Lady Justice and the Mysterious Box

by Robert Thornhill

  LADY JUSTICE

  AND THE

  MYSTERIOUS BOX

  A WALT WILLIAMS

  MYSTERY/COMEDY NOVEL

  ROBERT THORNHILL

  Lady Justice and the Mysterious Box

  Copyright August, 2018 by Robert Thornhill

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way, by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, incidents and entities included in the story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events and entities is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America

  Fiction, Humorous

  Fiction, Mystery & Detective, General

  Lady Justice and the Mysterious Box

  Prologue

  Los Angeles, California

  Harley Simpson looked up and down the alley and, seeing no one, quietly lifted the lid on the dumpster. This particular dumpster behind the Burger Bar was one of his favorites. He could always find half-eaten burgers, cold fries, and once in a while, a few onion rings.

  He was about to reach for a promising bag when he heard angry shouting down the alley. Harley gently closed the lid. He could come back for the bag later.

  He moved silently down the alley toward the sound of the voices, ducking behind dumpsters, careful not to reveal his presence.

  He peered around a corner and saw two men in a deserted parking lot. He was close enough to hear their argument.

  “Just give it to me,” one of the men said. “It’s not worth losing your life.”

  “Never!” the other replied, stubbornly. “I’ll die before I let it fall into your hands.”

  It appeared to Harley that the men were fighting over a cardboard box on the ground a few feet away.

  “Then so be it!” the first one said, pulling a switchblade from his pocket.

  The blade flew open and the man lunged, burying the sharp steel to the hilt in the other man’s stomach.

  The wounded man staggered back, clutching the handle of the knife with one hand while pulling a revolver from his waistband with the other.

  He pulled the trigger hitting his adversary in the chest. Both men fell to the pavement, their lives ebbing away.

  Harley’s mouth dropped open as watched the deadly exchange. He waited several minutes and when neither of them stirred, he moved quickly to the bodies.

  He looked closely and when he was satisfied that both men were dead, he picked up the box and opened the lid. He was hoping the box contained money or jewels --- something valuable enough that it cost two men their lives, but when he peered inside, he was perplexed. He had no idea what he was looking at.

  No matter, he thought. It must be worth something or the two men on the ground wouldn’t have been fighting over it.

  He knew somebody who might know what it was and what it was worth.

  He put the lid back on the box, looked around, and seeing no one, slipped quietly out of the parking lot.

  The man behind the counter at Pete’s Pawn Shop looked up as the bell over the door tinkled announcing Harley’s arrival.

  “Mornin’, Pete,” Harley said enthusiastically. “I’ve got a doozey for you today.”

  Pete grimaced as the old man approached. “Jesus Harley! You’re ripe. Been dumpster diving again?”

  “Mebbe, mebbe not. Don’t matter one way or the other,” he replied, holding up the box. “I got somethin’ special here.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet,” Pete replied, dubiously. “Let’s give it a look.”

  Harley handed the box to Pete. He carefully lifted the lid. Pete had been in the pawn business thirty years and had seen just about everything, but he’d never seen anything like this.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “Found it in a parking lot,” he replied. It was a partial truth.

  “Sure you did. Any idea what it is?”

  “Not a clue, but it’s got to be worth a few bucks. Whadda you say?”

  Pete thought for a moment. “I’ll give you twenty-five just to get you out of my shop.”

  “Twenty-five!” Harley roared. “That thing’s gotta be worth a lot more. Give it back. I’ll take it to Sparky’s pawn. I’ll bet he’ll do better.”

  “Just keep your britches on,” Pete replied, taking a closer look at the contents of the box. “I’m taking a chance since I don’t know what we have here, but I’ll give you forty.”

  Harley thought for a moment. “Deal!”

  Harley smiled as Pete handed him two twenties. He hadn’t seen that much cash in months.

  As soon as the old man left the shop, Pete grabbed a can of deodorizer and sprayed liberally.

  Randall Stokes and Brian Steele entered the dry cleaning establishment and walked up to the counter.

  “Homeland Security. We need to see the security camera footage for your parking lot,” Stokes said, holding up a badge.

  “I don’t know,” the proprietor replied, “don’t you need a warrant or something?”

  “We could shut your place down for the day while we get one. Is that what you’d like?”

  The proprietor thought for a moment. “No, that won’t be necessary. Follow me.”

  He led them into a back-room office. “There,” he said, pointing, “I’ll boot it up for you.”

  “Not necessary. We’ll take care of it from here. You go back up front.”

  “But ---!”

  “Trust me.” Stokes said. “You’ll be much better off up front.”

  Understanding the veiled threat, the proprietor left the two men alone.

  “Glad we got that mess out back cleaned up before the store opened,” Steele said, pulling up the footage on the security cam. “Here we go. Let’s see what happened to our box.”

