“Wow, this is getting heavy,” Jerry said. “Speaking of Star Wars stuff, do you know why Ducktape is like the Force? It has a dark side and a light side and it binds the galaxy together.”
“Cut the crap, Jerry,” Dad interjected “What I want to know is how Kevin is going to fit into this new operation. He’s actually the one with the P.I. experience.”
“I’m just along for the ride,” Kevin replied. “This is Walt’s gig. He’s the cop with two Medals of Honor and the guy who saved the president’s ass from an assassin. That’s the kind of reputation that will attract new clients.
“Every hero needs a sidekick. Roy Rogers had Gabby Hayes, Gene Autry had Smiley Burnette, Matt Dillon had Chester. That’s me. I’ll just be happy to be Tonto to his Lone Ranger.”
“I’m certainly no hero,” I replied, “and Kevin is no sidekick. We’re partners, just like Ox and I were partners on the police force. It’s just a force of different kind.”
“Well, I’m proud of you both,” Dad said smiling. “Good luck and may the Force, whatever the hell that is, be with you!”
The gang had left and I was going over the corporate paperwork Brian Godfrey had given me when the phone rang.
“Walt, it’s Ox and I’m in trouble.”
“Hi partner. What kind of trouble?”
“It’s Amanda. She’s gone!”
“What do you mean, ‘gone?’ Did she quit?”
“No, no, nothing like that. She was abducted --- right out of our cruiser, and it’s all my fault.”
“Okay, just slow down and tell me what happened.”
“We stopped at Dunkin’ Donuts --- I had a coupon --- buy six, get six free. Anyway, I went into the store and left Amanda alone in the cruiser. When I came out, she was gone. A witness said that a green Chevy van pulled up and two black men in hoodies jumped out, pulled Amanda out of the cruiser and threw her into the van.”
“Holy crap! That’s horrible! I assume you called it in.”
“Of course I did. In a matter of minutes, half the department was here. Remember, Amanda is the daughter of the Police Commissioner. There’s a BOLO out on the van, but so far, no luck. Walt, I’m in deep doo doo. This is all my fault. If I hadn’t been in that stupid donut shop, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“Don’t blame yourself. I’m guessing these are the same guys who killed Vince, blew up the cruiser and shot up the hotel. If they were really after Amanda, they would have gotten to her one way or another.”
“Maybe so, but it happened on my watch. I just feel terrible.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Here’s the thing, if these are the same thugs, I hate to think what they have in mind for a young, pretty, white police officer. If we don’t find her fast, the poor girl will be scarred for the rest of her life --- if they let her live. I can’t imagine them letting someone go who could identify them.
“The problem is that we haven’t been able to identify any of these creeps. If we just had a name, at least we’d have a place to start.
“I know you and Willie have some contacts on the street. I was hoping maybe you could reach out to them and see if they have any idea who is behind this vendetta against the police department.”
“Absolutely! We’ll do everything we can to help. If I get anything, I’ll call you.”
“Thanks, Walt. You’re the best.”
I hung up and headed to Willie’s apartment.
“What’s up, Mr. Walt? You look all flustercated.”
“I have to talk to Louie. Can you reach him?”
“I heard he’s workin’ a big fish, an’ if dat’s true, he ain’t answerin’ no phone. Why you need him?”
Hearing my explanation, he grabbed his jacket. “If all dat’s true, we betta hurry. I think I know where Louie is hangin’.”
Louie the Lip was an old friend from Willie’s days as a street hustler. Willie gave up the life when he went to work for me, but Louie continued to ply his trade as a con man extraordinaire. While he operated on the shady side of the law, he was certainly not a thug like the gang bangers that had abducted Amanda. If fact, during my five years in the department, he had become a good friend and served as my unofficial confidential informant. He hated the violence and brutality of the younger generation as much as we did.
We found him at a seedy bar and grill on Independence Avenue
He was seated with a man at a table at the back of the room. When he saw us enter the bar, he gave his head an imperceptible shake.
“Dat’s Louie’s mark,” Willie said, directing me to a table out of the man’s line of sight. “We’ll just chill ‘till Louie finishes his business.”
We ordered a couple of Cokes and watched the master at work.
I couldn’t hear the conversation, but Louie’s gestures and facial expressions had all the fervor of a TV evangelist. Finally, the mark nodded his head and extended his hand. Evidently, Louie had closed the deal.
After the mark was safely out the door, Louie joined us. He and Willie did the shoulder bump, hand slap thing that cool guys do.
“Hey, Mr. Walt,” he said, grabbing my hand, “glad to see you’re still above the ground. I hear you’ve had some close calls lately. Took one in the ass. Bet that hurt.”
“Actually, Louie, that’s why we’re here. Do you have any ideas about who it was that put a new dimple in my butt cheek?”
“I might, but you ain’t gonna like it.”
“It’s really important. We think this vendetta against the department, my getting shot, Vince Spaulding’s death, all of it, is the work of one person or gang, and now we’ve got a new situation, Ox’s new partner, Amanda Parrish, was abducted this morning.”
He gave a low whistle. “Parrish? Ain’t that the commissioner’s young’un?”
