[Lady Justice 12] - Lady Justice and the Class Reunion

by Robert Thornhill

  “Yes, a month ago --- at the same time as Sophia. I told Granny about it and she said to stay far away from those men.”

  “You have a very wise grandmother. I’m guessing that Sophia wasn’t as fortunate.”

  “No, she wasn’t. Her family was deep in debt and she saw this as an opportunity to help. In the beginning, she just didn’t realize the danger.”

  “But now she does? What changed her mind?”

  “Another friend of ours signed up with Corazon just before her and now our friend has gone missing. Sophia is afraid the same thing will happen to her.”

  “That friend wouldn’t be Rosalina Torres, would it?” Ox asked.

  Sylvia was shocked. “You know of Rosalina?”

  Ox and I exchanged glances. We really didn’t want to tell the girl that her friend was most likely dead.

  “We knew that she was coming back to Kansas City after her operation, but we haven’t been able to locate her.”

  “I think I understand,” she said, gravely.

  “Why have you come to us now?” Ox asked.

  “I received a text from Sophia yesterday. She has had the operation and will be returning to Kansas City tomorrow to have the implants removed. She is frightened and doesn’t want to disappear like Rosalina.”

  “Do you know how she is returning to Kansas City --- what airline?”

  “No, all the text said was that she would be returning --- but her last words were, ‘Please help me!’”

  “You’ve done the right thing coming to us.” With as much conviction as I could muster, I said, “Try not to worry. We’ll get on top of this and bring your friend home safe. Do you, by any chance, have a photo of Sophia?”

  Sylvia nodded and pulled her cell phone out of her purse.

  “I took this just before she left.”

  “Perfect!” I said, and we transferred the photo to my phone.

  As they were leaving, Elana took my hand. “Thank you, Walt. I knew I could count on you.”

  With the way that we had let poor Rosalina Torres slip through our fingers, I wasn’t nearly as confident of our success. I just hoped that we would do a better job this time.

  “What’s so important that you have to drag me away from my family on a Sunday?” the Captain asked as we met in his office. “Oh, by the way, Detective Blaylock said to give you boys a pat on the back for the New Theatre arrest. Nice work.”

  “Thanks,” Ox replied. “Sorry to mess up your day, but we have some intel on Hector Corazon’s operation that we think you’ll want to hear.”

  In the next fifteen minutes, we brought the Captain up to speed on our visit with Elana and Sylvia.”

  “Looks like we’re going to have to mess up Rocky Winkler’s weekend as well,” the Captain said. “We don’t want to screw up this opportunity.”

  The rest of the afternoon was spent coordinating with the Drug Enforcement Unit. When Corazon’s men pick up Sophia Sanchez at the airport, we want to be there to tail them to their base of operation and end this thing once and for all.

  Ernie and Father O’Brian had spent hours sitting behind the dumpster in the old Buick, watching the warehouse and hoping for another lead to pass on to the police, but since that first day, traffic in and out of the building had been sparse, certainly nothing to warrant police involvement.

  Ernie had just poured a cup of coffee in Father O’Brian’s kitchen. “Shall we give it another day, Father?”

  “Do you have something more pressing?” Paddy replied, sarcastically.

  “No, I guess I don’t, but I can’t go until later. I have an early appointment with Doc Johnson. He’s upping the dosage of my pain medicine. Between the damned cancer and sitting cramped up in that car for hours, I’m hurting pretty bad.”

  “Maybe you could slip me a couple of whatever the Doc gives you,” Paddy said. “I’ve been pretty uncomfortable myself.”

  Just then the phone rang.

  “Patrick O’Brian here.”

  “Father O’Brian. This is Marlena Sanchez.”

  “Senora Sanchez! How nice to hear from you. What can I do for you?”

  “It’s my daughter, Sophia. She needs help and I’m afraid to go to the police. I didn’t know where else to turn, so I’m calling you. She always trusted you.”

