[Lady Justice 37] - Lady Justice and the Living Trust

by Robert Thornhill

  “Thanks. That’s just what I figured.”

  “So who’s the john?” Kevin asked.

  “Mario Sabatini. She showed up at his house and was in and out in less than fifteen minutes.”

  “Wow!” Kevin said. “That’s a lot of dough for ten minutes of nooky.”

  “My thoughts exactly. I think something else is going on, and I’m going to get to the bottom of it.”

  “Need any help?”

  “Not yet. I’ll let you know.”

  I followed Mario home the next evening, but nothing happened. Then the next night, right at seven o’clock, Angie showed up again. Like the last time, she was in and out in less than fifteen minutes. This time, I followed her.

  She drove to Independence Avenue, parked in front of Nick’s Barber Shop, and went inside. Ten minutes later, she was back in her car. I was pretty sure Angie hadn’t dropped by for a bikini wax. I had to find out the connection between Mario and Nick, the barber.

  Looking around, I realized I was just a few doors down from the Blue Moon Bar and Grill, the favorite hangout of Louie the Lip.

  Louie was best buds with my maintenance man, Willie Duncan. Back in the day, they were both con men working the streets. Willie gave up the life when he started working for me. Louie continued on, and now, even in his seventies, he knew pretty much everything that was going on in Northeast Kansas City. I was sure Louie would know everything there was to know about Nick.

  Over the years, because of my connection to Willie, Louie had become sort of an unofficial confidential informant and had helped me on many cases.

  On my previous visits to the Blue Moon to see Louie, I always brought Willie along. The brothers are understandably skeptical about an old white dude invading their space. There wasn’t time to go home and collect Willie, so I decided to go it alone. I just hoped Louie was there.

  I stepped into the bar, and before my eyes had time to adjust to the dim lighting, I found myself face-to-face with a huge black man who could have been a nose tackle for the Kansas City Chiefs.

  I was beginning to think I had made a grievous error in judgement, when I heard a voice from the back of the room. “It’s okay, DeRon. He’s with me.”

  I breathed a big sigh of relief as the mountain of flesh stepped aside.

  I walked toward the sound of the voice and found Louie sitting at his usual table.

  “Hey, Mr. Walt. Where’s Willie?”

  “Probably at home or at Emma’s. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by.” I glanced at DeRon. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Yeah,” he said, his huge lips breaking into a grin, “good thing for you I was. What brings you to the Blue Moon?”

  I pulled out my cell phone and showed him the photos of Angie. “Do you know this woman?”

  “Dat’s Angie. She works for Dreamland Escorts.”

  “I just followed her from the house of a client of mine, to Nick’s Barber shop down the street. Any idea what’s going on there?”

  “Sho do. Nick’s a barber all right. He cuts a little hair sometimes, but the barber shop is just a front for his bookmaking operation.”

  “So Nick’s a bookie?”

  “Sho nuff. You can place a bet with Nick on most anything, horses, professional sports, boxing.”

  “Nick sounds like a white guy’s name. If that’s true, would I be correct in assuming that he’s operating with the blessing and under the protection of the brothers?”

  “Yo mama didn’t raise no dummies.”

  “I need to speak to him. Can you arrange that?”

  He looked at his watch. “It’s a slow day an’ I ain’t got nothin’ better to do. Let’s go.”

  I followed Louie out of the bar and down the street to Nick’s Barber shop. A little bell tinkled when we entered.

  The guy who emerged from the back room looked like Brad Garrett, the tall guy who played Robert Barone on the TV show, Everybody Loves Raymond.

  “Hey, Louie,” he said, smiling. Then he saw me. “Who’s the old dude?”

  “Walt Williams,” Louie replied. “He’s a friend of mine. Wants to talk.”

  “What about?” he asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

  “I just need to know one thing,” I said. “Is Mario Sabatini placing bets with you?”

  “That’s none of your business,” he replied, defensively.