I nodded.
“Shit! If it’s who I think it is, that little gal has about as much chance as a fart in a whirlwind.”
“Who? Give me a name.”
“DeMarcus Tweedy. You shot his cousin, Rashan at that Bodega, and when Rashan’s brother, Deandre came after you, the cops gunned him down. I hear he’s lookin’ to even the score, and any cop will do just fine.”
“Another Tweedy? How many Tweedies are out there?”
“A whole bunch. When you don’t have a job, that leaves a lot of time at home to procreate.”
“Do you have a clue where he might have taken Amanda?”
“Maybe. I hear his family owns an old house over on St. John. Used to belong to a bootlegger back in the prohibition days. I heard they bought it cause it had some kind of tunnel in the basement that the bootleggers used when the revenuers came callin’. Probably figured it would come in handy, given their line of work.”
“Got an address?”
His huge bottom lip curled into a smile. “Does a fat dog fart?”
I called Ox and shared our conversation with Louie. I gave him the address and headed to St. John.
By the time I arrived, the street was swarming with cops.
I had a lump in my throat as I watched my friends from the precinct spread out and surround the house.
I had been part of many such operations and I wanted to be part of this one, but I knew it just wasn’t possible. I wasn’t a cop anymore and I would just be in the way.
“Dere’s an alley dat runs behind dese houses,” Willie said. “Let’s go back dere an’ check things out.”
I circled the block and approached the back of the property from the alley. I could see that blue uniforms had covered every door and window of the old two-story, and any minute they would be breaching the front entrance with a battering ram.
It was a deep lot, and at the back of the property, adjacent to the alley, was an old carriage house.
I remembered Louie’s comment about an escape tunnel that ran from the basement of the main house. The tunnel had to come out somewhere and the old carriage house looked like as good a place as any.
I parked and point
ed to the carriage house.
Willie nodded.
We quietly slipped out of the car, and as we approached, we heard the squeal of rusty hinges and a wooden door being thrown open.
I ducked behind an old oak tree and Willie squatted behind a rusty fifty-gallon trash barrel.
I pulled my revolver from its holster, crouched at the base of the tree and watched the carriage door that opened into the alley.
A moment later, the door swung open and a hooded figure stuck his head out, looking down the alley in both directions.
Seeing no one, he ducked back in the carriage house and emerged a moment later pushing a bound and gagged Amanda Parrish.
She struggled to break free from his grip. In the struggle, the hood slipped off his head, and I could see the pure evil in his eyes as he smashed his fist into the side of her head.
She fell at his feet, and as he kneeled down to drag her upright, his back side was fully exposed to me.
I felt the rage building in me as I watched his cowardly blow and saw the blood gushing from the poor girl’s nose.
I hated DeMarcus Tweedy and everything he represented.
I pointed my revolver at his back, knowing that one shot would likely put an end to the vendetta that had terrorized so many people. One shot, and the thug would be dead. It would be a good shoot and I would likely be labeled a hero.
I started to squeeze the trigger and I remembered the Professor’s admonition that acts which originate out of anger, rage and hatred draw men to the dark side.
Tweedy shook her and slapped her again and the temptation to fire was overwhelming.
Temptation, the first of the four stages of crossing the line.
I took a deep breath and tried to remember what the professor said about the light side --- that compassion and mercy should dictate one’s actions.
As hard as I tried, I could not find an ounce of either in my heart, and I desperately wanted to kill the brute in cold blood, but deep inside, I knew it just wasn’t right.
I also remembered the storm that swept the city when Ox shot Tyrell Jackson and I shot Rashan Tweedy. Both were justified and had saved lives, but that didn’t seem to matter. Two black men had been gunned down by two white cops. I knew what I wanted to do, but I knew what I had to do.
I stepped from behind the tree. “Let her go, Tweedy. It’s over.”
“The hell it is,” he said, pulling his automatic from his waistband.
I ducked back behind the tree and bark splintered above my head.
I tried to get off a shot, but each time I peeked around the trunk, he fired another volley. I was pinned down and helpless.
Suddenly, a voice boomed across the yard. “Police! Put down yo’ gun o’ you is a dead man! You is surrounded!”
The new voice distracted Tweedy. As he turned toward it, Amanda stomped on his instep and butted him with her head.
“Bitch!” he muttered, pushing her to the ground.
In the confusion, I was able to step from behind the tree and get a bead on him.
“Drop the gun. Don’t make me shoot!”
He whirled to fire, but I fired first, hitting him in the arm.
The gun went flying, and seeing he was unarmed, Tweedy took off running, holding his arm.
By the time I got to Amanda, he was long gone.
I pulled the tape off of her mouth and untied her hands.
“Are you okay?”
“I --- I think so. Thank you, Walt. Ox has told me so many crazy stories about you. I thought he was just pulling my leg, but he wasn’t. You saved my life.”
Just then Willie strolled up.
“Police! You’re surrounded! Impersonating a cop! That was quite a bluff.”
“Yeah, maybe, but Tweedy didn’ know it was. Worked didn’ it?”
