Lady Justice and the Black Widow

by Robert Thornhill

  When the local news was over, I tried laying on the bed but there were just too many lumps and I couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility of bed bugs.

  I finally stretched out in the one lone chair in the room and slept fitfully off and on. I was grateful when I saw the sun peeking through the window.

  Derek and Kennedy, another detective who had been assigned to the case, came by at seven o’clock with coffee and donuts.

  The minute he walked in the door, I lit into him.

  “Really! I volunteer to risk my life and this dump is the best you can come up with?”

  “Hey,” he said, putting his hands up defensively, “talk to Kennedy. He’s the one who rented the place.”

  I had worked with Kennedy several times while I was on the force. He was a good cop, but I had just endured an excruciating night.

  “So I have you to thank for this!”

  He gave me an apologetic look. “I was trying for authentic. You know, the kind of place where a pervert would live. I didn’t realize it was going to be this --- uhhh --- authentic.”

  He handed me the box. “Brought you donuts.”

  As if that was enough to make up for my night of torment.

  “If it makes you feel any better,” he added, “the two guys guarding you next door had the same accommodations.”

  Misery loves company.

  “So, ready for another day of perversion?” Blaylock asked, trying to cheer me up.

  “Anyplace is better than this roach motel,” I replied, donning my trench coat, ball cap and sun glasses.

  Before finalizing her plan, Jan wanted to take a closer look at the old man in the park. While she had no aversion to eliminating the dregs of the male species, the last thing she wanted to do was take the life of an innocent man.

  She loaded her bike onto the rack attached to her car and headed to the park.

  The man was in the same spot as the day before, on a bench close to the playground equipment. While she wanted a closer look, she also didn’t want to be around long enough for someone to get a good look at her, hence, the bike.

  She unhooked the bike and headed for the walking path that would take her right by the man on the bench.

  On her first pass, she glanced his way. Elderly male, suspicious dress. It fit the description on her cell phone alert, but something wasn’t quite right. He seemed familiar. She peddled on, trying to place the old man. Suddenly it came to her.

  He was one of the men at the mayor’s fund raiser, manning the metal detector, and he was the guy whose car was buried under a ton of dirt by the Independence Avenue serial killer.

  The guy wasn’t a pervert! He was pretending to be one to lure her out. This was a police sting!

  She turned back in his direction. A second look confirmed her suspicions.

  She peddled furiously out of the park, loaded her bike, and headed to where the man parked his car. She quickly scribbled a note on one of her cards and tucked it under his wiper blade.

  Satisfied that no one had seen her, she sped away.

  It had been a quiet morning. No moms with kids. Maybe the word had gotten around that a creepy old guy was hanging around the park. One gal whizzed by on her bike and that was it.

  A couple of groundskeepers were working nearby. I figured they were probably Blaylock’s men standing by just in case.

  My butt was beginning to ache when I saw three men heading my way. I figured they would pass on by. I was surprised when they stopped in front of me.

  “On your feet, old man.”

  “Excuse me! What’s your problem?”

  “You’re our problem,” the biggest one said, grabbing me by the collar. “This park is where our wives bring our children to play, but they’re afraid to come because of you.”

  “But I haven’t done anything!”

  “Yet!” another one replied, “and you’re not going to get the chance. You can either leave under your own steam, or we’ll help you along, but one way or the other, you’re outta here!”

  I started to protest, but it was no use. The guy turned me around and shoved me down the sidewalk.

  At that moment, the two groundskeepers arrived, flashing their badges. “What’s going on here?”

  “Good morning officers. We were just escorting this gentleman out of the park.”

  “You need to move on. We’ll take it from here.”

  “But ---!”

  “I said move on! Get going or we’ll be escorting you out --- in cuffs.”

  The three men stomped away, grumbling.

  One of the officers turned to me. “You okay?”

  I nodded. “No harm done, but I’d say my cover’s blown, at least for today.”

  Blaylock and Kennedy joined our little group. “I’m afraid I agree. Let’s call it a day. Kennedy and I will walk you back to your car in case there are some other law-abiding citizens after your hide.”

  When we arrived at my car, I noticed something stuck under my windshield wiper. It was a card. Not just any card. It was the Black Widow card.

  I turned it over and scribbled on the back were the words, “Nice try! I know you’re one of the good guys.”

  I handed the card to Blaylock.

  He took one look and muttered, “Well son-of-a-bitch!”

  CHAPTER 11

  Blaylock gave a big sigh. “Well Walt, it looks like you’re off the hook. Operation Black Widow is officially in the crapper.”

  “Oh darn! I was hoping I could spend another night in the roach motel.”

  “That can be arranged,” he replied. “We’ve already paid for another day.”

  “Actually,” Kennedy said, “I have a better idea. Derek, you look like crap. The stress of this thing has worn you to a frazzle. And Walt, well, you look like a pervert who didn’t get any sleep last night.

  “I think it would be best for all of us to take a night off and recharge the old batteries. I have some grain-fed steaks in the freezer. Derek, why don’t you call that reporter girl friend of yours, and the two of you and Walt and Maggie come to my house. We’ll grill the steaks, kick back, and enjoy a quiet evening away from the job. No murders. No Black Widow. What do you say?”