  “Look, I’m not trying to jam you up or cause you any grief. Just a simple yes or no and I’ll leave. You’ll never see me again.”

  Nick looked at Louie. “You know I can’t talk about stuff like that.”

  Louie shrugged. “Suit yourself. Maybe I’ll have DeRon stop by and have a chat with you.”

  Nick’s eyes grew wide. “That won’t be necessary. If you say this guy is okay, that’s good enough for me.”

  “Thought you might say that,” Louie replied, smiling.

  Nick turned to me. “Yeah, Mario places a bet now and then.”

  “Including tonight and night before last?”

  He nodded. “Okay, so he’s a regular customer. Do you want me to cut him off?”

  “Not at all,” I replied. “Just don’t let him know we had this conversation.”

  “It never happened.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate your help.”

  “What was dat all about?” Louie asked as we headed back to the bar.

  I figured since he helped me out, I should let him know why. I told him the whole story about Cosmo’s trust.

  When I finished, he grinned again. “Let me get this straight. Since you caught Mario bettin’ with Nick, his part of de loot is goin’ to the Veteran’s Tiny House Project?”

  I nodded. “That’s about it.”

  “I love it! Glad I could help.”

  “Just keep it to yourself. I don’t want Mario to know that I know.”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  I wasn’t going to confront Mario right away. I figured before this was all over, one or more of his siblings would slip up as well.

  I would wait and drop the bomb on all of them at the same time.

  CHAPTER 13

  After confirming Mario’s fall from grace, I decided to concentrate on Lucia.

  Although Lucia had a powerful incentive to stay sober, I figured the odds were against her. According to the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism, up to 90% of alcoholics will have at least one relapse during the first four years after they get sober.

  During my five years on the force, Ox and I rousted dozens of drunks. Very few of them had chosen to fall off the wagon --- they just did. Alcoholism is a cruel disease.

  Lucia was financially stable compared to her unemployed younger brother and her older sibling who gambled away his money.

  She was employed as a travel agent at World Wide Travel, and lived in a very nice condo downtown which she had received in her divorce settlement from her ex-husband, Larry Manson.

  The travel agency was also downtown and within walking distance of her condo.

  At four in the afternoon, I found a window seat at a coffee shop where I could watch the agency.

  Just before five o’clock, I spotted a woman who, from her attire, appeared to be a flight attendant. She entered the travel agency, and minutes later, left with Lucia.

  The two of them casually strolled south to the Power & Light District, a yuppie hangout with more than a dozen bars in one square block. Not the best environment for someone on the wagon.

  I followed them to McFadden’s Sports Saloon, a trendy bar with dozens of TVs broadcasting live sports events. I waited until they’d been seated, then slipped in and found an empty table in the back.

  I figured as soon as the server brought their drinks, I’d have all the evidence I’d need to send Lucia’s inheritance to the Hope House. I was surprised when the server set a martini down in front of the flight attendant and a Coke in front of Lucia. Maybe I was wrong. It took a lot of willpower to order a soft drink in a bar.

/>   A few minutes later, I saw the flight attendant open her purse and slip something to Lucia. It was one of those tiny bottles of liquor they serve on airplanes.

  After looking around and seeing no one paying any attention, she unscrewed the cap and poured the contents into her Coke. Then she slipped the empty bottle into her pocket.

  After an hour, two more Cokes, and two more tiny bottles, the two women paid their tab and left the bar. I watched as Lucia slipped the three empties out of her pocket and deposited them in the trash container outside the front door. Those bottles with her fingerprints were all I needed to foil her deception.

  When they were out of sight, I lifted the lid on the trash container and rummaged around until I located the bottles.

  I had just slipped them into my pocket, when a young couple approached and handed me a five-dollar bill.

  “Here you go, old-timer,” the man said. “Buy yourself a hot meal.”

  Before I could protest, they headed into the bar. I heard the man say, “Poor old guy. Probably homeless.”

