[Lady Justice 03] - Lady Justice Gets Lei'd

by Robert Thornhill

  Mary is a young, robust seventy-six and weighs in at about 200 pounds. She rules the hotel with an iron hand, and her weapon of choice is a thirty-six-inch, white ash Hillrich and Bradsby baseball bat.

  No one wins an argument with Mary.

  “What’s up, Mary? How can I help?”

  “I’ve got a vacancy, so I put up my ‘for rent’ sign.

  And I’ve got a guy here who wants to rent a room. I know I don’t usually bother you with this kind of stuff, but this is just too weird.”

  “Weird? How so?”

  “Long story. Can you come over? You’ll want to see this for yourself.”

  “Okay, on my way.”

  So much for a quiet evening alone.

  I drove the eight blocks to Linwood Avenue, and as I pulled to the curb I saw a mid-fifties guy in a white shirt and tie sitting on the porch swing. I was beginning to get the picture. I would be willing to bet there isn’t another tie amongst all of the other nineteen tenants in the building.

  Incredibly, the first thing I noticed when the guy rose to greet me was the absence of ear and nose hair.

  The other occupants of the hotel seem to view this as a badge of honor.

  At that moment, Mary emerged from her apartment decked out in her best floral muumuu, which I knew from past experience was only worn on special occasions.

  “Hey, Mr. Walt. This is Lawrence Wingate. He wants to rent number twenty. I thought you might want to visit with him.” She gave me a wink.

  “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Williams,” Wingate said as he extended his hand.

  “Likewise, Mr. Wingate.”

  I noticed his hands were as smooth as a baby’s butt.

  This guy didn’t work out of the labor pool.

  “If you have an application, I’d like to be considered for your vacant unit.”

  Mary gave me a big grin. Our usual method of tenant selection for the hotel was to hold a mirror up to the guy’s mouth. If he had enough breath to fog it, wasn’t a fleeing felon, and had the first week’s rent, he was in.

  “Uh, we’re not that formal here, Mr. Wingate. Not to be nosey, but you don’t exactly fit the profile of our usual tenant.”

  “No, probably not. I would venture a guess that not many men have experienced what I have over the last six months.”

  Now my curiosity was aroused.

  “It certainly isn’t a requirement for acceptance into the hotel, but if you’d care to elaborate, I’m all ears.”

  “You bet I would. In fact, one of the driving forces in my life right now is to warn any man who will listen of the evils of the feminine mind.”

  Oh great! This was just what I needed.

  “Six months ago, at the age of fifty-five, I suffered a heart attack and had to undergo a quadruple bypass surgery.”

  “Looks like you made it through okay.”

  “My body is fine; everything else in my life, not so much. You see, my loving wife, Florence, of twenty-two years cleaned me out and left me penniless.”

  “Say what?”

  “I’m sure you’re aware that the risks involved in that type of invasive surgery are enormous. Some just don’t make it off the table, or if they do, they are incapacitated for long periods of time. As part of getting my affairs in order, I signed my power-of-attorney over to my wife before they cracked me open.”

  “Sounds like the right thing to do.”

  “I thought so too, until I came out of recovery and discovered that my sweet wife had used the power-of-attorney to sell our house and clean out our bank accounts. Florence had obviously been planning this for some time. She had a buyer ready to close before the ink dried. Friends tell me she is somewhere in Hawaii living the good life.”

  “Wow!” was all I could muster. Wingate’s story hit me between the eyes like a two-by-four.

  “So I’m basically penniless and starting from scratch.

  Fortunately, I still have my job. That’s about the only thing she couldn’t take away from me.”

  “What type of work do you do?”

  “Computer geek. I’m in charge of the computer system for a large insurance company. Too bad there’s no insurance for marital fraud. So how about that room? It’s all I can afford right now.”

  “Of course you can have the room. Actually, I’m embarrassed to rent it to you. It’s not exactly Motel Six, but we do keep the lights on for you.”

  “Not a problem. I’ll have to crawl for a while before I can walk again.”