It did this time, but knowing that the creep was still in the wind gave me an uneasy feeling. If I had given in to temptation, this nightmare would be over.
I had resisted crossing over to the dark side, but I couldn’t help wondering if I had made the right choice.
Only time would tell.
CHAPTER 11
Thankfully, Amanda Parrish wasn’t seriously injured.
I was impressed with the way she had attacked Tweedy when the bullets started flying. After seeing her in action twice, I felt confident that Ox was in good hands with his new partner.
Imagine the looks of surprise when the boys in blue discovered that Amanda had been rescued by two seventy-year-old civilians.
A day after the incident reports were logged in, I received a call from Abe Parrish thanking Willie and me for our heroics. It’s always nice to get an ‘atta boy’ from the Police Commissioner, but the thing that meant the most to me was the hug and the ‘thanks, Partner’ from Ox.
The first few days of my retirement had been a real drag. I had been bored and listless and wondering if I had made the right choice in giving up my badge.
My new P.I. business was just the tonic I needed to reinforce the notion that I still could make a worthwhile contribution and give Lady Justice a helping hand.
My first case, compliments of Suzanne Romero, had been a success and given me the confidence that I was on the right track.
However, it wasn’t long before I discovered that there was a big difference between my days on the force and my new business venture. When I was a cop, I would simply report to the precinct every day, Ox and I would hit the streets and before the day was over we’d be knee deep in some kind of case.
A week had passed since our run in with Demarcus Tweedy and I was hoping that our involvement in Amanda’s rescue would encourage people to seek the services of a geriatric private eye, but it just wasn’t happening.
Doubts about the viability of my new career were starting to creep in when the phone rang.
“Is this Walt Williams, the private investigator?”
The call I had been anxiously awaiting took me by surprise. “Uhhh, yes. This is Walt Williams. How may I help you?”
“My name is Dr. Elizabeth Crane and I think someone’s stalking me. I need your help.”
After setting an appointment with Dr. Crane, my first call was to Kevin, making sure he was available to meet our new client. He was, and arrived a full hour before our scheduled meeting.
Our office, such as it was, was in my apartment. When Maggie and I were married, we converted the whole top floor of my building into a two bedroom unit with an office where Maggie performed her real estate duties. Since we had no idea how successful my new P.I. business would be, it seemed foolish to start out with the overhead of rental office space, so Maggie agreed to share. It didn’t exactly project an image of professionalism, but it was a start.
Dr. Crane was right on time.
I was surprised to see that she was about my age. She wore a grey pant suit that was almost a match to her naturally grey hair that was tied in a bun on the back of her head. She had an air of professionalism, but the laugh lines around her eyes and mouth were a tell-tale sign that she had a lighter side.
I made the introductions and she handed me her card. It read, ‘Elizabeth Crane, MD, Cardiologist, Mid America Heart Institute.’
When we were seated, I got right to the point. “How can we help you Dr. Crane?”
“Actually, I almost called and cancelled our appointment. I feel rather foolish. I just have the feeling that someone is following me --- that I’m being watched. I haven’t actually seen anyone --- it’s just a gut feeling.”
“Have you talked to the police?” I asked.
“I have, and that’s why I’m here. The officer I spoke with was kind enough, but he pointed out that unless someone had actually threated or assaulted me, there was nothing they could do. That’s when he told me I should see you. I understand you’re a retired policeman.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Five years on the force, and my partner has thirty years as a private investigator. Do you mind if I ask you some personal questions? It might give u
s an idea as to why someone would be stalking you.”
“Certainly. What would you like to know?”
“Let’s start with your family. Are you married?”
“I was. My husband passed away three years ago. We were both cardiologists and had our own practice, but when Arthur died I sold out and joined the Mid America Heart Institute. I’m just turning seventy and I only want to work a few days a week. Being one of a couple of dozen cardiologists in our office lets me do just that.”
“Let’s talk about your work,” I said, examining her card. “What exactly did you and your husband do?”
“I was the diagnostician and case manager for our office and my husband was the surgeon.”
“So you and your husband actually performed open heart surgery in your practice?”
“Yes, Arthur was an excellent surgeon. Angioplasty, bypasses, valve replacements and repair --- he could do it all.”
Kevin could see where I was going. “I’m sure it was quite rewarding, saving and prolonging lives, but I’m guessing that not everyone could be saved.”
Dr. Crane could see where this was going as well. “Unfortunately, no, Mr. McBride, but I can assure you that I’m not being stalked by the relative of some patient that lost a loved one.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“That’s just not how it works. If I had botched a diagnosis or Arthur had botched a procedure, the first thing a grieving relative would do would be to sue for millions for malpractice. They would exact their revenge in the courtroom.”
“Did that ever happen to you?”
“Never!”
“Okay then,” I interjected. “Let’s move on. What about the rest of your family? Do you have children?”
“No, career always came first for both of us. My parents are both deceased. I had one brother. He is deceased as well, but we were never close. He had two sons, but I’ve never even met one of them. I don’t even know where they live. Sorry, I know I’m not being much help.”
Lady Justice on the Dark Side (Volume 19) Page 7