  Paddy punched the speakerphone button so that Ernie could hear the conversation.

  “Is this about Hector Corazon?”

  “How did you know?”

  “I heard about Rosalina Torres. I know what Corazon is doing with our girls. How can I help?”

  “Sophia is coming back to Kansas City this afternoon. That is all I know. If Corazon thinks that I have talked to the police, Sophia will not be safe and neither will the rest of my family.”

  “You are right, Marlena. Don’t talk to anyone else. I will handle this. We’ll get Sophia back for you.”

  “Thank you, Father. I was praying that you could help.”

  Paddy hung up the phone and turned to his friend. “This is the break we’ve been looking for. When Sophia Sanchez steps out of that van, we’ll be there and we’ll have enough proof to bring the cops running. Go get your drugs and let’s get out of here!”

  We had missed Rosalina Torres because we had mistakenly assumed that she would be coming on a direct flight from Mexico and would be passing through customs. Corazon had fooled us when he sent her to Denver to pass through customs and spend the night. We hadn’t bothered to check on the dozens of other flights coming from cities all across the country.

  Winkler wasn’t about to make the same mistake again.

  He had commandeered every available officer and posted a man at every gate in the airport. The name Sophia Sanchez was not listed on any incoming flight, but given Corazon’s slippery tactics, she could have been booked under another name. Every officer had the photo of Sophia that Sylvia had given us.

  The plan was the same as before. Sophia would be met at the gate by one of Corazon’s men. The two of them would be tailed to the location where the drugs were to be surgically removed. Once that location was known, Winkler would hit the building with everything he had.

  Unmarked cars were located at every terminal and airport exit to tail Sophia when she exited the building.

  Ox and I were in one of the unmarked cars.

  Since we had no idea what flight she might be on, we started our surveillance at five in the morning, with the first flight to arrive in Kansas City.

  Surveillance is a boring, mind-numbing job at best. We had hoped that Sophia would be on an early flight, but, of course, that didn’t happen. Every time a plane landed, we waited expectantly for the message that Sophia had been spotted, but by one in the afternoon, there had been no sign of her.

  After eight hours sitting in the car, our butts were numb and there was the possibility that we might be there another ten hours until the last flight of the day had landed.

  We had taken turns running to the john and to Starbucks, but even filled with Espresso Grande, we were having a hard time staying alert.

  I had just polished off my fourth Grande when my cell phone rang.

  “Walter?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Elana Gonzales. Where are you?”

  “We’re at the airport. We have the place staked out, watching for Sophia.”

  “Then you’re in the wrong place!”

  “What!”

  “Sylvia just received a text from Sophia. At two o’clock, she’ll be arriving at the Greyhound Bus Terminal from Little Rock, Arkansas.”

  “Thanks, Elana. We gotta go!”

  I looked at my watch. “Let’s hit it, partner. We’ve got less than an hour to get to the Greyhound Bus Terminal. Corazon screwed us again!”

  Ox peeled away from the terminal and I got on the horn to report the bad news that all of Rocky Winkler’s resources were in the wrong place.

  By the time we got away from the terminal and made the long drive from KCI to the Greyhound
Terminal at Eleventh and Troost, it was five minutes after two.

  “There,” Ox said, pointing to a black SUV. “Isn’t that Sophia?”

  I just had time to get a glimpse of her before she was shoved into the van.

  “That’s her, all right. I wonder if they’ll be heading to the City Market?”

  Ox fell into traffic behind the van that headed west on Twelfth Street.

  I radioed the fact that we had eyes on Sophia and that they were headed west on Twelfth.

  I was surprised when the van zipped through the Walnut Street intersection and continued west.

  “Not going to the City market,” Ox observed. “Must have found a new spot.”

  When the van entered the Twelfth Street Viaduct, we knew that their destination was most likely the West Bottoms.

  “Lots of old warehouses down there,” Ox said, “but which one?”

  I radioed our position to Rocky Winkler.

