Marcus nodded his head vigorously. “Yeah, Hector. That was the plan. We couldn’t have done it without you.”
Hector’s eyes grew stern. “Bullshit! You weren’t going to give me a dime! As for sharing, I don’t think so. Let’s look at our situation. Here I am with two men and three guns, and there you are with --- actually, I don’t see you with much of anything.”
“You’re absolutely right, Hector,” Jake replied, his lip quivering. “No sharing. You take the safe and we’ll just be on our way.”
“No, I don’t think so. It’s too late for that. I doubt anyone knows about this storage unit. They won’t discover your bodies until the rent is overdue or someone detects a peculiar odor coming from inside.”
“No! Please!” Marcus pleaded, dropping to his knees, but his supplication fell on deaf ears.
There were two quiet pops from the silenced revolver.
Jake Whitfield and Marcus Brody crumpled to the ground so near and yet so far from the treasure they had sought.
Hector Lopez and his two henchmen muscled the safe into the black van, pulled the door closed, and snapped the lock in place.
He and one of his men drove away in the van, while the other drove Jake’s car.
He had the treasure, and was confident no one would find the two bodies for weeks, maybe even months.
CHAPTER 8
On the way to the storage unit, I called Ox.
“Hey, Partner, good news. Byron Forsythe’s murder isn’t a dead end any more. We found his laptop, knapsack, and journal in Jake Whitfield’s apartment. Whitfield definitely iced the treasure hunter. We left everything there just like we found it.”
“Great! But we still have a problem,” Ox replied. “We still don’t have anything we can take to a judge to get a warrant. What am I going to tell Detective Blaylock? Walt Williams suspected Whitfield stole his cat, so two gumshoes broke into his apartment and found the evidence? That’s not going to fly. Fruit of the poisonous tree. You know that.”
“Yeah, you’re right, of course. I guess maybe I’ve been with the Lady Justice on the dark side too long. We got something else, though.”
“What?”
“We took Clarence to a vet and had his microchip read. We’re pretty sure the information on it was the location where Forsythe hid his treasure. It’s a storage lot at 8901 Troost. We’re on our way there now.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
“No, I think you should go back to Whitfield’s apartment. He knew about the storage place long before we did. He may have already been there and is heading back to his place. When we get there, we’ll let you know what we find.”
“Okay, but be careful. Remember, he’s already killed once for that treasure. I doubt he’d hesitate to do it again.”
“I hope we’re not too late”, Kevin said, as we sped down Troost, ten miles over the speed limit.
“Doesn’t matter,” I replied. “Even if he got away with Forsythe’s treasure, we know who he is and where he lives.”
We pulled into the storage facility and found #13.
“No car anywhere in sight,” Kevin said. “Guess we missed him.”
I hopped out and started dialing the lock combination we had gotten from Clarence’s microchip. “Works!” I said as the lock popped open. “Help me lift this door.”
“Oh crap!” Kevin muttered as soon as our eyes adjusted to the light in the unit.
Two bodies lay limp on the blood-soaked floor.
“I’m guessing one of these guys is Jake Whitfield,” Kevin said. “The other poor sap must have been his partner. Your dad said there were two of them in your apartment.”
I looked around the unit. “Empty! Nothing else here. If there ever was a treasure, it’s gone.”
“I’d say it was definitely here,” Kevin said, pointing to the floor. “See the square where something was sitting. And those look like drag marks. Whatever it was must have been heavy.”
“Maybe this will give us a clue,” I said, picking a tag off the floor. “Says it was a Rhino Ironworks Home Safe. There’s a product number, and it says the thing weighs 175 pounds.”
“If Cooper’s cash was inside,” Kevin replied, “that would add another twenty-five pounds, so we’re talking at least two hundred. No wonder they dragged it.”
“Better call Ox,” I said. “He’s gonna love this.”
“Ox, Walt here. You don’t need to worry about probable cause to get into Jake Whitfield’s apartment.”