  They watched as the two men fought and perished. A few minutes later, an old bum appeared. After examining the two bodies, he picked up the box, opened it, then slinked away.

  “Great! Just great! That old geezer has no idea what he’s gotten himself into. We have to find him.”

  “And eliminate him, I suppose.”

  “You heard what Scarborough said, ‘Anyone who sees the contents of that box is a threat.’”

  “But he’s just an old homeless guy. How’s he going to be a threat?”

  “That’s not our call. We just follow orders. Let’s go find him.”

  “That shouldn’t be too hard. From the looks of him, he spends a lot of time in the alley behind the shops. We’ll watch. He’ll show up.”

  They pulled the disk from the recorder, thanked the proprietor for his cooperation, and went off in search of their quarry.

  Harley couldn’t believe his good fortune. Forty bucks! He might even be able to get a cheap room for a few nights. It would be great to sleep in a real bed for a change.

  Then he thought about the bag in the dumpster behind the Burger Bar. He was hungry and he figured the contents of the bag would be enough to get him by. No need to spend his forty on food.

  He had just lifted the dumpster lid when he heard footsteps and saw two men approaching.

  “Damn!” he muttered. “Busted!”

  He was about to take off when one of the men called to him. “Don’t run. We just want to talk for a minute. Then you can get back to whatever you were doing.”

  That certainly didn’t sound threatening. Harley waited as the men approached.

  “We don’t mean to frighten you,” one of them said. “We ju
st want some information.”

  “What kind of information?” Harley asked.

  “We know you were in the parking lot this morning. We saw you on the security camera’s footage.”

  Now Harley was really alarmed. “Hey, I didn’t have nothin’ to do with what happened to those two guys. They offed each another.”

  “We know that. You’re not in trouble. We just want to know what happened to the box they were fighting over. We know you took it.”

  “Well yeah. I figured with both of ‘em dead they wouldn’t be needing it no more.”

  “And you were right. We just need to know what you did with it.”

  “I don’t have it no more.”

  The two men looked at one another. “What did you do with it?”

  Harley thought for a moment. “What’s it worth for me to tell you?”

  One of the men opened his wallet. “How’s fifty sound?”

  Harley couldn’t believe his good fortune. “Works for me,” he replied, grabbing the bill. “I took it to Pete’s Pawn Shop a few blocks over.”

  “That’s all we need to know,” the man said, pulling an automatic with a suppressor from his holster.

  There was a quiet ‘pop’ and Harley slumped to the ground.

  A few minutes later Harley’s body was in the dumpster on top of a bag with a half-eaten burger.

  CHAPTER 1

  Pete was examining his recent purchase when he heard the door tinkle again. It was a frequent customer, Oliver McDermont.

  “Hey, Ollie, what’s up?”

  “I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop in and see if you’d picked up anything interesting.”

  “Actually, I did,” Pete replied, pointing to the box. “Take a look and tell me what you think I have here.”

  “You don’t know? That’s hard to believe.”

  “Tell me about it.” He shoved the box across the counter. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”

  Oliver looked, and took a sharp breath. He hadn’t seen anything exactly like it before, but he knew it was something very important.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “From Harley Simpson, the old dumpster diver. He claimed he found it in a parking lot. Likely story. Do you know what it is?”

  “Don’t have a clue,” he replied, nonchalantly. “Can’t be worth much.”

  “Too bad,” Pete replied. “I gave Harley forty bucks for it.”

  “Tell you what,” Oliver said, trying not to sound too enthusiastic, “I’ll give you eighty. How’s that for turning a quick profit?”

  Pete looked at him questioningly. “You must know something you’re not telling me. Otherwise you wouldn’t be so eager.”

  “Not really,” Oliver replied. “I’m just bored. Trying to figure this out will give me something to do.”

  Pete seemed satisfied. “Well, as my grandpa used to say, ‘Never look a gift horse in the mouth.’ Hand over the eighty and it’s all yours.”

  Oliver pulled the bills from his wallet. Put the lid on the box and headed out the door.

  There’s a sucker born every day, Pete thought as he slipped the four twenties into his cash box. He was relishing his quick profit when the door tinkled again as two men in black suits entered the shop.

  “Can I help you gents?”

  “I certainly hope so,” one of them replied. “I understand that you purchased an item from a homeless man this morning.”

  “I did. What’s your interest?”

  “We were hoping we could take it off your hands --- for a profit, of course.”

  “I’d love to accommodate you, but I’m afraid you’re too late. I sold the box not ten minutes ago.”

  The man grimaced. “That’s too bad. Who is the new owner?”

  “I’m sorry, guys,” Pete replied. “I wouldn’t be in the pawn business long if I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. Every transaction is confidential.”

  The second man nudged the first and pointed to a security camera.

  “Well that’s very unfortunate for you,” the first man said, pulling a gun from its holster. There was a quiet report and Pete slumped to the floor.