  As I headed back to my car, I spotted a scruffy fellow crouched in an alley. I handed him the fiver. Pay it forward.

  CHAPTER 14

  Two down and one to go.

  I gave Angelo a call on his cell phone. “Angelo, Walt Williams here. Thought I’d give you a call and see how the job hunting was going.”

  “Glad to hear from you,” he replied. “I was going to call you but I’ve just been too busy with my new job.”

  Frankly, I was surprised. “You’re employed? Congratulations. Where are you working?”

  “Scavuzzo’s grocery store on Blue Ridge Boulevard. I stock shelves. I’m actually here right now if you want to stop by.”

  “I might just do that.”

  Heading to Scavuzzo’s brought back memories of my own years in the grocery business. During my Sophomore, Junior, and Senior years in high school, I worked at the local supermarket. That was back in the days when sackers would actually carry the groceries to your car. I stocked shelves, mopped floors, and earned enough money to buy my first car. Good times.

  I found Angelo in the canned goods aisle stocking Campbell Soup.

  “Don’t forget to rotate the old cans to the front,” I said.

  “Walt, thank you for stopping by. Come with me. I’d like you to meet my boss.”

  I followed him to a small office in the back of the store.

  “Salvatore, this is Walt Williams. He’s the guy I was telling you about.”

  A pudgy Italian guy rose from his desk and shook my hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Williams.”

  “Likewise,” I said, shaking his hand. “Call me Walt. So how’s Angelo doing?”

  “Great! Really great! He came along at just the right time. One of my stockers quit and I was short-handed.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. I hope he continues to do well.”

  “I’m sure he will.”

  “Seems like a nice guy,” I said as Angelo and I walked to the front of the store.

  “He is,” Angelo replied. “He told me if I did a good job, I might get some time as a checker.”

  “I’m sure your grandfather would be pleased. Keep up the good work.”

  As I drove away, I was surprised that of the three siblings, Angelo would be the one to actually earn his inheritance.

  A few days later, I dropped by the store a second time. I checked all the aisles and peeked into the back room, but couldn’t find Angelo.

  I knocked on Salvatore’s office door. “Mr. Scavuzzo, I hate to bother you. Do you know where I can find Angelo?”

  He looked up from his paperwork. “Uhhhh --- I sent him to the bank --- to, uhhh --- make a deposit. He should be back in thirty minutes or so.”

  “Oh, okay. If you see him, tell him I stopped by.”

  “Will do.”

  Two days later, I stopped by again. No Angelo. This time Salvatore told me Angelo was making a delivery to one of his shut-in customers.

  Something just didn’t smell right.

  The next day, I decided to shadow the stock boy. Being unemployed, he was sleeping on a friend’s couch until he saved up enough money to get a place of his own.

  At seven-thirty, I parked outside the friend’s house. Angelo was supposed to clock in at eight. At ten o’clock, Angelo finally ambled out the front door and climbed into his car, but instead of heading to the supermarket, he drove to Paddy’s Pool Hall on Independence Avenue.

  Ten minutes after he went inside, I peeked through the front window and spotted him shooting pool with a group of friends. I snapped a photo and headed to the super market.

  “Salvatore! I need to speak to Angelo. Have you seen him?”

  “Uhhh, he’s out making another delivery.”

  “Really?” I said, showing him Angelo’s photo at the pool hall. “Let’s cut the crap. What’s going on with you two?”

  He sighed. “I told Angelo it wouldn’t work.”

  “What wouldn’t work?”

  “He came to me and told me about having to keep a job six months to get his inheritance. He said if I played along, he’d give me ten grand once he had his money. I’ve known the kid since he was in grade school. I figured he would screw this up somehow, and here we are. Am I in trouble?”

  “Not from me. Just don’t tell him we had this little conversation.”

  “You got it!”

  So there it was. All three of Cosmo’s grandkids had pissed away their inheritance. It was time to call Lou Gallo.

