Once her initial reaction subsided, I got that ‘you’re an ignoramus’ look. That’s usually my cue to begin pleading my defense.
“Actually, what you said is kind of the point. Your brother is going into Stage 4 renal failure. That means he’s going to be undergoing dialysis treatments five hours a day, three or four days a week, waiting for a kidney donor that will probably never come because of his age. It’s not like we’re throwing his fat in the fire. He would know exactly what he’s getting into. After all, he’s been a P.I. for fifty years and probably been involved in stuff you never want to know about. Most important, he said that he always wanted to be a cop but never had the chance. This is his chance. He can spend his last days filled with regret hooked to a machine or go out with a feeling of pride and self-worth knowing he helped bring some bad guys to justice.”
I could see that she was wavering.
“You men are such macho idiots!”
“Look, he might just say ‘no,’ but don’t you think that the decision should be his?”
“I suppose you’re right, but I still don’t like it.”
“How about we have him over for supper tomorrow night?”
“Sure. At least I’ll have one evening to get to know my brother before he goes riding off into the sunset with you.”
I figured it was time to change the subject. “So how was your day at the Genealogy Center?”
That brought a smile to her face.
“There wasn’t much, but at least I know something about my heritage. Angus and Sarah Kilpatrick emigrated from Ireland to the United States just after the turn of the century. They initially settled in New York but later relocated to Kansas City. Angus was a railroad worker. Sean, my father, was born in 1921. He was twenty-three when he enlisted in the army. That was in 1944, the year I was born. He was shot down later that year, most likely never knowing he had a daughter. Angus and Sarah had no other children so I guess I’m the last living member of the Kilpatrick family in the United States.”
She wiped a tear from her eye.
“So how do you feel about things now that everything you ever believed about your family has been turned upside down?”
She thought for a moment. “I’m okay. I knew my mom. She was no bed-hopping floosy. Something happened in her life that brought her and Sean together. His last letter to her is proof to me that I was conceived in love. That’s all that’s important. I am who I am and this doesn’t change a thing.”
I wrapped Maggie in my arms. It really didn’t matter to me whether she was a McBride or a Kilpatrick. Either way she was still a precious lady.
The evening had begun as would most family reunions. I had made my signature dish, tuna casserole, and had chilled one of the big bottles of Arbor Mist. Conversation was awkward at first, but as the evening wore on, Maggie and Kevin clicked, and I found myself liking the guy in spite of what he had asked Maggie to do.
We had just polished off big slices of key lime pie when I decided it was time to see what Kevin was really made of. Maggie knew what was coming and I saw her roll her eyes.
As I related the details of our organ trader case, I could see the sparkle in Kevin’s eyes. I had just gotten to the part where the captain had addressed the squad about how the case had hit a dead end when he interrupted me.
“Seems to me that the next step would involve an undercover operation with a cop trying to buy a kidney to lure these guys out in the open.”
“They considered that possibility, but remember, these guys are pros. The first thing they would do would be to check the national transplant list to see if the guy was legit. If he wasn’t on the list, they would smell a rat.”
I could see the wheels turning in his head. “Sooooo, what you need is a guy who’s on the list but whose chances of getting a kidney before he kicks the bucket are slim and none.”
I nodded.
“It can’t be just any Joe off the street because cops just don’t put innocent civilians in harm’s way.”
I nodded again.
“So the perfect patsy might be an ex-cop or maybe even some old goat that’s been on the fringes of law enforcement for most of his life.”
“That’s certainly a possibility.”
His face broke into a big smile. “Any ideas where you could come up with a guy like that?”
He was baiting me and I was about to take the hook when the screech of a car alarm filled the room.
“That’s my car!” he said, jumping up from the table.
We rushed to the window that looked out over the street. A young punk had smashed the window on Kevin’s Dodge Charger and slipped inside.
“Looks like he’s hot wiring it.”
A moment later, the Charger roared to life and pulled out onto Armour Boulevard.
Kevin turned to me. “You up for a little fun?”
“Hey, I’m a cop. Why not?”
Maggie couldn’t believe how our peaceful evening had turned around so abruptly. “Two seventy-year old guys chasing a car thief? Are you both crazy?”
“Don’t worry, Sis. We’ll be just fine.”
I was glad that Kevin had responded. I was in enough trouble already.
“We’d better hurry,” I said, grabbing my coat. “The guy’s already blocks away.”
“Slow down, Walt,” he replied, pulling a slim device out of his coat pocket. “I’ve got him right here. There’s a tracking device in my car and I’ve got an App on my IPad. We won’t lose him.”
I was impressed. The guy obviously had skills.
“If either of you get hurt, I’ll never forgive you,” Maggie said as we headed for the door.
I gave her a kiss, Kevin gave her a hug and we were off.
“So how does that thing work?” I asked as Kevin studied the blip on his screen.
“There’s an App for everything today. This is like the thing that old people put in their cars when they can’t remember where they parked, only this one is a lot more powerful.”
