Lady Justice on the Dark Side (Volume 19)

by Robert Thornhill

  December 3, 1943. It’s a cold grey day and I only venture out of the room long enough to get something to eat and drink from the motel vending machines. I look out of the window often, expecting to see a police car coming to pick me up, but it’s quiet. I hope Nate comes back tomorrow. I want to get as far away from here as possible.

  December 4, 1943. At ten in the morning Nate pulls into the parking lot and taps on the door. I let him in and he asks if I’m okay. I tell him yes, and we start making plans for our getaway. We’re about to leave when we hear a ruckus in the parking lot. We look out the window and see men climbing out of trucks carrying guns and a rope. Nate turns to me and says, “Chloe, hide under the bed. They’re here for me.” I say let’s just turn ourselves in. I’ll tell everyone what Mr. Tyler was doing and how you saved me.” He just smiles and says, “When a black boy kills a rich white man, it don’t matter why. I’m a goner for sure.” He pulled a locket out of his pocket and handed it to me. “This here has my momma’s picture inside it. Behind that picture is a note tellin’ where I hid my money. It’s yours, Chloe. Now get under that bed and save yourself.” He turned and ran out the door as fast as his legs would carry him. I hid under the bed until I saw that all the men had followed him into the woods, then I slipped out and hid in the bushes behind the motel. It wasn’t long before they came back dragging poor Nate, all bloody and bruised. One of the men threw a rope over the branch of an old oak tree and slipped a noose around Nate’s neck. Four of the men pulled on the rope hoisting Nate into the air. They tied off the rope leaving poor Nate kicking and struggling. A few minutes later, he stopped kicking and I knew my friend was dead. The men hung around and laughed for a while, but after about an hour, they climbed into their trucks and drove off, leaving poor Nate swaying in the cold December air.

  Dr. Crane set the diary aside again. “A lynch mob. Right here in Kansas City. I had read about such things, but I never figured ---. It’s so horrible!”

  “Remember,” Kevin said, “this is 1943, twenty years before the Civil Rights Act and twenty years before Dr. Martin Luther King gave his famous I Have a Dream speech. Schools were still segregated and blacks couldn’t even drink from the same water fountains as the white folks.”

  Suddenly, something clicked in Dr. Crane’s mind. “The locket! Nate’s locket! I wonder if my mother ever followed through and found Nate’s share of the Wells Fargo heist.”

  “We read through the entire diary,” Kevin replied, “and it looks like she did not. She mentioned it once calling it ‘blood money’ and saying she wanted no part of it.”

  “So that’s what this is all about,” Dr. Crane said, pensively. “Gabe’s boys must have found the diary and read about the locket. They must not have it and think that I do.”

  “Do you?”

  “I have no idea. If I do, it’s packed away in that storage locker, which, thankfully, they don’t know about. What do you think we should do?”

  “Before we get to that,” I replied, “you might want to read a few more entries from the diary. I’m afraid there are a few more things you didn’t know about your mother.”

  “What more could there possibly be?” she asked, picking up the diary.

  As soon as I was sure that the coast was clear, I started walking up the highway until I got to a used car lot. I bought an old Ford Coupe for four hundred dollars. I had decided that I would drive to my mom’s sister’s home in Mason City, Iowa. I hoped that Aunt Bess would take me in. I drove until I could barely stay awake. I found a motel just outside of Des Moines and spent the night. I was afraid I might not sleep. All I could think about was poor Nate hanging from that oak tree.