“Okay, I’ll bite. Why not?”
“Because he’s dead. We found Whitfield and his accomplice inside the storage unit, shot in the head point-blank. It’s a real mess. Better get Blaylock and the Crime Scene Unit over here pronto.”
“Jesus! Any sign of the treasure?”
“Looks like it was here. Whoever iced these guys undoubtedly took it.”
“Keep people away. We’ll be there as quick as we can.”
Twenty minutes later, the place was swarming with cops.
Detective Blaylock just shook his head when he spotted Kevin and me.
“Williams! Please don’t tell me you’re mixed up in all of this. I thought you were retired.”
“It’s not my fault,” I replied, pointing to the bloody bodies. “They stole my cat.”
He was speechless.
“It’s a long story,” I said with a grimace.
“Then you’d better get started. I’ve got all day.”
I brought him up to date on everything we knew.
“When they killed Forsythe, they took his laptop, backpack and a journal. In the journal, Forsythe wrote that he had recorded the location of his treasure in a microchip which was implanted in his cat. Maggie temporarily adopted the cat to keep him from being euthanized. These scumbags broke into our apartment and stole the cat. The cat also had a VHF transmitter implanted and that’s how we found him at Whitfield’s apartment. You’ll find all of Forsythe’s stuff in Whitfield’s apartment.”
I couldn’t tell whether he was dumbfounded or incensed.
“You just happened to see the evidence when the two of you broke into his apartment.”
“Hey! He had my cat! We heard him meow. Isn’t that probable cause?”
“I should haul both your asses to jail, but nobody would believe this cockamamie story.”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Detective,” Kevin said. “You guys were dead in the water on Forsythe’s murder and now it’s all wrapped up in a tidy little bow.”
“Swell!” he said, pointing to the bodies, “Looks like we’ve traded one unsolved murder for two.”
“Yeah,” Kevin grimaced. “There is that!”
“I don’t suppose either of you super sleuths have any idea who iced these guys?”
We both shook our heads. “Not a clue.”
“Maybe that will help,” Ox said, pointing to a surveillance camera. “The manager just arrived. We can review the footage in his office.”
The manager was cooperative, and soon we were looking at the murder scene on video tape.
“There’s the two cat-nappers,” I said, as a car pulled into view. “See, the back window’s shot out courtesy of Dad and Bernice.”
“Jesus!” Blaylock muttered.
The two opened the unit and went inside.
“Damn!” Blaylock said. “Because of the camera angle, we can’t see inside.”
A few minutes later, a black van appeared. Three men with guns drawn piled out and entered the unit.
The next time we saw them, they were dragging a safe to the back of the van.
“Crap!” Blaylock said with disgust. “We didn’t get the actual murders on tape, but there’s no doubt what happened in there. Look how they’re struggling with that safe. It must weigh a ton.”
“It’s a Rhino,” I replied, “and it weighs close to two hundred pounds. There’s a tag on the floor inside.”
Blaylock actually grinned. “You guys don’t miss much, do you?
”
“Hey,” Kevin replied. “Super sleuths. Those were your words if I remember correctly.”
“Anybody recognize those three mopes?” he asked.
Unfortunately, none of the three had turned to face the camera.
“Hard to tell from the backside,” I replied.
Once the safe was loaded in the van, and the door to the unit pulled shut and locked, two of the men entered the van and the third drove Whitfield’s car.
“Probably figured no one would find the bodies for days or even weeks,” Blaylock said, “and probably wouldn’t have if you two hadn’t been tracking them.”
“You’re welcome!” Kevin replied with a note of sarcasm.
“Crap!” Blaylock said as the van pulled away. “No plates! I’ll put out an APB for a black van, but there must be thousands in Kansas City.”
Two hours later, the bodies had been hauled to the morgue, the crime scene techs had done their job, and Kevin and I had completed our statements.
