[Lady Justice 41] - Lady Justice and Terror on the Tracks

by Robert Thornhill

  I turned to Harley. “Do you know anything about this vandalism?”

  He hung his head. “Yeah, I do, and it ain’t fair.”

  “What isn’t fair? Explain.”

  He looked around. “The rest of us have to pay for what a couple of bad apples done. They steal the wire, run off, and all the rest of us have to pack up and move.”

  “Then you know who’s responsible for the vandalism?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, I reckon I do.”

  I looked at the people who had gathered around. There was a woman with a young child clinging to her shabby dress. A man with one leg, probably a homeless veteran, supported his weight on crutches. These people were victims, not vandals.

  An idea popped into my head and I blurted it out. “Mr. Fox, from what I’m hearing, your problem isn’t with these people. A couple of bad eggs did the damage.” I took a deep breath. “If I promise to bring them in, do you think you could give these folks a pass?”

  Fox looked at the rag-tag bunch and I could see the compassion in his eyes. He turned to Dooley. “Officer, you know this man. What do you think?”

  Dooley smiled. “When he was on the force, he and his partner, Ox, were called The Dynamic Duo. If anybody can bring in these creeps, it’s Walt.”

  Fox stuck out his hand. “Okay then. You’ve got a deal, but if we have any more vandalism, I’ll have no choice but to clear the area. Understand?”

  I nodded and shook his hand. “Yes, I understand.”

  Sensing their temporary reprieve, the crowd cheered.

  Bernice tugged on Fox’s sleeve. “You’re okay in my book. Have a cookie!”

  I had just bought their reprieve with a promise I hoped I could keep.

  CHAPTER 3

  As soon as David Fox and the black and white were gone, I turned to Harley. “Okay, Harley. Unless you and your friends want to start packing, you have to work with me here. Who are these copper thieves and where can I find them?”

  “I can tell you who they are but not where they are. Frankie Fenson and Lonnie Paulson. They’re a mean pair. They show up every once in a while. We don’t like ‘em hangin’ around but they got guns so we don’t mess with them.

  “They’re here until they pull a job and get some cash. Then we don’t see them for a while. They use the dough to shack up in some cheap motel. When the money runs out, they’re back again until the next job.”

  “Are they part of a gang?”

  “Nope, just the two of ‘em. No other friends as far as I can tell.”

  Just then, Jerry walked up with his pot of beans and weenies.

  “Anyone care for some musical fruit?”

  Harley looked at me quizzically. “What in tarnation is that little fellow talking about?”

  “No idea,” I replied. “This is Jerry. He’s mostly harmless but he thinks he’s a comic.”

  “Musical fruit!” Jerry said again. “Surely you’ve heard the ditty:

  Beans, beans, the musical fruit.

  The more you eat, the more you toot.

  The more you toot, the better you feel,

  So let’s have beans with every meal!”

  Harley was about to respond when another train came roaring by.

  After it passed, Jerry continued his banter.

  “Do you know why a train engineer can’t be electrocuted? Because he’s not a conductor!”

  Harley gave Jerry a disparaging look and stalked off. “Ain’t no beans worth all this jibber-jabber.”

  On the way home, I gave Kevin a call. “We’ve got a new case. Can you come over?”

  “Does Nancy Pelosi sign impeachment papers with a gold pen?”

  Having seen her on the local newscast, I surmised that was an affirmative answer.

  While waiting for Kevin, I booted up the computer and Googled ‘Copper theft from railroads.’ I was amazed at what popped up.

  TUKWILA, Wash. -- Police are searching for the brazen thieves who made off with more than four miles of copper wire from Sound Transit's light rail tracks.

  Sound Transit officials say the thieves somehow got into the hollow interior of the elevated tracks in Tukwila and, over several months, proceeded to steal roughly 70,000 pounds of wire.

  Replacing the wire, which will fall to taxpayers, will cost $200,000.