  December 5, 1943. I must have been exhausted because it was almost nine when I woke up. I grabbed a quick breakfast at a truck stop and headed north. I was hoping to get to Mason City before dark. Just after noon, the sky started turning grey and by three o’clock the snow was falling so hard I could barely see the road. The highway was soon packed with snow and I was afraid to drive faster than twenty. I was somewhere close to Fort Dodge when the old Ford began to cough and sputter. It finally quit, but I was able to get off the highway. I tried and tried to start it, but the battery was soon dead. The temperature had to be close to zero, the blowing snow was drifting across the highway and there was nothing around me but empty corn fields. I bundled up as best I could, but figured I’d be as dead as Nate by morning. I was shivering and about to pass out when I saw headlights coming from the south. An eighteen wheeler pulled up behind me and a minute later there was a tap on my window. I rolled it down and a young man stuck in his head. “You okay,” he asked. When he saw I was too cold to answer, he knew I wasn’t. He helped me out of the car and into the cab of his truck where the heater was going full blast. Nothing ever felt so good. He wrapped me in a blanket from his sleeping compartment and poured a cup of hot coffee from his thermos. After he saw I was comfortable, he fetched my bag from the car and we headed to Des Moines. He told me his name was Johnny. He was sweet and kind and seemed to be genuinely concerned about me. The longer we were together, the more comfortable I felt with him. I had been carrying the burden of Mr. Tyler, the Wells Fargo robbery and Nate’s horrible death for three days and I just needed to share it with someone before I exploded. Johnny listened quietly while I told my story. I had just finished when we came to the outskirts of Fort Dodge. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and was starving. Johnny pulled into a motel with a restaurant attached. After eating my fill, Johnny said we should each get a room and wait out the storm. He said he was on his way to Rochester, Minnesota and would take me to my aunt’s place in Mason City tomorrow. I thought about what he said and I knew he was right, but after all I had been through, I just didn’t want to be alone and I told him so. We got a room and I spent the night curled up in Johnny’s strong arms while the storm raged outside. I had never done anything like this before. Johnny was my first, and it was wonderful. I had never felt as safe and secure as when I was snuggled at his side. The next morning after breakfast, we hit the road and by mid-afternoon we were at my aunt’s home in Mason City. Johnny kissed me on the cheek, wished me well and climbed into his truck. As he drove away, I noticed for the first time, the insignia on the side of the huge trailer he was pulling. There was a huge black and gold butterfly with the words, ‘Monarch Trucking Company.’ I knew in my heart I would never see him again, but I would always remember my ‘Johnny Butterfly.’ He had come into my life at the time I needed him the most.

  Elizabeth Crane set the diary aside and wiped more tears from her eyes. “My God. That is so beautiful. I just wish my mother would have shared it with me while she was alive.”

  “If she had told you that part, she would have had to tell you the rest and she was probably reluctant to do that.”

  “You mean there’s more?”

  I nodded. “You have to read way ahead in the diary for the next part. I’ll just share it with you now if you’re ready and you can read it for yourself later.”

  “Go ahead,” she replied apprehensively.

  “A few weeks later, your mother realized she was pregnant, and in September of 1944 she gave birth to a beautiful daughter.”

  The doctor’s eyes grew wide. “That --- that was me! I was born in September of 1944. So my father wasn’t Terrance Thrasher. It was Johnny Butterfly. How could she keep this from me?”

  “Again,” Kevin said, “you have to remember that this was 1943. Today, women have children out of wedlock all the time and nobody gives a rip, but back then, it was different --- a social stigma, and it was a thing that families tried to keep under wraps.”

  “Well, that certainly explains why my dad was never close to me. I wasn’t his child.”

  “You can read the rest of the story yourself, but in a nutshell, after your mother moved in with her aunt, she got a job as a checker at Thrasher’s grocery store. In November of 1944, two months after you were born, Terrance Thrasher returned home from serving in the army
during World War II. He went to work at the family store, met your mother there, they fell in love and were married. Terrance adopted you to make everything legal and socially acceptable. A year later, your brother Gabe was born and, well, you know the rest.”

  Dr. Crane sighed. “This is all so much to absorb at one time. You two have done a fantastic job. I certainly got my money’s worth.”

  “There’s more left to do,” I said. “Don’t forget about Nate’s locket.”

  “Oh yes, the locket. I was so wrapped up with your revelation about my parentage I almost forgot. What do you suggest?”

  “I think we need to go through your mother’s things at the storage facility and see if it’s there. Remember, this whole thing started because your nephews were stalking you, and I don’t think that is going away until we see if that locket really exists.”

  “And what if it does exist?”

