“He’s not a fan,” I replied.
“Well, no one’s perfect,” Crawford replied with a smile.
He gave Ox a condescending look. “A phaser is the most common and standard directed energy weapon in the arsenal of Starfleet and several other powers. Most phasers are classified as particle weapons and fire nadion particle beams.”
“Do these things actually work?”
“That depends on your definition of ‘work’,” Crawford replied. “Unfortunately, our technology isn’t quite as advanced as that of the 23rd century, but these babies have authentic sound effects and emit a laser beam that would scare the pants off of someone that didn’t understand what they are.”
“So they’re toys,” Ox said, trying to get a handle on things.
I could see the hair bristle on Crawford’s neck. “No, they’re not toys! They’re replicas!”
I figured that I’d better step in. “Was anything else taken?”
“No, just the phasers. We went out to dinner last evening and when we returned, the back door had been jimmied and the phasers were gone.”
“Just curious,” I said. “Do you always dress in Star Trek clothing?”
“My goodness, no,” he replied. “We’re fans --- not fanatics. Tonight is the opening of the new movie, Star Trek Into Darkness. Our club is having a little get together before the movie. Anna and I are bringing the refreshments. Would you care to have a goblet of tranya? In The Corbomite Maneuver episode, Balok served it to Captain Kirk and Dr. McCoy. They found it quite delightful.”
“We’ll pass,” I said, looking at the viscous mixture. “We’re trying to cut back; plus we’re on duty. Just a few more questions and we’ll get the crime scene guys out to dust for prints and be on our way.”
When we were back in our cruiser, Ox shook his head. “How do we manage to get all of the nut jobs?”
“They’re not ‘nut jobs’,” I replied. “They’re just enthusiastic fans. I think it’s kinda cool.”
“Oh please! Don’t tell me you’re one of those Trekkies!”
“First of all, we’re Trekkers --- not Trekkies. There’s a big difference. And, there are a lot of us. There’s over a hundred conventions across the U.S. each year, attended by hundreds of thousands of fans.”
“Unbelievable!”
“Actually, it isn’t,” I replied. “Everyone needs heroes and a fantasy world they can escape into once in a while. When I was a kid, it was Tarzan of the Apes. He was my hero and I owned every comic book that was printed. When TV came along, it was Superman. As an adult, I loved the Star Trek series. I still get chills when I hear the opening lines:
Space: the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise. Its five-year mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no man has gone before.
“Surely you had some fantasy heroes.”
“Well, I did get pretty involved in the Star Wars movies; Han Solo, Luke Skywalker, Darth Vader --- but I NEVER dressed up like a Wookiee!”
I was about to explore the subject further, when the radio crackled. “Car 54. Didn’t you just leave the scene of a burglary where Star Trek memorabilia was taken?”
“That’s affirmative.”
“Well, it looks like we’ve got another one!”
CHAPTER 3
“Well, did you get it?” Morty asked as he and Earl Lassiter were heading down Wornall Road.
“Get what?”
“The lottery ticket! Before you left last night, you promised you would buy our ticket. So did you?”
“Of course I did. I promised, so I did. I stopped by the Kum & Go station on the way home.”
“Oh, geeze, Earl. I hate that name. It sounds like an ad for a drive-thru brothel. Why do you shop there?”
“Because that’s where I was when I remembered to buy the ticket. I knew you would be pissed if I forgot, so I did it right then and there.”
“Well, did we win?”
“How should I know? I was asleep before they announced the numbers and I haven’t seen the paper yet this morning. Hey, this is the Kum & Go where I bought it. Let’s stop and check the ticket in their machine.”
“That’s such a stupid name!”
Earl pulled into a stall in front of the convenience store.
“You check the ticket,” Morty said. “I’m going to get me a cappuccino.”
Earl pulled the ticket from his wallet and stuffed it into the reading machine at the check-out counter. A young gal with bright pink hair and a lip stud running the cash register watched with interest.