  They dragged Pete’s lifeless body into the back room and found the security camera feed.

  They watched as a man entered, chatted, looked at the contents of the box, then paid and left.

  “Christ!” Stokes muttered. “Is that who I think it is?”

  “It’s Oliver McDermont for sure. If he doesn’t already know what’s in that box, he’ll figure it out sooner or later, and when he does, he’ll sell it to the highest bidder. We have to find him and get that box!”

  Back in his room, Oliver opened the box and examined the contents more closely. His pulse quickened as he began to realize what had fallen unexpectantly into his hands. He though he knew, but he had to be sure.

  He picked up his cell phone and dialed a trusted accomplice. After describing the contents of the box, he listened carefully, then hung up.

  His accomplice confirmed his suspicions. He had gotten himself involved in something far more dangerous than anything he had experienced before, and he was terrified.

  He knew that if the wrong people discovered the box was in his possession, his life wouldn’t be worth spit.

  Nervously, he went to the window, pushed the curtain aside, and peered into the street. His heart leaped into his throat as he saw two men in black suits climb out of an SUV.

  Somehow they knew and had found him.

  Quickly, he threw a few of his possessions into a travel bag along with the box. After taking a quick look around the room, he slipped out the door, locked it, and headed to the fire escape.

  His feet had just hit the ground when he heard a crash and wood splintering as the two men breached his room.

  He had to get out of town ---fast.

  He put the bag in the trunk, climbed into his car, and headed east to Kansas City.

  CHAPTER 2

  My name is Walt Williams and I’m not a party kind of guy.

  It’s not that I hate parties, I’m just not a big fan.

  Nevertheless, here I am --- at a party --- and not just any party. It’s the celebration of my dad’s ninety-fifth birthday.

  A few weeks ago, I had my seventy-fifth. I begged off having a big bash, so now all my friends and family are making up for it by having a big wing-ding for my pop.

  The whole gang is here. Ox, my partner during the five years I was in the Kansas City Police Department, and his wife, Judy, also a cop. Kevin, my brother-in-law and my partner in Walt Williams Investigations, and his wife Veronica. Mary Murphy, the housemother at my Three Trails Hotel. Willie, my friend and maintenance man who lives in the basement studio of our three-story apartment building. The Professor, my long-time tenant on the first floor. Bernice, Dad’s girlfriend who lives across the hall from him on the second floor, and of course, Maggie, my wife. And last, but certainly not least at any social gathering, Jerry the Joker, my other first floor tenant.

  The party had gone pretty much as I expected it would. It was pot luck. Someone brought little cocktail weenies in barbeque sauce and, much to Judy’s dismay, Ox dribbled sauce down the front of his shirt. Bernice had made snickerdoodles and insisted on everyone having at least two. Then there was the birthday cake. Given Dad’s longevity, it had enough candles to set off the smoke alarms. Naturally it was Devil’s Food cake, befitting my father’s devilish personality.

  Then there were the gifts, highlighted by Bernice’s offering. Although both in their nineties, Dad and Bernice have a torrid romance that would be the envy of couples half their age. They keep their romance stoked by regular purchases from Pricilla’s Adult Novelty store. Bernice’s gift was a pair of tassels like strippers wear on their nipples (or so I’ve heard).

  After Dad opened the gift, he turned to Bernice. “Aren’t you afraid if you put these on they’ll tickle your knees?”

  Right on cue, Bernice punched him in the arm. Th
ere was no doubt in my mind that Dad would have a good old time with his gift after we all left.

  Jerry, of course, was the master of ceremonies. Fancying himself the second coming of Rodney Dangerfield, he had regaled our little group with a string of old people jokes.

  Besides being the resident comic, Jerry was also our poet laureate. On several occasions, he had penned poems memorializing the event at hand. Today was no exception.

  He called our little group together.

  “I’d like to share a little ditty I wrote for our birthday boy. I call it Ode to a Horny Toad.”

  This is the story of a feisty old guy.

  He’s not very bashful and he’s not really shy.

  In fact, some might say he’s a horny old toad,

  Who spent his whole life driving over the road.

  He sired his son, Walt, at a very young age,

  Then hit the road and turned a new page.

  He thought of himself as a very good sport,

  Like the sailors of old with a girl in each port.

  He met a young lass while driving out West.

  He wooed her and charmed her and gave her his best.

  Unknown to young John, the lass was knocked up.

  He found out years later he had sired a new pup.

  Jerry was referring to my half-brother, Mark Davenport, who showed up unexpectedly at my door several years ago. Dad’s route to western Kansas was suddenly changed and he had no idea he had fathered another child. His lover never told him. At that time, Mark was an agent with the FBI, but has since moved to the Department of Homeland Security. Mark and I have actually worked several cases together.

  Jerry continued.

  He was headed up north and carrying a load,

  When he found a young girl by the side of the road.