I knew exactly what he was talking about. I had lost my car so many times that I had considered getting one.
“Take a left on Prospect,” he said.
We had just turned north on Prospect when the blip stopped moving.
“About six blocks ahead on the left. We’ve got him!”
“This is it,” he said, pointing to an auto transmission place. “I’ll bet it’s a front for a chop shop.”
I pulled to the curb opposite the shop. There was an overhead door and a regular door.
“Got your piece?” he asked, pulling a .44 Magnum from under his coat.
It took me by surprise. “Is that thing legal?”
“Of course it is. Remember, I have a P.I. license and a concealed carry permit.”
I had grabbed my .22 Caliber revolver off the dresser before we left the house.
He looked at it with disdain. “What’s with the peashooter? We’re not hunting squirrels.”
“Can’t hit a thing with one of those cannons,” I replied. “Which is more important, hitting a perp with a pea or missing altogether with a slug?”
He just shrugged. “Let’s do this.”
We slipped quietly across the street and tested both doors. Naturally, they were both locked.
“Piece of cake,” Kevin said, examining the lock on the single door.
He pulled out a lock pick set and was about to go to work when we heard a voice behind us.
“Drop the picks and both of your guns and no one gets hurt.”
We turned and found ourselves staring down the barrel of a Glock automatic.
“Better do as he says,” I suggested.
“I concur,” Kevin replied, laying the picks and his .44 on the ground.
“On your knees, hands behind your heads and no funny business.”
We did as we were told. He picked up our guns, opened the door and motioned us inside.
“Hey Bernie, look what I found snooping around outside. They must have followed
you here.”
“Great! Now what are we going to do? Maurice will be here in an hour looking for his parts.”
“We’ll tie ‘em up in the back room and get to work on the Charger. After Maurice leaves, we’ll deal with these guys.”
Bernie shoved us into a backroom, bound our hands and feet with plastic ties and took our cell phones while his partner watched us with a wary eye.
“Shall we gag ‘em?” Bernie asked.
“Naw, let ‘em yell if they want to. Who’s going to hear them this time of night?”
Bernie shoved us to the ground. “Stay put!”
They left the room and we heard the door shut and latch.
“Well, what a revoltin’ development this is,” I said, trying to inject a bit of humor into the situation.
“William Bendix --- The Life of Riley --- I like it!” he said, referring to the old radio show from the 1940’s.
I was impressed again. The fact that he knew where the line came from made me like him even more.
“Any ideas?” I asked, struggling to get back on my feet.
Kevin looked around the room. “Looks like a tool shop.”
I saw him staring at a workbench. “Can you hop?”
“Hop?”
“Yeah, you know, like a bunny.”
“I’m old, but I’m not dead. Yes, I can hop.”
“Then we’ve got this thing. See that hacksaw?”
I nodded.
“Good! You hop over there, turn around, grab the hacksaw behind your back and hold it steady. I’ll back up to you and saw through this plastic tie.”
We both took off and it was all that I could do to not sing out loud the song that was running through my mind. “Here comes Peter Cottontail, hopping down the bunny trail.”
I backed up to the table, grabbed the saw and held it with the blade out. In that position, the top of the saw fit perfectly into my butt crack. I squeezed my butt cheeks together and the saw felt pretty secure. “I’m ready.”
Kevin backed up to me and began sawing away. In just a few minutes, I felt his hands break free. He sliced through the tie binding his feet, then freed me.
“Now let’s figure a way out of here,” he said looking around. “There!” he said, pointing to several gas cylinders standing against the wall.
He ran to the cylinders and tried to lift one. “Uhhh! Full! Perfect!”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Great minds, as the old saying goes. These things are probably filled with acetylene for their cutting torches. The gas is under pressure. If we bust the valve and regulator off the tank, we’ve got ourselves a missile that will smash right through that door.”
I looked around for a hammer or some kind of heavy object, but came up empty. “Any idea what we can bust it with?”
“There, this should do it,” he said, taking a fire extinguisher off the wall.
“Okay, I’m with you so far. The tank crashes through the door. Then what? They’ve got all the guns.”
“First of all, they’re busy taking my car apart. The tank blasting through the door will take them by surprise. That will give us just enough time to take them out.”
“And I suppose you’re going to take them out with that,” I said, pointing to the fire extinguisher.
“Works for me,” he said. “I’ll give them a blast with the foam and you go for the guns.”
Together, we laid the big cylinder on its side and rolled it about ten feet from the door.
“That should give it enough steam to bust through,” he said, patting the tank.
“Have you tried this before? What if the thing backfires or something?”
“Actually, no, but the principle seems sound. You got any better ideas?”
I didn’t.
“Okay then. Let’s do this!”
I’m not a Catholic, but if I had been, I would have crossed myself.
Kevin lifted the extinguisher high above his head and brought it crashing down on the regulator valve.
The valve popped off, there was a loud ‘WHOOSH’, the tank shuddered and streaked toward the door.