  “We’re five minutes behind you,” he replied. “Don’t lose them!”

  The van turned onto Mulberry and headed north, then it took a left on Eighth Street, and finally turned into a warehouse parking lot on Hickory.

  I radioed the location to Winkler.

  We pulled to the curb and watched as the driver and another man dragged Sophia out of the van.

  Suddenly, the radio exploded.

  “SHIT!”

  “Sergeant Winkler. What’s happening?”

  “Train! It’s blocking the intersection. We can’t get to you until it passes! You’re on your own until we can get there!”

  We looked, and the two goons were pushing Sophia toward the door to the warehouse.

  “It wasn’t supposed to go down like this!” I said. “Rocky was supposed to hit the place before they got Sophia inside. If they get her in there and then realize we’re coming, they’ll just butcher the poor girl to get the drugs. We have to do something!”

  I put a red light on the top of the unmarked car and Ox hit the accelerator.

  The sound of the tires squealing on the pavement got the attention of Sophia’s captors. One of them shoved her behind the van and the other one drew an automatic pistol and aimed it at our oncoming car.

  The first hail of bullets hit the grille and headlights.

  Ox spun the car sideways and we scrambled behind it just as the second wave smashed into the door panel.

  We tried to return fire, but the rounds from the automatic pistol kept us pinned down.

  Somehow, the bad guys always manage to have better guns than the cops!

  There was a brief pause and I figured the guy was putting a new clip into the pistol. I peered over the hood and what I saw made my blood run cold. The first man had emerged from behind the van and he was carrying a grenade launcher!

  Ernie and Father O’Brian had been sitting behind the dumpster since eleven o’clock.

  Each had taken one of Doc Johnson’s pain pills, but the long wait was beginning to take its toll.

  Ernie looked at his watch.

  “Two-thirty. Do you think Mrs. Sanchez got it wrong?”

  Just then, a black SUV pulled into the parking lot followed by an old Ford.

  “Maybe this is it!” Paddy said.

  They watched as the two men climbed out of the van.

  “There she is!” Paddy exclaimed. That’s her. Let’s call the cops.”

  Before he could pick up the phone, the old Ford shot forward with a red light flashing on top.

  “That is the cops!” Paddy said. “Halleluiah!”

  Their jubilation turned to concern when one of the thugs pulled an automatic pistol and fired at the oncoming vehicle.

  The Ford skidded to a halt and two men took shelter behind it.

  “That’s our cops!” Ernie said. “The old guy and the big one. The ones we wrote to.”

  They watched as the rounds from the automatic pistol slammed into the car.

  “They’re pinned down,” Paddy said. “Where’s their back up?”

  Just then they heard the whistle of a train.

  “Jesus, Paddy! Remember when we tailed those guys the first day and got stuck behind a train?”

  Paddy nodded.

  “Well that’s what’s happened to their backup!”

  There was a brief moment when the firing ceased. They saw the shooter slamming another clip in his pistol. Then the second man emerged from behind the van.

  “Oh, my God!” Ernie exclaimed.

  “What? What is it?”

  “That guy has a grenade launcher. I saw a documentary about them on PBS. One of those things can take out a tank. Those guys don’t stand a chance. That old Ford will be toast and so will the cops.”

  Father O’Brian was silent for a moment.

  “Ernie, do you remember when Frank was alive, we called ourselves the Three Amigos?”

  Ernie nodded.

  “Frank gave his life to save ours and we’re just two amigos now. What would you say about changing movies?”

  “To what?”

  “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”

  “As I recall that didn’t turn out too well for Butch and Sundance.”

  “Think about it, Ernie. Before long we’re both going to be bedridden. They’re going to be sticking catheters up our dicks and pumping us full of morphine. Is that really the way you want to go out? We have a chance here to make our lives count for something. What do you say?”

  He thought about it for just a moment. “Okay Amigo. Let’s do this!”