Byron Forsythe’s murder had been solved, our cat had been safely rescued, but now two more murders were connected to D.B. Cooper’s elusive treasure.
CHAPTER 9
“So,” Kevin said, as we were driving back to my building, “Forsythe’s murder is solved and you got your cat back. Are we through with this thing?”
“Aren’t you just a little bit curious about what’s in that safe? We’ve assumed all along it was D.B. Cooper’s missing cash, but if you’ll recall, Forsythe never actually said those words. He kept calling it his ‘treasure.’”
“Sounds to me like we’re still in,” he replied. “So where are we? What’s our next move?”
“Right now, there’s only two things that are tied to the three guys who whacked Whitfield and his pal, the black van, and the safe. The cops have an APB out on the van, so they’ll have that covered better than we could ever do. That leaves the safe. As soon as we get home, let’s go online and check it out.”
Twenty minutes later, we were in my office.
I found the slip of paper where I had written the specks on the safe and entered them into ‘Google Search.’
Rhino Ironworks Home Safe – PSIW 2418.
Immediately, a photo popped up.
“Holy moly!” Kevin muttered, “That thing’s built like Fort Knox! It’s going to take a jackhammer or a very skilled locksmith to get it open.”
“I’m going with a skilled locksmith,” I replied. “I have no doubt the men who took the safe have underworld connections and there has to be a ‘go-to’ guy out there who can crack something like the Rhino.”
“Any idea who that might be?”
“I don’t, but we know somebody who probably does. Louie the Lip. I’ll see if Willie knows where he’s hanging out these days.”
Willie, my friend and maintenance man who lives in the basement studio, was a con man years ago before coming to work for me. Thankfully, he kept in touch with many of his cronies from his street days, and some of them had become confidential informants of sorts.
Louie the Lip was one of those cronies. The aging con man had been a player so long, he knew most everything that was happening in Kansas City’s underworld.
“Willie, I need to see Louie. Any idea where he’s hanging out?”
“Las’ I heard,” he replied, “was at de Blue Moon on Independence Avenue. It’s kinda dark dere. Want me to come along?”
“Probably wouldn’t hurt. Two white guys alone would probably stick out like a sore thumb.”
“Might have more dan a sore thumb if things don’t work out.”
“Gotcha! Let’s meet out front in ten minutes.”
Thirty minutes later, the three of us entered the Blue Moon Lounge.
We were barely three feet inside when two burly guys the size of Kansas City Chiefs linebackers rose from their chairs.
“It’s okay. Dey’s wit me,” came a voice from the back of the room.
Louie emerged from the dim interior of the bar, his Mick Jagger lips curled into a big smile.
He looked at Willie. “I see you brought your muscle.” Then the two of them did that goofy handshake, shoulder bump thing that cool guys do.
“What brings you two white boys to the dark side of town?”
“Hopefully, to get some information.”
“Den step into my office,” he said, directing us to a table in the back of the room. Two gorgeous girls were at the table. Louie nodded his head and they moved off to another table. “Have a seat. How can I help?”
I told him everything we knew, from the moment Byron Forsythe was found murdered up to the events at the storage unit.
“So, bottom line, the three guys have the safe that may or may not contain D.B. Cooper’s cash and they need to get it open. Know any good locksmiths that don’t mind working with the criminal element?”
“What kind ‘o safe was it?”
“Rhino Ironworks. Weighs two hundred pounds and is built like a tank.”
“Hmmm, a Rhino! Dat’s one tough mother, all right. Only a few guys in town could open it, and only one dat a thug would go to. Frankie ‘Fingers’ Malone.”
“Fingers?”
“Yep. Dey say his fingertips is so sensitive, he don’t need no stethoscope to hear the tumblers click. He can feel ‘em.”
“Where can we find this guy?”
“He’s jus’ down de street a few blocks, but he ain’t gonna talk to you.”
“Will he talk to you?”
