in twenty years, so it can’t be too bad. I once read that a person would be much healthier eating natural foods, so I tried. Then I read that most people die of natural causes, so I quit. I think I just missed Mel.

  The big, juicy steak was perfect, as usual, and I waddled home a fuller and happier man.

  I was hoping that with my full tummy I could kick back and relax and maybe get a good night’s sleep, but I could see that it just wasn’t going to happen.

  I was still wired from my first day on the job. I kept replaying the day’s events over and over in my mind, and the more I thought, the worse it got.

  Maybe an alcoholic beverage will take the edge off, I thought.

  Now I’m not a big drinker, but I have friends who are, and I’ve discovered that alcohol consumption is a world of its own.

  I enjoy an occasional margarita. I have friends who will order one too, and specify, “Gold tequila, top shelf.” What’s that all about? What difference does it make what color it is? When they mix it with the other stuff, it always comes out green anyway. And who cares what shelf they keep in on?

  I also occasionally enjoy a glass of wine with my evening meal. Boy! Don’t get me started on wine. What’s the deal with the cork? I hate corks. First, if you finally manage to get the damn thing out and don’t drink the whole bottle, the sucker will never go back in. You have to get out your pocket knife and whittle it. Ever try to whittle a cork? It’s not pretty.

  I’m fairly mechanical. I can hold my own with power tools, but I’ve never been able to master the corkscrew. No matter what I do, the top of the cork comes out stuck in the screw, and the other half is an inch below the lip of the bottle. Nothing spoils the mood of the evening more than having to get out the old Black & Decker and drill out the rest of the cork. Give me a screw-top bottle any day.

  I just don’t understand pairings. You know, red wine with beef, white wine with fish, and on and on and on. In my humble opinion, if it’s a good wine, it will taste good with anything.

  And the price! Wow! I had a client give me a bottle of Dom Perignon. He said it cost him $150. I thought, Man, this is going to be really good. It tasted like Heinz vinegar.

  My personal favorite is Arbor Mist. It comes with a screw cap. You can get it in six different flavors, and it only costs $3.59 a bottle. Just $3.29 if you catch it on sale. And it tastes good with everything. My flavor of choice is peach chardonnay. It goes great with tuna casserole, my signature dish.

  I went to the fridge and found a full bottle of Arbor Mist. With hardly any trouble at all, I had the screw top off and sat down in front of the TV.

  I was hoping to watch the ten o’clock news. Maybe there would be coverage of our big bust.

  It was a little early for the news, and a cop show was just winding up. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched the two on-screen detectives.

  The guy was a svelte, hunky character, all muscle and swagger, and his partner was a curvaceous brunette.

  Then I thought about Ox and me. I guess life doesn’t always imitate art.

  The first glass didn’t calm my jittery nerves. I continued to ruminate about my first day on the job.

  At the time everything was happening, I didn’t have time to think, I just reacted; but now, in the safety of my apartment, I got cold chills as I thought about what I had done.

  I poured a second glass, and as I sipped, I saw myself climbing the corral fence and looking into the business end of a 9mm Beretta.

  What would have happened if that bull hadn’t come to the rescue?

  Then I saw Ox on his knees with a gun to the back of his head.

  Would my partner be dead if I had pulled the lever a minute too late?

  What am I doing? Am I really cut out to be a cop?

  I poured a third glass of Arbor Mist. Then the lights went out.

  I found myself in total darkness.

  I knew I was no longer in my living room, but I had no idea where I was or how I got there.

  I couldn’t see anyone around me, but I could sense something malevolent nearby.

  I could hear faint voices. Someone was weeping and crying out in fear.

  I groped in the darkness, reaching for something, anything, but there was nothing there.

  The pleading voices grew louder, and I could feel the evil presence growing near. I knew I had to act, but how can you battle an unknown foe? How can you fight something you cannot see?

  Then I remembered a scene from Star Wars where Luke Skywalker was learning to be a Jedi knight. As he stood poised with his light saber, his mentor admonished, “Use the force, Luke.” He dug deep into his soul and found an inner strength that he had not known before.

  As I stood in the darkness, I too heard a still, small voice, and I knew what I had to do.

  I summoned all my strength and…

  “Good morning, America.”

  I awoke with a start and saw a perky little blonde smiling at me from TV.

  I was still in my easy chair, and an empty Arbor Mist bottle lay at my feet.

  It was all just a dream.

  Or was it?

  The fine details of what I had experienced had faded away as dreams often do, leaving me with only the words of that small voice and the conviction that I was doing what I was supposed to do.

  CHAPTER 6

  I showered, shaved, ate my bowl of Wheaties, and hit the road, eager to begin the second day in my new career. It’s amazing to what degree our minds control our bodies. For the past year or so, I had been lethargic and bored, and my life was seemingly pointed in no particular direction. It didn’t really matter whether I drug myself out of bed at seven or at nine. I can truly understand why so many men suddenly die soon after retirement.

  This day was different. I was revitalized. I had a purpose, a destiny to fulfill. After all, I was now Lady Just
ice’s newest recruit in the never-ending battle to balance the scales of life. To protect the young, the weak, the innocent from those that would do harm and make them accountable for their evil deeds. Kind of like my childhood hero, from mild man and reporter to the nemesis of evildoers, and here am I, from mild man and realtor to the newest champion of justice. Wow! Who wouldn’t be excited?

  I gathered in the squad room along with the regular officers and poured myself a cup of the black sludge that impersonates coffee at the precinct. I was eagerly awaiting the arrival of Captain Short for our morning briefing when I was bumped from behind, spilling the black goo down the front of my clean uniform shirt.

  “Oh sorry, Grandpa, I didn’t see you sitting there,” quipped Murdock as he snickered and looked around the room for approval. “I heard you were a real hero yesterday. First day on the job and all. Must have been beginner’s luck. Just a word of warning. You’re not a cop. You’re a civilian and an old one at that. I don’t know what they were thinking, bringing you guys in here. I’m warning you. Just stay out of my way.”

  At that moment, a large hand grabbed Murdock by the collar and lifted him till he was standing on his tiptoes.

  “Morning, Murdock,” Ox said. “I see you’ve met my new partner. Heck of a guy. Saved my butt yesterday. From now on, you got anything to say to him, you’re saying it to both of us. You get the picture?”

  He let go of Murdock, who slipped on the coffee he had caused me to spill, and sat down flat on his butt. A muffled snicker was heard circulating around the room.

  Good job, Lady Justice. We’re on the same page.

  Ox sat down next to me and said, “Good morning, Walt. Everything okay?”

  “What the heck was that all about?” I asked. “What did I ever do to that guy?”

  “Well, for starters, the guy is just a jerk,” Ox replied. “Most of the other guys avoid him cause he’s always starting trouble and getting in somebody’s face. On top of that, you shocked the living daylights out of his old friend Captain Harrington. I don’t think you’re gonna be on either one of their Christmas card lists.”