There was a ‘CRASH’ as the door splintered and cries of panic as our guided missile caromed around the garage.
“Now!” Kevin said, pulling the pin on the extinguisher and charging out the door.
The perps had recovered and were reaching for their guns which they had laid on a workbench when Kevin opened fire.
More screams filled the air as the foam filled their eyes, nose and mouth.
I grabbed the guns from the workbench and trained my .22 on the perps while Kevin trussed them up with plastic ties.
He had just wrapped things up when the captain, Ox and four other officers came charging through the door.
“Captain! What? How?”
He smiled. “Maggie, of course. She was on the phone before the two of you pulled away from the curb. She told me the whole story.”
“How did you find us?”
“You’re not the only ones with a tracking device. We followed the signal from your cell phone.”
He turned to my brother-in-law. “This must be Kevin.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Kevin said, taking the captain’s hand.
“Looks like you know how to handle yourself,” the captain said, looking at the perps on the floor.
“I’ve been around the block a few times.”
“Has Walt told you about our undercover operation?”
“We were just getting to the good part when my car disappeared.”
“The good part?”
“Yeah,” Kevin replied with a smile. “The part where you ask me if I want to be the bait to lure these guys out of the woodwork.”
“Well, do you?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“That’s what Maggie said you would say, but that’s not all she said.”
I knew what was coming.
“She told me that if either her husband or her brother got hurt or worse, there would be some serious ass-kicking.”
There was no doubt in my mind that she would follow through.
CHAPTER 11
“Quite a night,” Ox said as we headed to squad meeting.
“You can say that again. That Kevin is something else. He’s like a geriatric MacGyver.”
“MacGyver? What’s a MacGyver?”
I was surprised that my partner had never heard of the famous troubleshooter for the fictional Phoenix Foundation and Department of External Services.
“MacGyver was the hero of a TV series back in the late 80’s and early 90’s. His claim to fame was that he could solve complex problems with everyday materials. He was an expert with duct tape and a Swiss Army knife. In one episode, he stopped a leak in a tank of sulfuric acid with a chocolate candy bar. Somehow he knew that the acid would react with the sugar in the candy bar to make a thick gummy residue.”
“Okay, I’m impressed, but what does that have to do with Kevin?”
“Oh, nothing much. He just freed our hands and feet with a hacksaw, blasted through a locked door with a homemade missile made from a gas tank, and subdued two creeps with a fire extinguisher.”
“Hmmmmm! Maybe I am impressed. Sounds a lot like someone else I know. I’ll be anxious to get to know him better when we get together after squad meeting.”
Kevin arrived at the precinct right on time. The captain had just dismissed the squad and we were headed to his office when we met him in the hall.
“Right on time,” the captain said. “I like that.”
“Figured I should try to impress the boss,” he replied, “this being my first day on the job.”
Agent Blackburn was waiting for us. The captain made the introductions and we took our seats.
Blackburn was all business. “I’ll get right to the point. I’ve made some inquiries. I talked to Sergeant Gonzales in the Phoenix Police Department.”
“Manny! He’s a good friend,”
Kevin interrupted. “I’m sure he had good things to say about me.”
“Yes and no. He said you have a reputation for getting the job done but sometimes you push the envelope --- a ‘means justify the ends’ kind of guy.”
“Hey, I’ve been doing this a lot of years and I know how far I can step over the line without getting my hand slapped.”
“That may be, but I want to make one thing clear from the beginning, this is a joint operation between the KCPD and the FBI and I won’t tolerate any cowboy tactics --- from anyone in this room,” he said, giving me a stern look.
“I hear you loud and clear,” Kevin replied, giving me a wink.
I was pretty sure I detected the tone that guys use when they say, ‘Yes, Dear. I understand,’ to their wives.
“Good!” Blackburn said, assuming he had made his point. “Then let’s get down to business. Since the day we determined that Leroy Grubbs was the victim of a transplant gone bad, our tech guys have been using --- uhhh --- shall we say --- sophisticated equipment, to monitor the social media for any chat involving kidneys or other organs. They have determined that our best bet for making an initial contact is through Craig’s List.”
I wondered if the ‘sophisticated equipment’ he was referring to was the same stuff that had gotten the NSA in hot water, but I figured I’d better not go there.
Blackburn turned to Kevin. “I assume that you are registered on the national transplant list under the name of Fred Fenton.”
Kevin nodded. “Yeah, the U.S. Marshals did a pretty good job of making Kevin McBride disappear. My P.I. license, my conceal carry permit, social security number, everything. It’s all under Fred Fenton.”
“I figured as much, so I had our tech guys set up an email account for you. Our first step will be to post a message in the ‘wanted – by owner’ section of the website. It will read something like this,” he said, looking at his notebook.
“Wanted: Viable healthy kidney. Will pay top dollar.”
“The way Craig’s List is set up, people respond by email. If we get a response, the first thing we’ll do is track the IP address. We’ll just have to wait and see how they respond, if at all, and go from there.”
Lady Justice and the Organ Traders Page 8