  NEW YORK – Longtime New York City subway cops have seen copper thefts before, but last week's heist on a stretch of open-air tracks was particularly brazen: 500 feet of inch-thick cable was stripped from the rails in the middle of the night.

  The U.S. Department of Energy estimates that repairs after copper theft can cost more than 10 times the cost of the copper’s initial installation. For example, the Sound Transit in Seattle, Washington faced total replacement costs of $1.3 million due to 4.3 miles of copper theft.

  Holy crap!

  I had just finished reading when Kevin arrived.

  “So, who’s our new client?”

  “A woman in a shabby dress and a veteran with one leg.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Here we go again.”

  After recounting the morning’s events, he rubbed his chin. “So, two creeps steal copper from the train tracks and we have to bring them in or the homeless folks will get booted from the railroad property. Is that about right?”

  “In a nutshell, yes.”

  A deep sigh. “Okay, where do we start?”

  “I though I’d give Ox a call and see what the police have on these scumbags,” I said while dialing Ox’s cell phone.

  “Ox, Walt here. I need a favor.”

  “Name it, Partner.”

  “See what you can find on Frankie Fenson and Lonnie Paulson. We’re pretty sure they’ve been stripping copper from the Kansas City Terminal Railway tracks.”

  “You got it!”

  While I was waiting for Ox to reply, I showed Kevin the stuff I had found about railroad copper theft.

  “Good grief!” he muttered. “I had no idea.”

  “Me either.”

  At that moment, Ox called back.

  “Both of these bozos have a rap sheet as long as your arm. Mostly petty stuff, larceny, breaking and entering, but there are a couple of aggravated assaults. These guys could be dangerous. Be careful.”

  “Will do. One more thing. Can you text me their mug shots?”

  “On their way.”

  “Thanks for your help.”

  “Now what?” Kevin asked.

  “They have to sell the stuff. Let’s look up scrap yards that buy copper in Kansas City.”

  My Google search turned up at least a dozen places where they could peddle their purloined copper.

  “Wow! Where do we start?”

  “Look,” Kevin said, “any respectable scrap yard would take one look at those two mopes and know the copper was hot. We need to find a yard that doesn’t care where the copper came from.”

  “I know who might help,” I replied.

  I picked up my cell phone and dialed Willie, my friend and maintenance man who lives in a studio apartment in the basement of our building.

  “Willie, is Louie the Lip still hanging out at the Blue Moon?”

  “Last I heard he was. You goin’ dere?”

  “Yes, I need to talk to him.”

  “You need me to come? It’s kinda dark dere, you know.”

  “No, we’ll be all right. But thanks.”

  I turned to Kevin. “Saddle up. We’re going to the Blue Moon.”

  Louie the Lip was an aged con man from the old school and a personal friend of Willie. He had helped us on several occasions and we had reciprocated. Although we operated on opposite sides of the law, we had an understanding and mutual respect for one another.

  When we entered the Blue Moon, it took a moment for our eyes to adjust. When I could finally see, I realized that a huge black mountain of a man was blocking our path.

  Then I heard a voice from the back of the room. “It’s all right, DeRon. Dey’s okay for a couple of white guys.”<
br />
  He stepped aside and we found Louie seated at a table in the back of the bar.

  “Hey, Mr. Walt. What can I do for you boys?”

  Louie got up and did the hand-slap, elbow bump stuff that cool guys do with Kevin. He just shook my hand. I guess he didn’t want to embarrass me. Someday I’ll have to have Kevin teach me how to do it.

  “We’re looking for a couple of guys who stole copper from the Terminal Railway’s tracks. We know they’ll need to sell it, but there are at least a dozen yards in Kansas City. We were hoping you might be able to steer us to a yard that isn’t too picky about where the stuff comes from.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Yeah, I jus’ might. Shorty’s Scrap Yard over on 12th Street would be my guess. Ole Shorty don’t ask no questions ‘bout where a client gets his stuff.”

  “Thanks, Louie. I owe you.”

  His big lower lip broke into a grin. “You don’t owe me nuthin’. That’s what friends are for.”