  “I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

  She thought for a minute. “The diary. You said I didn’t want to know the details of how you acquired it, but if I’m reading between the lines correctly, won’t they be upset when they discover that it’s missing?”

  “Probably so,” Kevin replied. “One way or the other, it’s a pretty good bet that there is a family reunion somewhere in your near future.”

  She thought a moment more. “My mother’s share from the Wells Fargo heist. Does the diary say anything about it?”

  I nodded. “Your mother never told anyone other than Johnny Butterfly about Nate or the robbery --- not even her husband. According to the diary, she hid the money away. Then used it to help pay your way through college and medical school.”

  Another shock to the doctor.

  “I had an academic scholarship but I knew it wasn’t enough to pay all my college expenses. Dad had passed away. I always thought the money came from a life insurance policy.” She looked around her elegant home. “All of this --- everything I have --- my whole life --- it all started because some bastard tried to assault a young girl seventy years ago. Unbelievable!”

  “What’s equally unbelievable,” Kevin replied, “is that the other half of the heist may be hidden out there somewhere, and if that locket exists, we just might find it.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Billy Bob Thrasher had turned both bedrooms upside down looking for the diary.

  “Oren, you had the diary last. Where did you put it?”

  “Last time I saw it, it was on the nightstand beside the bed. I haven’t touched it since then.”

  “Well, it’s not here now. Think! Could you have put it somewhere else?”

  “Nope, it was right here,” Oren replied, joining his brother in the bedroom.

  “It couldn’t have just walked away. Help me look for it.”

  The two men searched the entire apartment, but came up empty.

  Exasperated, they sunk onto the worn sofa.

  “Aunt Liz!” Billy Bob muttered. “It must be her. She must have seen us tailing her. She’s loaded. I’ll bet she hired someone to check us out. Remember the other day? Miss Finch told us she saw two old guys hanging around the building. I’d bet anything she has the diary.”

  “But no one’s broken in,” Oren protested. “No doors or windows open. Nothing’s missing except the diary.”

  “Of course we wouldn’t know. If she hired someone, they’d be pros. Not hacks like us.”

  “Well, if she does have the diary, then that’s the end of the line for us. We’ll never get our hands on the locket or that twenty-five grand. There goes our chance to start our own business.”

  Billy Bob thought for a minute. “Maybe not. When Grandma died, Dad got the boxes that had the old photos and the diary, but he never did anything with them. It wasn’t until we went through his stuff that we found the thing. Maybe Aunt Liz was the same. I remember Dad saying that Aunt Liz had some movers pack the rest of Grandma’s stuff in a van. I can’t imagine her hauling all that old furniture and clothing to that fancy house of hers. Maybe she put it in storage and just forgot about it.”

  “Well if she did,” Oren replied, “she’ll sure be looking after she reads that diary.”

  “Exactly! We need to keep watching. Maybe she’ll lead us to that locket after all.”

  “What if she does? What then?”

  “Then I guess it’s time for a family reunion!”

  DeMarcus Tweedy winced as he pulled the bandage off his arm and examined the bullet wound in his bicep.

  “Payback time!” he said to his friend, Lamar, as he reached for the antiseptic. “That old fool shot my cousin Rashawn dead, then his cop buddies shot Deandre, and now this!”

  “What you got in mind, Bro?”

  “He ain’t a cop no more. Him an’ another ole fart are playin’ private eye. I figure we follow ‘em an’ when the time is right, the two of us shouldn’t have no trouble takin’ out two guys old enough to be our granddaddies.”

  Dr. Crane had appointments scheduled for the next day, so we made arrangements to pick her up at her home, then proceed to the storage facility where we hoped to find Nate’s locket.

  The storage units were on Holmes Road just north of the I-435 freeway.

  Dr. Crane pulled a slip of paper from her purse. “It’s been so long since I put Mom’s things there, I couldn’t remember the unit number or the combination to the lock. Thankfully, I wrote both down and put them in our safe.”

  We located the unit and Kevin opened the lock with the doctor’s combination.