  CHAPTER 15

  It was time to have a ‘come to Jesus’ meeting with the grandkids and I didn’t want to do it alone. I called Lou and we set up a meeting for ten o’clock the next morning at his office.

  I arrived early, and Lou and I were already in our seats when the kids arrived.

  “I hope this is important,” Angelo grumbled. “We’re all missing work.”

  Sure you are, I thought. More like missing your buddies at the pool hall.

  “Have a seat,” Lou said. “We have some things to go over with you.”

  After they were seated, he gave a big sigh. “As you know, in his trust, your grandfather outlined specific things that each of you must accomplish before receiving your portion of his estate. You also know that Mr. Williams, as your grandfather’s trustee, was charged with making sure each of you completed your task. That’s what we’re going to discuss this morning.”

  I noticed that all three were fidgeting in their seats.

  “I’ll now turn the meeting over to Mr. Williams,” Lou said, happy it wasn’t him who would be delivering the bad news.

  “First of all,” I said, “I take my responsibility as your grandfather’s trustee very seriously. I have no doubt that his dying wish was that you all complete the tasks he outlined for you. Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be the case. Let’s start with Mario.”

  I opened my briefcase, pulled out the photos of Angie, and handed them to Mario. “I think you know this young woman.”

  “Never seen her before,” he replied haughtily, tossing them back to me.

  “Oh really? If you take a closer look, that’s her on your front porch. I followed her to Nick, the barber, or should I say to Nick, the bookie. After a spirited conversation, he confirmed that Angie had been bringing him your bets. You know that’s a direct violation of the condition in your grandfather’s trust. I’m so sorry, Mario, but as your grandfather’s trustee, I have no choice but to inform you that you are in default and your portion of his estate will be going to the Veteran’s Tiny House Program.”

  As I spoke, his demeanor changed from surprise to disbelief to outright anger.

  “This is bullshit!” he screamed. “This just isn’t right!” He stood and headed for the door. “This isn’t over,” he said, stalking out the door.

  Angelo and Lucia watched the exchange open-mouthed.

  After Mario stormed out, I opened my briefcase, pulled out the empty airliner liquor bottles and
handed them to Lucia. “McFadden’s. I saw your flight attendant friend slip these to you.”

  The color drained from her face, as she stared at the damning evidence.

  “I’m sorry, Lucia. You, too, are in default. Your portion of your grandfather’s estate will be donated to the Hope House shelter for battered women.”

  Unlike Mario, she just nodded and slumped in her chair.

  I pulled out the photo of Angelo at the pool hall and handed it to him. “Strange place to be stocking shelves. I had a talk with Salvatore. He spilled the beans. I think you know what that means. Your portion of your grandfather’s estate will be going to the Salvation Army. I’m so sorry. I truly hoped that all three of you would come through for your grandfather.”

  Angelo seemed unfazed by his loss. “So what happens now?”

  “As soon as your grandfather’s house is sold, I will pay the final bills and the remainder of his assets will be divided between the three charities.”

  “So nothing happens until the house is sold?”

  I nodded.

  “Thanks for nuthin’.” He rose and grabbed Lucia’s arm. “Come on Sis. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Dragging her along, they stormed out the door.

  “Well, that was uncomfortable,” I said as the door slammed.

  “That’s an understatement,” Lou replied. “Mario said this wasn’t over. What do you think they’ll do?”

  “You’re the lawyer. Do they have any legal recourse?”

  “Not really. The trust is ironclad. I suppose they could try to find a lawyer to contest it, but none of them have the money to hire one, and no self-respecting attorney would take a losing case on a contingency fee.”

  “Then I suppose that means I’d better watch my back. They have until the house sells to try to figure out something to gum up the works.”

  “I think that would be wise.”

  Swell! I had fulfilled my responsibility as Cosmo’s trustee, and doing so had painted a big, red bullseye on my back.

  Angelo, Lucia, and Mario had gathered in Mario’s living room.