“The lottery commission notified us that someone had bought the winning ticket here yesterday,” she said. “Can you imagine! Six hundred and twenty million! The biggest jackpot ever!”
At that moment, Morty strolled up with a steaming cup in his hand. “Well, what’s the verdict?”
Earl stood motionless staring blankly at the machine.
“Well?” Morty said impatiently.
“We won,” Earl replied in a whisper.
“Fantastic! What? A buck for guessing the right power ball? Apply it to the next ticket. Here’s my fifty cents,” he said reaching into his pocket.
“No!” Earl said. “We won! We actually won it all. Look!”
Morty peered over his friend’s shoulder. He gasped and the cup slipped from his hand, hit the floor and exploded, sending a wave of caramel mocha cappuccino flooding down the aisle.
“Holy crap! Earl. We actually did it!”
“This is just way cool!” the red haired checker gushed. “You guys are rich!”
A crowd began to gather around the stunned winners, jostling and shoving for an opportunity to get close to America’s newest mega-millionaires.
Morty grabbed Earl by the arm. “Stuff that ticket in your pocket and let’s get out of here while we still can.”
Earl did as he had been instructed and the two muscled their way through the growing crowd.
Once safely in their car, Earl pulled out of the lot and in his rear view mirror saw the crowd pouring into the street, frantically waving their arms.
“Geeze, Louise!” Morty panted. “That was intense! It was like a pack of hyenas circling a wounded gazelle.”
“So what now?” Earl asked. “We never really figured we’d win. What are we supposed to do next?”
“Damned if I know,” Morty replied, “but I know someone who will --- my cousin, Sol. He’s an attorney --- sharp as a tack. He’ll know what to do.”
“Give him a call,” Earl said, making a u-turn. “I’m heading home and staying put until we figure this thing out.”
“I have good news and bad news,” Sol Weinberg said to the two friends sitting across the table. “The good news is that soon you will be rich beyond your wildest imagination. The bad news is that your life, as you know it, is changed forever. You are both instant celebrities and every shirt-tail relative and con man in the country is going to want a piece of your good luck.”
“But I though that we could be anonymous,” Earl said. “I’ve heard of other winners that stayed out of the spotlight.”
“I’m afraid that ship has sailed,” Sol replied. “The checker at the Kum & Go snapped your picture with her phone. You guys are all over the news.”
“Fantastic!” Morty snorted. “So what do we do next?”
“The first thing is to sign the back of your ticket. It’s like a big check waiting to be cashed. The next thing is to decide whether you want your winnings in one lump sum or spread out over thirty years.”
Morty looked at Earl. “We’re both in our seventies. We won’t be around another thirty years. I say we take the big lump up front.”
Earl nodded in agreement. “How much are we talking about?”
“Two hundred and forty million after taxes,” Sol replied.
“Holy crap!” they both exclaimed.
“It takes about two weeks to process everything,” Sol said
. “You have to fill out a claim form and make a personal appearance at the Lottery office. In the interim, you can spend your time figuring out what you would do with your lives if money were no object.”
At that moment, Earl’s cell phone buzzed. He answered and listened intently for a few minutes, then snapped the phone shut.
“So who was that?” Morty asked.
“My youngest sister’s kid in Toledo. He says he’s got an investment opportunity that can’t miss and he says I can get in on the ground floor.”
Sol smiled. “And so it begins!”
The address that dispatch had given us was on Oak Street in the Brookside neighborhood.
“So what are the chances of having two Star Trek burglaries on the same day?” Ox asked as we pulled up in front of the house. “It’s gotta be the same perp.”
“Makes sense,” I replied. “Every time there’s a new movie release, there’s renewed interest in the series. Looks like some guy has decided to strike while the iron’s hot.”
We knocked and a middle-aged man in a business suit answered the door. “About time,” he said glancing at his watch. “Let’s get this over with. I’m late for a meeting.”
