We fell in behind the Ford, staying back a respectable distance.
“Looks like they’re headed to Northeast,” Ox said, as they turned onto Twelfth Street.
Just past Prospect, they slowed and we saw the overhead door to an old garage slide up. They pulled inside and the door slid down.
I heard Maggie’s voice again. “You’re keeping us in the office of this stinky old garage? I still need to pee. Where’s the bathroom? I hope you’ve got tissue!”
“What a bitch! One more time and I’ll knock that pee right out of you.”
“We have to get in there,” I said.
“With what?” Ox asked. “Remember, we were undercover. We have no guns. We don’t even have our badges. Wait! We’re still wearing our wires. Let’s call for backup. I hope somebody’s still listening.”
Ox switched on his wire and gave our location.
“I hope someone comes, but we have no way of knowing if anyone was even listening. We have to get in there.”
“Again we have no weapons and I’m betting they have guns. What are we going to do, point our fingers at them?”
Then I remembered the phasers.
“We do have weapons,” I said, retrieving the phasers from the back seat.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Ox replied, shaking his head. “We’re going after armed kidnappers with toy guns!”
“They don’t know they’re toys! Now are you coming with me or not?”
“Against my better judgment,” he moaned as he climbed out of the car.
Naturally, the side door of the garage was locked.
“Can you pick that?” I asked.
“Do bears crap in the woods?” he replied, digging out his picks.
Soon, we heard the ‘click’ as the cylinder turned.
“Got your phaser ready,” I asked.
“This is nuts! You know that, don’t you?”
“Just follow my lead. This is going to work.”
We burst into the garage and the two perps grabbed Earl and Maggie and held guns to their heads.
“Who --- who are you guys?” one of them asked.
“We’re cops,” I replied. “Your little game is over. Now put down your guns!”
“You don’t look like cops!” the second perp said.
“Of course not. We’re cyber cops. Part of an elite squad that specializes in hostage situations.”
“Well it looks like you’re at a disadvantage, cyber cop,” the first one said. “We’ve got human shields and you’re standing there buck naked.”
“Yes, but we have these,” I said holding up my phaser.
“What is that,” the second perp asked.
“This, my friend, is the latest weapon in our arsenal. It fires nadion particle beams.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Then let me explain it. Do you know what a Taser is? The thing that fires electric probes and shocks the shit out of its victim? Well this baby makes a Taser look like a pop gun. No wires, just a penetrating beam. It will totally disintegrate anything it hits.”
“You shoot us with those things and these two will be dead,” the first perp threatened.
“Oh, you think so? Right now we have them set on stun. Ox, turn on to full power.”
I fiddled with the phaser and the eerie whine that sounded like a jet engine firing up filled the room.
“You probably think that if we fire you can get off a shot, but guess what? If I fire at your arm, it will turn to ash in an instant and that gun will be on the floor. Let me give you a demonstration.”
I pulled the trigger and the laser beam shot across the room. I directed it to one of the perp’s arms.
“No stop!” he shrieked. “Dougie! I don’t want my arm turned to ashes!”
“Shut up, Ritchie! The old guy is bluffing.”
I figured it was time to pull out all the stops.
“I know what you’re thinking, punk. Is the old guy bluffing or is he not? Well, to tell you the truth, I hope you test me. I don’t get to shoot this thing as much as I’d like. But being this is a nadion phaser, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your arm clean off, you’ve got to ask yourself one question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?”
I gave the perp my steeliest stare and the next fifteen seconds seemed like an hour.
I saw the perp start to waiver and finally, he broke. “Okay! Okay! Don’t shoot!” he said, laying down his gun and dropping to his knees.
“Thank God!” his buddy moaned, and I noticed the front of his jeans had turned a bright blue.
Maggie rushed into my arms just as Captain Short and a half dozen officers burst through the door.
“Very impressive, Captain Kirk,” the captain said with a grin. “You too, Spock,” he said to Ox.
“You heard?”
“Ox left his wire open. We got the whole episode. I was getting worried until I heard you play the Dirty Harry card. That gets them every time.”
“I’ll never hear the last of this, will I?”
“Probably not!”
I looked at Maggie. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. How about you?”
“I’ll be fine as soon as I quit shaking. I’m not that much of a poker player.”
“You’re my hero, you know. Do you think you might be up to another mission tonight?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Take me home and I’ll let you boldly go where no other man has gone before.”
Now that was an undercover assignment that I could get into!
CHAPTER 6
“Absolutely moronic!” Earl said as he clicked off the TV. “Another show about urban yuppies with marital problems.”
He picked up the TV Guide and thumbed through the listings. “Even the crime dramas are so fake. Give me a break! Medical Examiners don’t look like Rita Hayworth and beat cops don’t look like Clark Gable. It’s all about glamour and sex appeal. It’s just like today’s music. Songs don’t sell unless they’re accompanied by a video with forty half-naked people cavorting around doing that stupid hip-hop stuff.”
Morty grinned. “You’re showing your age, Earl. Apparently that’s what the younger generation wants, so that’s what the entertainment industry is cranking out.”
“Oh yeah, well what about what WE want? You said it yourself --- there’s almost fifty million of us old codgers in this country. Why can’t someone produce something that we’d enjoy?”