  “Mary will get you checked in, won’t you, Mary?”

  “You bet I will. I’ll take real good care of Mr. Wingate.”

  I’d never heard Mary call anyone “mister” but me.

  I had been so engrossed in Wingate’s tale of woe that I hadn’t noticed three of our elderly tenants had congregated on the other end of the porch.

  As I mentioned, twenty tenants share four common toilets, and given the complex bowel functions of the aged, bathroom banter is often the topic of conversation.

  I couldn’t help but hear their conversation and hoped that Mr. Wingate was too busy with Mary to pay attention. It wasn’t pretty.

  Seventy-year-old Mr. Feeny from number fourteen spoke first. “I have this problem. I wake up every morning at seven, and it takes me twenty minutes to pee.”

  Eighty-two-year-old Mr. Barnes from number sixteen chimed in, “My case is worse. I get up at eight and sit there and grunt and groan for half an hour before I finally have a bowel movement.”

  But Mr. Cobb from number twelve topped them all.

  “At seven, I pee like a horse, and at eight I crap like a cow.”

  “So what’s your problem?” asked the others.

  “I don’t wake up until nine!”

  As I drove back to my building, I wasn’t sure which troubled me most, Mr. Cobb’s incontinence or Mr. Wingate’s marital meltdown.

  After reflecting on both, I concluded that since I was not quite ready for Depends and I was about to tie the knot, it was the latter.

  Actually, it may have been the combination of both because at that moment the idea of marriage scared me shitless!

  The next day Ox and I were on our usual rounds when the radio crackled, “Car fifty-four, if you’re in the vicinity of Thirty-eighth and Baltimore, please respond to another disturbance call.”

  “Roger that. Car fifty-four out.”

  “Sounds like Edgar and Wilma are at it again.”

  An irate Mrs. Brown met us at the curb. “I thought you two were going to take care of this,” she bellowed.

  “Now calm down. What’s going on?”

  “They’re at it already. I can’t even have my morning coffee in peace without listening to their screaming.”

  We heard another loud crash and, “Dust this, you

  peckerhead!”

  Oh boy!

  Once again we climbed the stairs. We didn’t even have time to knock. By the time we reached the second floor, poor Edgar was standing in the open door, his face contorted in fear.

  “Get me out of here! I just can’t do this anymore.”

  We peered into the living room and saw a wild-eyed Wilma standing over the remnants of a small portable TV.

  “Why does that little shit have to provoke me all the time? It’s all his fault!”

  We looked at Edgar.

  “I didn’t mean nothin’. We had just sat down with our coffee, and I picked up the remote. She asked me, ‘What’s on TV?’ All I said was, ‘Dust,’ and that’s when the fight started.”

  “That’s it,” Ox said. “You two need some help. Get your coats. We’re going to the station.”

  Thankfully, Ox called for backup, and we took them to the station in separate cars. There was no way we were going to listen to World War III all the way downtown.

  We made the trip in silence, but I was actually hoping for a distraction from the frightening scenario that was playing in my mind.

  My thoughts of Maggie are always pleasant. She’s
a tender, loving woman whose sweet smile warms my heart.

  But at that moment, I was terrified by the specter of a snarling Maggie with curlers in her hair and a cigarette dangling from her lip.

  By the time we reached the station, my rational self had prevailed. After all, I told myself, Maggie doesn’t even smoke.

  Maggie is still an active real estate agent, which means she has no set schedule. She works when the business is there. Most of the time we are able to juggle things so that we can be together at least part of each day, but her schedule had been so hectic that it had been three days since we had time together.

  I was really missing her.

  She called and said her six o’clock had canceled, so she was free for the evening. We decided to order in and watch some TV.

  Maggie arrived about the same time as the pizza guy. We popped open a bottle of Arbor Mist Peach Chardonnay and settled in for a romantic evening together.

  One of the things that has made our relationship work is our honesty with one another. We have each been able to share our feelings and concerns without the other one getting bent out of shape.