  Derek shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  “Well I do,” Kennedy replied. “You know the old saying, ‘all work and no play.’ I think that applies here. Tomorrow, we can tackle the case with fresh eyes.”

  “Okay,” Blaylock replied, reluctantly. “I’ll give Jan a call and see if she’s available.”

  “Walt, how about you?”

  “In the movie, Bucket List, Jack Nicholson said, ‘Three things to remember when you get older: never pass up a bathroom, never waste a hard-on, and never trust a fart.’ I’ll add a fourth, never turn down a free steak. We’ll be there. I might even shower before we come.”

  “Please do.”

  Maggie was surprised to see me home so soon.

  “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you until this evening. Did you catch her?”

  “Unfortunately, no, but the good news is that the operation is over. I’m no longer a pervert.”

  “Sorry you didn’t get her but I’m certainly glad to hear that.”

  “I have more good news.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Detective Kennedy invited us, along with Derek and his girlfriend, to a cookout tonight.”

  “I didn’t know Derek had a girlfriend.”

  “Me either. With his hectic schedule I’m sure it’s difficult to maintain a relationship. From what I heard, it’s not serious. I think she’s a reporter at the Kansas City Star.”

  “I suppose we’ll find out tonight. I hope you’re going to shower.”

  “That’s what Kennedy said. That makes two of you, so I suppose I’d better.”

  Jan was both surprised and apprehensive when she saw Derek’s name pop up on her caller I.D.

  Surely he couldn’t have found out ---. No, of course not. If he had, I wouldn’t j
ust be getting a phone call. He’d come in person with handcuffs.

  “Hi Derek.”

  “Hi Jan, I know this is kind of last minute, but something we were working on fizzled out so I have a free evening. Detective Kennedy invited us to his house to grill some steaks --- if you’re available, of course.”

  Jan breathed a sigh of relief. “It just so happens I’m free too. I’d love to come.”

  “Great! Pick you up at six?”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  When they arrived, Jan was surprised to see another couple. The surprise turned to shock when she recognized the older man. He was the one she’d seen at the hotel, on Independence Avenue, and today at Gillham Park.

  Derek made the introductions. “Jan, these are our hosts, Doug and Elaine Kennedy, and this is Walt and Maggie Williams.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” Jan said, shaking hands all around.

  “I’m about to put the steaks on,” Doug said. “Let’s grab some beers while they cook. Oh, by the way, Jan, Walt doesn’t drink beer so he brought Arbor Mist.” He rolled his eyes. “You can have your choice.”

  Jan smiled. “Beer will be fine.”

  When they were settled with their drinks, Jan turned to Elaine. “You have a lovely home, and this is such a nice neighborhood. I’ll bet you enjoy living across from Loose Park.”

  “We do,” Elaine replied. “It’s peaceful and quiet --- except for that time a few years ago when some moron drove a beer trolley with a bomb into Loose Park Lake and blew up the dam. The whole neighborhood was flooded.”

  “Uhhh, Elaine,” Blaylock interrupted, “that Moron was Walt.”

  Elaine put her hand over her mouth. “Oops! Sorry!”

  “Not a problem,” Walt replied, smiling. “You’re not the first person to call me a moron.”

  “Yeah,” Doug added, “we we’re cleaning up dead fish for a week!”

  “I don’t understand,” Jan said. “What was Walt doing driving a trolley with a bomb?”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Blaylock replied, “you probably aren’t familiar with Walt’s illustrious career. He was on the force for five years. He actually started when he was sixty-five. He and his partner, Ox, had quite an arrest record. I don’t know if you remember several years ago when some religious nuts blew up the gay pride parade.”

  “Yes I do. Several people were killed.”

  “The trolley Walt was driving was left at the Beaumont Club during the pub crawl by those same extremists. He drove the damn thing from Westport to Loose Park, saving hundreds of lives. He was awarded a Medal of Valor.”

  “Wow! I’m impressed. Walt, are you still a cop?”

  “No, I retired three years ago,” he replied. “Too many close calls. My brother-in-law, Kevin, and I are now the proud proprietors of Walt Williams Investigations. We’re a couple of geriatric private investigators.”

  “Since we have a history with Walt,” Derek added, “we sometimes hire him to assist when we’re short of manpower.”

  “Or like today,” Maggie interjected. “They actually had the poor guy out in Gillham Park trying to lure out that Black Widow person. By the way, you never told me why you called the whole thing off.”

  Blaylock and Kennedy exchanged glances.

  “We promised we wouldn’t talk about work,” Derek said, “but since your old man was involved, you might as well know. Somehow the Black Widow figured out it was a sting.”

  “She actually left one of her calling cards under my windshield wiper,” Walt added. “It said, ‘Nice try. I know you’re one of the good guys.’”

  Maggie was horrified. “Are you telling me the person that has already killed five men was close enough to identify Walt and leave him a note? How could she possibly know?”