  “So how do you want to play this?” Kevin asked as we headed to Shorty’s Scrap Yard. “I don’t think we can just sit there and wait for our mopes to show up. They might not even go there or they might have already unloaded the stuff and split.”

  “I thought about just confronting Shorty, but I doubt he would talk. No doubt these guys are regular customers.”

  As we approached the scrap yard, an old Chevy pick-up pulled out into the street.

  “Hey!” Kevin said. “Aren’t those our guys?”

  “In the flesh,” I replied. “They must have just sold their stash to Shorty. We’re too late. We needed to catch them with the copper.”

  “Stay with them. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’re going back for more.”

  We kept the old pick-up in sight and sure enough, they headed to a rail yard in the West Bottoms.

  We watched them park, then pull a tool box from the back of the truck.

  “Looks like we’re in luck,” Kevin said. “Are you packing?”

  Fortunately, I was.

  Weapons drawn, we crept quietly to where their truck was parked. By this time, they had moved to a section of track and were unloading their toolbox.

  “Ready?” Kevin whispered.

  I nodded.

  “Then let’s do this!”

  The two thieves didn’t see us until we were right on top of them.

  “Put the tools down nice and easy,” Kevin ordered.

  They looked up in surprise. “Who --- who are you guys?” one of them blurted.

  “Let’s just say we’re friends of the railroad,” Kevin replied. “Hands in the air!”

  “Look! Maybe we can work something out. We just sold a load of copper. Just let us go and it’s all yours.”

  “Not a chance,” Kevin said. “Walt, give David Fox a call and tell him we’ve got these creeps.”

  “Don’t think I’ll have to,” I replied, pointing to an SUV barreling down the gravel road.

  A moment later, Fox and a security guard piled out of the SUV.

  “Good work guys,” Fox said. “We’ll take it from here.”

  “How in the world did you get here so quick?” I asked, amazed. “We just collared these guys.”

  “This is the 5th Street Yard,” Fox replied. “I guess these bozos didn’t know that there is a video camera focused on this yard 24/7. There are a group of railroad enthusiasts who watch it constantly. They love to see the trains coming and going. As soon as these guys showed up, we received a call from Casey Jones.”

  “Casey Jones? Really?”

  “I know, I know. His real name is Earl, but everyone calls him Casey. Anyway, after we got the call, we checked the feed --- we keep the video channel going too --- and saw these guys unloading their tools. So here we are.”

  Just then, a black and white pulled up behind the SUV. Officer Dooley and his partner climbed out.

  He looked at the two mopes on the ground with their hands in the air, then looked at us and grinned. “Mr. Fox, I told you Walt could get these guys.” He turned to his partner. “Cuff ‘em, Dano!” Then he grinned again. “His name’s really Bert, but I just like saying that.”

  “FYI,” I said, “you might want to check out Shorty’s Scrap Yard on 12th Street. That’s where they unload their stuff.”

  “Will do,” Dooley replied. “Come on, you two. On your feet!”

  When the copper thieves were safely tucked away in the cruiser, Fox turned to me. “I really appreciate your good work.”

  “Glad to help,” I replied. “Now that the bad guys are out of the picture, are you going to let the homeless camp stay put?”

  He sighed. “It’s against my better judgement, but I promised so I’ll keep my word --- as long as they don’t cause any trouble.”

  “I’ll pass the word along.”

  “One more thing,” Fox said, “would the two of you be interested in a tour of our facilities? A little ‘thank you’ for the work you’ve done.”

  I looked at Kevin and he nodded.

  “Sure, that would be great.”

  “Follow me. It’s not far.”

  We followed Fox to an underground parking garage at 6th and Broadway. He directed us to an elevator that took us to their offices on an upper floor.

  When we walked into the control room, my mouth dropped open in amazement. The entire room, from wall to wall, was filled with computer screens.

  “This room is like the control tower at an airport,” Fox said, “and the men watching the screens are like air traffic controllers, only we’re responsible for all the train traffic coming through Kansas City.