  Tonight, something felt different.

  She caught me up on her latest real estate transactions, and I mumbled something stupid about my day.

  I didn’t really want to get into my brush with marital discord.

  I noticed that we both steered the conversation away from our upcoming nuptials, which was okay with me.

  I grabbed the remote and started flipping through channels and landed on a Julia Roberts marathon.

  “Oh, I love Julia Roberts,” she purred. “Can we watch that?”

  “Why not?”

  I soon found out why not.

  Which Julia Roberts’s flick did we get?

  You guessed it—Runaway Bride.

  CHAPTER 2

  The next morning at squad meeting, Captain Short introduced Captain Michael Barnes from the northeast division.

  “Gentlemen, Captain Barnes is here to bring us up to date on recent gang activity in the northeast precinct and how it may impact our area. I’m sure you all remember the Niners. Give him a listen.”

  I remembered the Niners all right. Ox and I were doing perimeter backup when the tactical squad raided the gang’s drug distribution center. The leader of the Niners, Duane, or Lil D, slipped through the net and headed our direction. We followed him to an abandoned board-up. The ensuing confrontation was my first gunfight and introduction to K.C.’s canine unit.

  In the end, a lucky shot from my .22 caliber peashooter struck Lil D’s left nut and left him impotent, indignant, and outraged. It also brought the gang’s activities to a halt.

  “We thought that with Lil D out of the picture, the Niners would not regroup,” Captain Barnes began. “Unfortunately, that has not been the case. Lil D’s older brother, Jerome, has come to Kansas City from Detroit, where he led a similar gang, and he’s brought some muscle with him.

  “His goal seems to be to revive the Niners and seek retribution for the suffering of his little brother.”

  Oh great. That’s just what I wanted to hear.

  “The Niners’ former territory had been north and east of your midtown area, but two factors have changed all that. Number one, the latest urban renewal project has cut a big chunk out of their area of influence, and two, they know that the officer responsible for Lil D’s incarceration and humiliation works in midtown.”

  He looked directly at me.

  I hope he’s not one of those eye-for-an-eye kind of guys, I thought, and my hand involuntarily assumed a protective position over Mr. Winkie and the boys.

  “He’s one mean son of a bitch,” the captain continued. “The new Niners are tough. To be accepted, a new member must pass two tests; the first is to successfully pull off an armed robbery, and the second is to abduct a white woman for—well, you can imagine what for.

  “Two convenience stores on the east side have already been hit, and a young woman was abducted from a mall parking lot. She was found alive in a vacant lot, but she had been beaten and gang-raped. I’m afraid this is just the beginning.

  “We have no leads as to the whereabouts of Jerome and the gang, and street people, including our usual snitches, won’t talk to us. Can’t say I blame them.”

  “Thank you for the update, Captain. We obviously can’t be everywhere,” Captain Short continued, “but we are going to increase our physical presence on the street. All available units will patrol commercial areas with malls and convenience stores. I’m sure I don’t have to remind any of you of the potential pitfalls of racial profiling, but the Niners are a black gang, so be vigilant.”

  The captain dismissed us, and we picked up our assignments and headed to the black and white.

  Neither of us spoke for a while, and finally I had to ask.

  “Ox, you’ve been at this for over twenty years, and you’ve had hundreds of collars. Have any of them ever tried to get even?”

  “No, not with me. Most crooks know that getting caught is just part of the game. We’re just doing our job, and they don’t take it personal. But once in a while, one comes along. I’ve known a few cops, a prosecutor, and a judge who were targets for revenge. Walt, you’ve got to be on your toes.”

  Beginner’s luck, I guess.

  I returned home that evening with the thoughts of a vengeful gangbanger festering in my mind.

  How was I supposed to deal with it?

  I couldn’t just dismiss it—the threat was real—but I also couldn’t allow it to consume my every waking moment.

  I looked around my empty apartment, and I felt frightened and very alone.

  Then the phone rang.