  We rolled the door open and found the light switch, illuminating what looked like the remains of someone’s garage sale. An overstuffed sofa and chair upholstered in a burgundy frieze from the 1950’s were stacked along one wall. An old Beautyrest pillow top mattress and box spring leaned against another. Various pieces of furniture were piled high with boxes, some labeled, some not.

  “Holy crap,” Kevin moaned. “It looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

  “Sorry about that,” Dr. Crane apologized. “I didn’t have time to come with the movers. It’s my fault.”

  “Well, these boxes aren’t going to open themselves,” Kevin said, grabbing the closest carton.

  For the next half hour, Dr. Crane took a belated stroll down memory lane.

  One box was filled with Christmas decorations. “Oh my,” she said, holding up an angel with golden wings spread wide. “This was on top of our tree every year. It was the last thing to go on the tree and my mom would always tell me that I was her special little angel.”

  Another was filled with books. “The Bobbsey Twins!” she said, clutching a book to her breast. “Mom read these to me until I was old enough to read for myself. Nan, Bert, Freddie and Flossie were my heroes. My very favorite was The Bobbsey Twins at Mystery Mansion.”

  Other boxes were filled with shoes, clothing, pots, pans and assorted kitchen gadgets.

  “Okay, now we’re getting somewhere,” Kevin said, clutching a box labeled ‘Mom’s jewelry.’

  He was just about to cut open the box when we heard, “Party’s over, assholes. Throw down the knife and get your hands in the air.”

  The voice belonged to DeMarcus Tweedy. He and another black man I didn’t recognize were pointing Saturday Night Specials at our hearts.

  “Hands behind your heads,” he ordered.

  We did as he asked.

  “Good! Lamar, get their guns.”

  Kevin and I were both carrying, but not for long.

  “Please,” Dr. Crane pleaded. “Don’t hurt us. If it’s money you’re looking for, we’ll gladly give it to you and you can let us go.”

  “Shut up, bitch!” he said, making a menacing move toward the doctor. “You just don’t get it. Dis ain’t about money. It’s about respect --- and revenge.”

  “I --- I don’t understand,” she stammered.

  He pointed to me. “Tell her, Mr. Ex-cop.”

  Dr. Crane looked at me expectantly.

  “A few month
s ago, his cousin, Rashawn Tweedy, shot a police officer during the commission of an armed robbery. He was about to shoot the officer’s partner when I arrived on the scene. I shot Rashawn before he could kill the other officer. Later, Deandre, Rashaun’s brother attacked me and was killed by other officers at the scene.”

  “Like I said, revenge,” he sneered. “But it ain’t just about Rashawn and Deandre anymore. Dat was just here. What about Trayvon Martin in Florida, Michael Brown in Ferguson and Eric Garner in New York? All black kids killed by cops. The Good Book says, ‘an eye for an eye,’ an’ dat’s just what’s gonna happen. Every time a cop kills one of us, we gonna kill some of them --- starting right now!

  I could have quoted a few passages from the Good Book myself, but it didn’t look like DeMarcus was interested in a theological debate.

  “Now get on your knees, assholes,” DeMarcus ordered. “I’m about to show this fancy lady how we avenge the murder of our brothers.”

  I looked at Kevin, hoping he had some brilliant plan to pull our fat out of the fire, but I could see by the look on his face that he had nothing.

  As we fell to our knees, I just prayed that DeMarcus would let Dr. Crane live, but I knew in my heart that probably wouldn’t happen.

  “Told you!” Billy Bob said, as they watched their Aunt Liz and the two old guys turn into the storage lot.

  “Yep, you figured right,” Oren replied. “What now?”

  “Let’s just wait and watch. There’s no point in announcing our presence unless they find the locket. If they come up empty, we’ll just be on our way and no one will be the wiser.”

  “And if they do find it?”

  “That’s when we have that family reunion I was talking about.”

  They watched as the three of them opened box after box with no success. Finally, they saw one of the old guys pick up a box and say, “Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.”

  At that very moment, two black men with guns drawn entered the storage unit. They heard one of them say, “Party’s over assholes.”