“Pretty sure he will. Here’s de thing, He’s a white guy like you, wit a storefront right in our neighborhood. He gets to be here ‘cause we protect him. Never know when you might need a good locksmith, if you get my drift. Whoever did the job heistin’ the safe wasn’t from the neighborhood or I wouda heard about it. Dat means dey’s from some other part ‘o town. Fingers is loyal to us ‘an if he knows somethin’, he’ll tell me. He don’t want to be rockin’ de boat wif DeRon an’ de boys,” he said, pointing to the two goons who were about to accost us when we arrived.
“So you’ll talk to him for us?”
“Sho nuf. You got me all curious ‘bout what’s in dat safe. I’ve heard of dat Cooper guy. Pretty slick what he done.”
“Pretty slick if he actually got away with it, and didn’t die somewhere in that wilderness.”
“Either way, dere’s somethin’ in dat safe that got two guys killed, an’ I gotta know what it is. I’ll give you a call after I talk to Fingers.”
“Thanks, Louie,” I said, trying to do the cool guy bump, but it didn’t come off very well.
“White guys!” Louie mumbled, shaking his head.
That evening, after supper, I figured I’d better give Maggie the details of my day’s adventures before she heard them from someone else. Somehow she always finds out, and then I’m really in trouble for not coming clean in the first place.
When I finished my story, she gave me a stern look. “So when you and Kevin left this afternoon, you were going after Byron Forsythe’s killer and you didn’t think to mention it to me?”
I figured this was coming.
“In my defense, we were really pressed for time. Whitfield and his partner had a big head start. We weren’t actually going to confront them, just keep an eye on them until the cops could run them down.”
“I don’t suppose the thought crossed your mind that I might object to my husband and brother running after a couple of murderers?”
“Of course not,” I replied, trying to keep a straight face.
“Well, you did rescue Clarence. I suppose I should be grateful for that.”
“Just how grateful are you willing to be?” I asked with a sly grin.
“How grateful do you want me to be?”
“I think actions speak louder than words,” I replied, taking her by the hand and leading her to the bedroom.
“In that case,” she said, “let me slip into my grateful attire.”
A few minutes later, she returned wearing my favorite t
eddy.
“Grateful enough for you?”
“Perfect,” I replied, pulling her into bed beside me.
I was just beginning to appreciate her gratitude when something didn’t feel quite right.
I turned over, and Clarence was perched on the nightstand watching me intently.
“Scram!” I said, but he didn’t budge.
“What’s wrong with you?” Maggie asked. “I thought you were in the mood.”
“I’m in the mood, all right, but I just can’t concentrate with him watching me.”
“Oh good grief! He’s a cat!”
“I know that, but I’m just not comfortable. I guess that means I’ll never be able to make a porn flick.”
“Seriously? Don’t take this the wrong way, but of all the things I have to worry about, you doing a porn flick isn’t even on my list.”
“Thanks for that. Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”
I grabbed Clarence, carried him into the hall, and closed the door.
“That’s better,” I said, crawling into bed.
Mr. Winkie was just getting back in the game when I heard, scratch, scratch, scratch, “Meow.” Scratch, scratch, scratch, “Meow.”
“Good Lord!” I muttered, crawling out of bed again.
I picked up the cat, put him in his carrier, and took him into the office, far away from the bedroom.
When I returned, Maggie had a woeful look on her face. “Poor thing.”
“Poor thing? Are talking about the cat or Mr. Winkie?”
“Maybe both,” she replied, patting the bed. “But I’ll bet either one would be happy with a little petting.”
I can’t speak for Clarence, but Mr. Winkie was definitely a happy camper.
CHAPTER 10
The next morning, I had just finished breakfast and the newspaper, when Mother Nature called.
Dutifully, I headed to the bathroom only to find that Clarence had beaten me there. He was busy clawing at the toilet paper roll.
[Lady Justice 26] - Lady Justice and the Cat Page 6