  “Hi, Walt. It’s Maggie.”

  Maggie! What was I supposed to do about her?

  How could I even think about being with her when some crazy black dude was looking for an opportunity to whack me?

  “Maggie, we need to talk.” I told her the whole story.

  “Walt, are you ready to quit the department?”

  Her question caught me off guard. I hadn’t really followed my fears to this conclusion.

  “Well, uh …” I stammered. “Not really.”

  “Then I only have one thing to say to you. If you’re bound and determined to be Clark Kent, then I’m going to be Lois Lane. It’s a package deal.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. I love you, and we’re in this together—for better or for worse.”

  I think I’ve heard that line before.

  “Okay, now that we’ve got that over with, let me tell you why I called. You know I’ve been working with Mr. Finch. He’s been hired by the Nelson Art Gallery, and we finally found the right home for him and his family.

  He gave me two complimentary tickets to the Ancient Egypt exhibit at the gallery. We’re both off tomorrow. How about it?”

  How could I refuse?

  As I hung up the phone, I couldn’t help but smile as I thought of Maggie and me as Clark Kent and Lois Lane.

  That was the “for better” part.

  Then I thought of Jerome and the Niners and the women who had been abducted and raped. That was certainly the “for worse” part.

  At that moment, I couldn’t think of anything worse than putting Maggie in harm’s way.

  I picked Maggie up at nine thirty, and we headed to the art gallery.

  Human beings are strange creatures.

  The Nelson Art Gallery is one of the premier tourist attractions in the city.

  I have lived in the Kansas City area all my life, and this would be just the second time my shadow had darkened its doors.

  People come from all over the world to enjoy the fabulous works of art housed there.

  I too have traveled hundreds of miles to distant locations and visited galleries and museums of lesser quality, so why hadn’t I enjoyed the beauty right in my own backyard?

  I believe it’s one of the foibles of human nature; we often take the things closes
t to us for granted. We just assume they’ll always be there.

  I think that also applies to the people around us, and that’s what was going through my mind as we drove to the gallery.

  I thought of the special lady sitting next to me who was willing to stick by me, for better or for worse, and it occurred to me that I was such a dumbass for listening to my cold feet.

  We decided to make a day of it. We would roam the halls and enjoy the exhibits until noon and then enjoy lunch in the beautiful Rozzelle Court Restaurant.

  We found the Egyptian exhibit in Gallery L11 of the Bloch Building and were enthralled by the grandeur of the Great Pyramid and the Sphinx. The beauty and intricacy of the artwork and carvings found in the tombs of kings left us breathless.

  While my usual dining preference was the comfort food served at Mel’s Diner on Broadway, it was not Maggie’s favorite place to eat.

  We both knew, however, that much in life is a compromise. Maggie would go to Mel’s with me, and I, in turn, would take her to one of the classier joints.

  Neither of us were disappointed by the fare at the Rozzelle Restaurant. We wolfed down spaghetti and meatballs served with green beans almandine with roasted red peppers, buttered noodles, and a fresh baked roll. We topped it off with black coffee and huge slices of Nelson’s key lime pie.

  Life was good!

  Stuffed to the gills, we made our way to the Nelson-Atkins building and wandered by Gallery 222 just as a guest lecture was about to begin.

  “I’m so full I can hardly waddle,” Maggie proclaimed. “How about we just go in, sit, and listen while our lunch settles?”

  Looking back, it makes one wonder what forces are at play when such seemingly insignificant decisions change the course of our lives. Is it fate, serendipity, blind luck, or something else?

  The lecture was titled, “The History and Culture of the Ancient Hawaiians.”

  We took our seats along with maybe a dozen others and were greeted by an elderly, gray-haired gentleman who identified himself as Raymond Kalakoa. He said we could call him Uncle Ray.

  The exhibit was part of a recently discovered burial site found in a cave opening in a sheer rock cliff inside a dormant volcano. The items on display were new to the world, but the story Uncle Ray shared with us had been passed from generation to generation for centuries.