I could see the red creeping up from Ox’s collar, so I jumped in.
“I’m Officer Williams and this is my partner Officer Wilson. I understand that you’ve had a burglary.”
“Yes, I’ve been away on a business trip and when I returned, a bedroom window had been broken and my tricorder was missing. Are either of you Star Trek fans?”
“I am,” I replied. “My partner, not so much.”
“Then you’ll appreciate what a terrible loss I’ve suffered. That tricorder was actually used by Mr. Spock in seven of the original episodes. I paid over five grand for it.”
“Sorry for my ignorance,” Ox said. “What exactly is a tricorder?”
The man gave Ox a condescending look. “A tricorder is a multifunction hand-held device used for sensor scanning, data analysis and recording data. The standard tricorder is a general-purpose device used primarily to scout unfamiliar areas, make detailed examination of living things, and record and review technical data. There are also medical tricorders and engineering tricorders, but mine was the standard.”
“So what made this one worth five thousand dollars,” Ox asked.
The man was aghast. “Maybe you didn’t hear me the first time. Leonard Nimoy, Mr. Spock, actually carried that very tricorder in episodes 41 through 47 in the second year of production. I have those episodes recorded and I can see MY tricorder, 46 years ago analyzing data across the universe.”
“I think that my partner was just surprised that Star Trek memorabilia could be so valuable,” I said, attempting to smooth ruffled feathers.
“That’s a pittance,” the man said. “A one-of-a-kind phaser rifle that Captain Kirk only used once in a pilot episode sold for $231,000 at auction.”
Ox just shook his head. “Show us your broken window. We’ll take some notes, call the lab boys out to take prints and you can get on with the rest of your day.”
“No time for that,” he said, looking at his watch for the umpteenth time. “The brute probably wore gloves anyway. Just get my tricorder back!”
“What a jerk!” Ox exclaimed when we were back in our cruiser. “And five grand for a toy! Give me a break!”
“You may not see the value there, but people pay outlandish prices for all kinds of crap. If this new movie is a hit, something tells me that we haven’t seen the last of our Star Trek snatcher!”
CHAPTER 4
“So what are you going to buy, Morty?” Sol asked. “You get your check in a few days. A new Caddy? A Lexus? A Mercedes? Oh, wait! How about a Jag?”
“Naw,” Morty said, shaking his head. “I don’t need any of that fancy stuff. My old Ford is doing just fine. Don’t want a Rolex. My Timex tells me all I need to know. How about you, Earl?”
“I can’t decide. I always said that I wanted to travel --- but now that Maureen is gone --- well, it just doesn’t seem that important anymore. I don’t want to do it alone.”
“I hear ya, Earl. Dorothy and I used to sit and dream about what we’d do with a shitload of money, but all of that is in the past. It went away when I lost her.
“I’ll tell you what I have been thinking about. Remember the other day when I was talking about my grandson’s little league baseball and how it was different when we were kids?”
Earl nodded.
“Well, I’ve been thinking about how I could help make it like it used to be. I’ve been doing some research --- been driving around --- and I found a whole city block with nothing but boarded up houses. I checked with Kansas City and found out that they’re all on a tear-down list, but the city doesn’t have the funds, so they’re just sitting there. I’ve decided to buy the whole thing --- I could probably get the whole block for next to nothing --- bulldoze it all and build a ball field.”
“And then what?” Sol asked skeptically.
“And then the neighborhood kids could just come, play baseball and not have to worry about leagues and entrance fees. They could just play and be kids.”
“Sorry to burst your bubble, Morty,” Sol said, “but this isn’t 1955. Things are different today.”
“What are you talking about? Why wouldn’t it work?”
“First of all, there’s the liability. You’re a rich old dude and the first day some parent is going to claim their kid got hurt and sue you for a big chunk of your winnings. Then there’s the street gangs. If that field is unsupervised, they’ll be running things before the week is over. What about maintenance? Who’s going to mow the grass?”