  Ernie fired up the old Buick and stepped on the gas, the two friends clasped their hands together for the last time and headed straight for the man holding the grenade launcher.

  The last time I had seen one of those fearsome weapons, I was on a dock on the Missouri River. I managed to jump into the river just as the grenade hit the dock. There was nothing left of the thing but splinters.

  “Ox, we have a problem!”

  Ox peeked over the hood and saw the launcher.

  “Crap! We’re sitting ducks here!”

  “Think we can outrun it?”

  “Not a chance!”

  We were considering our limited options when we heard a car engine and squealing tires.

  We saw an old Buick emerge from behind a dumpster and head directly toward the grenade launcher.

  “Isn’t that Ernie Harding’s car?” Ox asked.

  “Sure is --- and Father O’Brian’s with him. What are those crazy old coots doing?”

  We watched in horror as the grenade launcher turned from us to the oncoming car. The projectile hit the old Buick and it exploded into a million pieces between the van and us.

  “This is our chance,” Ox said. “They can’t see us through the smoke and fire. Let’s go!”

  The train must have passed, and as we sprinted toward the remains of the smoking car, I heard the sirens of Rocky Winkler’s Task Force.

  The explosion had stunned the man with the grenade launcher. Ox pounced on him and was cuffing his hands when the goon with the automatic pistol emerged from behind the van.

  I fired my weapon before he could react and he fell to the ground.

  During the melee, Hector Corazon had come from the warehouse and grabbed Sophia. By the time we had subdued his henchmen, he was dragging her back inside.

  “Let’s go! We have to get to him before he can hurt her.”

  We sprinted to the warehouse door and peered cautiously inside. The room was dark, but on the other side, a light shone through a partially closed door.

  We made our way toward the light and peered in.

  Corazon was standing behind Sophia with a gun to her head.

  This was their new operating room. There was a gurney and a small table filled with operating instruments.

  Ox pushed the door open and we stepped inside.

  “Don’t come any closer or I’ll kill her!” Corazon said, menacingly.

  “It’s over, Hector,” I said. “Didn’t you hear those sirens?
There’s no way out of here for you.”

  “There is if you want to save the life of this girl. My life for hers. Otherwise, she dies and I die with her.”

  Sophia was sobbing. “Shoot him! Just shoot him so he can’t hurt any other girls! I don’t care about me.”

  We advanced a few steps forward and Corazon stepped back.

  “One more step and this girl’s blood will be on your hands.”

  Corazon had retreated just far enough that the table full of instruments was in reach.

  Sophia’s hand touched the table and she instinctively looked down.

  A scalpel was near her hand.

  She grabbed the instrument and plunged it into Corazon’s leg.

  He screamed and loosened his grip just enough for her to slip away.

  “Bitch!” he screamed, and pointed the gun at the shaking girl.

  Ox and I fired simultaneously and the leader of the drug cartel slumped to the ground.

  Hector Corazon had fallen under the very knife that he had used to disfigure his victims.

  Lady Justice balances the scales in mysterious ways.

  EPILOGUE

  Human nature is one of the great mysteries of the universe.

  Over the past few months, I had witnessed both the best and the worst of what mankind has to offer.

  Intellectual debates on the subject often boil down to the battle of nature versus nurture.

  Some feel that once the egg and sperm unite, that person’s destiny is sealed in their DNA, while others believe that the growing embryo is a blank page whose life story is forged by the circumstances into which he is born.

  I don’t pretend to know the answer.

  I just know there are people like Warren, who by some quirk of fate was born with a skin condition and a speech impediment.

  Thankfully, not everyone that comes into the world with a handicap becomes a mass murderer. That could have happened to Warren and his story could have become the next Columbine or Sandy Hook.

  Likewise, others are born with extraordinary gifts like athletic prowess. Eddie Delaney was such a man. Again, thankfully, not every gifted athlete becomes a bully. What were the influences in his life that caused him to develop that unfortunate personality trait?