  “Kansas City is the country’s second largest rail hub. We’re responsible for 85 miles of track, 25 in Kansas and 60 in Missouri. On any given day, there will be between 200 and 250 trains coming through.”

  “Wow! I had no idea!”

  “Come with me. I’ll introduce you to one of our dispatchers.”

  Seeing all the computers, I was expecting to see some nerdy guy, but to my surprise, the dispatcher looked more like Grizzly Adams than Sheldon Cooper, the geeky guy on The Big Bang Theory. He was a robust guy with long hair and a scraggly beard.

  “This is Rob,” Fox said. “Rob, this is Walt Williams and Kevin McBride. They’re the investigators who caught our copper thieves.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Rob said, never taking his eyes off the screen.

  “Rob, show these guys what you’ve got coming in.”

  Rob pointed to a squiggly line. “That’s the Amtrak heading to Union Station.” Then he pointed to another. “That’s a coal train headed East.”

  Fox pointed to another screen. “And there’s the feed to the live video camera at the 5th Street Yard where we saw you and the copper thieves.”

  “And you say anybody can watch this?”

  “Yes, it’s on YouTube. I’ll give you the IP address.”

  We concluded the tour and Fox escorted us to the parking lot.

  “Thanks again,” he said. “I’ll rest a lot easier knowing those guys are behind bars.”

  “Quite a day,” Kevin said, settling into the passenger seat. “Are we heading home?”

  “One more stop,” I replied. “I’d like to tell Harley and his buddies they can stay put.”

  CHAPTER 4

  We found Harley and his cronies right where we left them, sitting around an open fire with a pot of something warming on a rusty grate. When I saw him just sitting there, staring into the fire and cradling a soup can in his hands, it reminded me of the old Glen Campbell song.

  I dip my cup of soup back from some gurglin’

  Cracklin’ caldron in some train yard.

  My beard a rustling, a cold towel

  A dirty hat pulled low across my face.

  Through cupped hands ‘round the tin can

  I pretend to hold you to my breast and find

  That you’re waiting by the backroads

  By the rivers of my memories.

  Ever smilin’ ever gentle on
my mind.

  Harley’s face broke into a wide grin when he saw us pull up.

  “Hey, Walt. Good news I hope.”

  “Yes, Harley, very good news. Frankie and Lonnie are behind bars and Mr. Fox says you can stay --- as long as you don’t cause any trouble.”

  “Ain’t none of us here gonna cause any trouble. It was Frankie and Lonnie what was the troublemakers.”

  He turned to his companions. “Roscoe, Pete, go spread the word. We don’t have to go nowhere.”

  After they took off, Harley grabbed my hand. “You have no idea how much this means to us. There’s some of us that don’t get around too well.” He nodded toward the one-legged man on the crutches.

  “Glad we could help,” I replied. “Is there anything else we can do for you?”

  “Well,” he said, sheepishly, “there is one thing. You bein’ a private eye and all, I was wonderin’ if there was anything you could do to help my brother, Delbert.”

  “Where is your brother?”

  “He’s in jail. Been there goin’ on six months now.”

  “What did he do?”

  “That’s just it. He didn’t do nothin’. He’s homeless like me. He found hisself a nice warm spot in an alley and went to sleep. The next thing he knows, the cops show up and take him to jail. Turns out, a bunch of gang-bangers held up a drug store. They tried to get away by goin’ out the back to the alley, but the cops cut ‘em off. They just rounded up everybody in the alley including Delbert and hauled them off to jail.”

  “That sounds pretty straightforward,” I said. “His public defender shouldn’t have had any trouble proving his innocence.”

  “Yeah, iffin’ he had one. Delbert’s been there six months an’ no lawyer’s talked to him yet. They keeps puttin’ off his trial an’ tellin’ him they ain’t got enough lawyers to go around. Is there anything you can do? Poor Delbert’s dyin’ in there.”

  “I can’t promise anything, Harley, but I’ll look into it.”

  “That’s all I ask.”