  “The only thing we can figure,” Kennedy replied, “is that somehow she saw Walt at one of the crime scenes.”

  “Which means,” Derek said, shaking his head, “she was probably right under our noses and we didn’t have a clue.”

  Jan fought to suppress a smile. She wondered how they would all feel if they knew the Black Widow was just a few feet away sipping a beer.

  CHAPTER 12

  A few days later, Jan was sitting at her desk polishing a story for the next day’s paper. She heard loud voices coming from the editor’s office and moments later a man emerged, red-faced, obviously upset at the confrontation.

  Jan scooted over to a co-worker. “Any idea what that was all about?”

  The woman nodded. “The guy who just stormed out was from the Attorney General’s office. I think they were talking about Eduardo Escobar.”

  “Who’s that? I’ve never heard of him.”

  “Well,” the woman said, conspiratorially, “he’s the ambassador from Venezuela, and from what I hear, he’s a real crook.”

  “How so?”

  “Human trafficking. Because of the political climate there, Venezuela is supposed to be one of the worst places in the world. Rumor has it that Escobar has men there who are kidnapping women and sending them to the United States to use in the sex trade. Some say Escobar is running an escort service with these kidnapped and imported women.”

  “Why don’t they just arrest the guy? Surely some of the women would testify against him.”

  “That’s the thing. The guy has diplomatic immunity. Even if they caught him red-handed they couldn’t touch him.”

  “What does that have to do with the Attorney General’s visit?”

  “According to Cindy in government affairs, Carnes wanted to run an exposé piece on Escobar. The Feds nixed the idea saying it would jeopardize the already shaky relationship with Venezuela. As you can see, Carnes is furious. He’s claiming the Feds are taking away his First Amendment rights.”

  “Wow! Talk about tilting at windmills. Carnes is fighting a losing battle.”

  Jan grew angry when she thought about what her co-worker had said. To think that this man could get away with such an atrocity because of his diplomatic status was a travesty of justice.

  She booted up her computer and Googled ‘human trafficking.’ She was shocked to learn that since 2007, the National Human Trafficking Hotline operated by Polaris, had received reports of over 22,000 sex trafficking cases inside the United States, and that the International Labor Organization estimated that 4.5 million people were trapped in forced sexual exploitation globally.

  Next, she Googled Escobar. She learned that his home on Ward Parkway, south of the Country Club Plaza, was also the site of his diplomatic office.

  She doubted he would be running an escort service out of his private home, so she went to the county records website and discovered he owned another property in rural Jackson County on Old Truman Road.

  Her face grew grim. If this animal couldn’t be touched and brought to justice by the authorities, then it was up to the Black Widow to bring down Escobar and free the women trapped in his sex for hire scheme.

  Jan realized that Escobar would be her biggest challenge. As a diplomat, he was rarely alone, often accompanied by body guards from his embassy. Undoubtedly there would be more guards keeping an eye on the women who she thought were being housed at the property on Truman Road.

  She needed a great deal more information before she could strike and the only way to get that information was to wait and watch.

  She found a secluded spot on a side street off Ward Parkway where she had an unobstructed view of Escobar’s house.

  She learned that he rarely left the security of his home. There was one exception. Evidently the ambassador had a taste for Italian cuisine. At least three times during the week, he and his entourage would go to the BRIO Tuscan Grille on Nichols Road on the Plaza. He also must have had an aversion to crowds. He always waited until two in the afternoon, well past the crunch of the lunch hour.

  She followed him into the restaurant, ordered lunch, watched, and to her delight, discovered that the one time Escobar was alone was when he went to the men’s room.


  With few people in the restaurant at that time of day, it would be the perfect place for the Widow to strike.

  Jan located the property on rural Truman Road east of Independence, Missouri, a thirty-minute drive from the heart of Kansas City. A ranch-style house sat far back from the road. A large Morton building sat fifty yards farther back.

  She guessed that calls to the escort service were routed into the ranch house. When an appointment was made, a driver would pick up one of the women at the Morton building and drive her to the appointed location, most likely a hotel or motel.

  She watched off and on for two days. Several drivers came and went, but there were always two armed guards left on the property to keep an eye on the remaining women.

  She could take care of Escobar, but she knew there was no way she could take on two armed guards and free the women inside.

  But she knew someone who could.

  Once her plan was finalized, she went to the library, printed a letter, sealed it in an envelope, and delivered it to the one person she hoped would help her end Escobar’s reign of terror.

  Kevin called and asked if I’d like to meet him at Mel’s Diner for lunch. Mel’s is my favorite eatery. Everything on the menu is stuff I probably shouldn’t eat, but it’s all delicious. My mouth started watering when I thought of Mel’s chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes covered with gravy. Maggie wasn’t home so I said, “Why not?”

  When I arrived at my car, there was an envelope under the windshield wiper.

  I opened the envelope. Inside was a letter, obviously typed on a computer.

  Mr. Williams,

  I need your help to take down a very evil man who is smuggling kidnapped women from Venezuela and forcing them into sexual slavery.

  The man’s name is Eduardo Escobar. He runs an escort service here in Kansas City.