“You know what, Sol? You’re a real buzz-kill. All I’m trying to do is provide a place where kids can come and play without worrying about rules and regulations and having some asshole coach yelling at them. Are you telling me that’s not possible?”
“What I’m telling you is that there’s more to it than just building a field. You want your idea to live on after you’re gone, don’t you?”
“Well, sure.”
“Then we have to think about things like insurance and setting up a trust.”
“That’s why I’ve got you, Sol. Let’s get to work.”
“You really want to do this?”
“Hell yes I want to do this! Remember in Field of Dreams when Kevin Costner said, ‘If you build it, they will come’? Well I believe that and I’m gonna build it!”
“Then the first thing you’ll need is a real estate agent to represent you to the city to purchase the lots. I know a good one, Maggie McBride --- oh, wait --- she got married a few years ago. I think it’s Maggie Williams now. She’s with City Wide Realty. Give her a call.
When the duty officer told us that Captain Short wanted to see Ox and me in his office, I got that weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. On previous occasions, a personal summons like this was usually accompanied by a request to go undercover.
This time was no exception.
“We’ve had two more burglaries of Star Trek memorabilia since the two cases that you covered,” he said. “The lab boys haven’t turned up a thing at the crime scenes that could help us, but one of the CSIs is a Trekkie and he came up with an idea.”
“Here it comes,” I thought.
“Unless the perp is a personal collector which is doubtful,” the captain continued, “then he’ll be wanting to unload the stuff to make a profit. We’ve been keeping an eye on Ebay and Craig’s List and, sure enough, some stuff is popping up there that matches the description of the stolen articles. We want the two of you to meet with the seller, look at the articles he’s offering for sale, and if he’s the perp, make an arrest. What do you think?”
“Why us?” I asked. “It’s the CSI’s idea. Why can’t he do it?”
“Two reasons,” the captain replied. “First, you’re a fan yourself. You know the lingo. You know the difference between a tricorder and a phaser. Second, the CSI is just
a kid fresh out of college. You’re more the demographic of a Star Trek collector. You were actually there when Captain Kirk first took the crew of the Enterprise into deep space.”
I looked at Ox. He shrugged his shoulders. “This is your gig. You’re the expert.”
“Sure, why not?” I said. This was certainly better than some of the other undercover assignments I had been given where I had to dress in drag.
“Great! The desk sergeant will fill you in.”
When we returned to the squad room, Officer Dooley tapped me on the shoulder. Dooley was a good kid, but for some reason, he had made it his mission in life to harass the old cop.
“I hear you’re on the Star Trek heist. I’ll bet the perp is a Ferengi. Those guys will steal anything.”
“Thanks for the tip. I’ll keep my eyes open.”
Suddenly, I got that weird feeling again.
When I arrived at my apartment building, two of my tenants, Jerry and the Professor, were sitting on the porch.
The two had become close friends, which was odd because they were as different as night and day.
Eighty-eight-year old Professor Skinner was stoic and refined while seventy-four year old Jerry fancied himself the second coming of Rodney Dangerfield and was constantly cracking jokes.
The rest of us in the building had hoped that Jerry would mellow under the influence of the Professor, but just the opposite had occurred. The straight-laced octogenarian was now cracking wise right along with Jerry.
“Walt,” Jerry called from the porch, “you’re home early. What’s up?”
“Another undercover gig,” I replied, climbing the steps.
“I hope it’s not as dangerous as the last one,” the Professor said, probably remembering my encounter with the Aryan Brotherhood.
“No, nothing like that. Ox and I are going after the guy that has been stealing the Star Trek memorabilia.”
“Ooooh, I read about that in the paper,” Jerry gushed. “I figured with all the hoopla surrounding the new Star Trek movie and these break-ins, I should get some Star Trek material for my act at the Comedy Club. Want to hear some?”
Lady Justice and the Lottery Page 2