Just then, there was a knock at the door.
“Better let me get that,” Morty said. “You seem to be a bit cranky this morning.”
Morty opened the door and a concerned Sol Weinberg entered.
“Hi Morty. How’s Earl? That thing last night was horrible! How’s he taking it?”
“I’m right here, Sol, and I’m taking it just fine,” Earl said. “Actually, the whole thing was a real hoot! Most excitement I’ve had in years.”
“Well, I warned you both that riches can be a fickle mistress. There’s a lot of folks out there that would love to tap into your good fortune. This was just the first and probably won’t be the last.”
“Well, we’ll deal with things as they come,” Morty replied. “We’re not going to hide. Life’s too short to be running scared. Any news on how my idea went over last night?”
“Actually, that’s why I stopped by. You were right. After your presentation, we received over two hundred calls, mostly from men, that wanted to volunteer for your program.”
“I knew it!” Morty said, slapping his knee.
“That’s definitely good news,” Sol said, “but it’s created another problem. Once the field is built, what happens if two hundred guys all show up at the same time?”
“Damn, I hadn’t thought about that. Somebody needs to be in charge of scheduling. Let’s start interviewing some of these guys and see if we can find someone that can organize this thing. Can you set that up?”
“Absolutely!” H
e turned to Earl, “How about you? Have you given any more thought as to how you’d like to invest your millions?”
“Actually, I have. Morty had a fantastic idea about bringing back something he loved in sports. I want to do the same thing in entertainment.”
Sol rolled his eyes. “Oh really? What, exactly, did you have in mind?”
“Before you came by, we were just talking about how all of the TV shows catered to the young people. There’s nothing out there for us and I want to do something about it. There’s no Perry Mason, no Matlock, no Murder She Wrote. We need a hero over 50! The last good TV show was Harry’s Law with Kathy Bates. It was wonderful and it barely lasted two seasons! What’s up with that?”
“Do you really want to know?” Sol asked.
“Of course I do.”
“It was cancelled because it only had a 1.1 rating among adults 18 to 49, and that’s exactly the demographic that advertisers cater to.”
“Unbelievable! That makes no sense at all. After I heard Morty talking about it, I did some research myself. There’s a group called Elders in Action. According to them, people over fifty have more disposable income than any other age group and account for fifty percent of all discretionary income. How can they ignore us? I would think there would be dozens of advertisers that would jump at the chance to market their products to the senior crowd. Ensure --- Metamucil --- Depends --- Viagra, for heaven’s sake!”
“Well, I see you have been giving this some thought,” Sol replied. “I think you’re fighting an uphill battle, but it’s your money. Exactly what kind of program do you have in mind?”
“The younger folks have their heroes, we need one too.”
“So what are you thinking? Superman, The Golden Years?”
“Absolutely not. I’m thinking about a real person. Someone that we all can relate too. Someone that is not a hero in spite of his years, but because of his years of experience.”
“Sounds like you have someone in mind.”
“I do. The old cop that saved my ass last night. I think his name is Walt Williams. I found out that he’s about to turn seventy and he and his partner have an outstanding arrest record primarily because of stuff like he pulled last night. Think about it. Phasers, Star Trek, Dirty Harry. What young cop could have pulled that off?”
“I have to hand it to you, Earl. It’s a gutsy move. Tell you what. I know a gal out in Hollywood that has some connections with TV and movie producers. Let me give Stacy* a call and run it by her. If she thinks it has a snowball’s chance in hell, I’ll get back with you.”
“I don’t care about snowballs. The senior set needs a hero and I’m going to give them one, come hell or high water!”
* See Stacy, page 203
I knew that I was in for it the minute I walked into the precinct.
Somebody yelled, “Captain’s on the bridge!” Everyone stood at attention, held up their hands and did that thing that Spock does when he separates his fingers, and in unison, solemnly intoned, “Live long and prosper.”
I’ve never been able to separate my fingers like that, so I just saluted. “Very funny!”
Dooley stepped up, placed his fingers on my forehead and closed his eyes.
“What is wrong with you?” I said, slapping his hand away.
“I was doing the Vulcan Mind Meld. The captain has a message for you.”
“So give me the message.”
“I just did!”
“You’re an idiot!”
“Hey, I wasn’t the one that went to a gunfight with a toy pistol!”
“Point taken. I apologize.”
“Well in that case, the captain wants to see you and Ox in his office.”
I motioned to Ox and we headed to the captain’s office.
“Any idea what this is all about?” he asked.
“Not a clue.”
When we entered, the captain offered us a seat. “Congratulations again. You guys did a hellava job last night. Not exactly by the book, but I’ve come to expect that from the two of you. In fact, I have another assignment for you that’s --- uhhh --- rather unusual.”
I looked at Ox. He had a pained expression on his face. We both knew that couldn’t be good.
“Remember Jack Crawford?”
We nodded.
“He was absolutely thrilled when we returned his two phasers. He asked me to convey his thanks. It turns out that Mr. Crawford is the president of the Star Trek Club that is sponsoring a charity auction in conjunction with the opening of the new Star Trek Into Darkness movie. The proceeds from the auction will be donated to Children’s Mercy Hospital. They expect to draw a large crowd.”
“What’s being auctioned?” I asked.
“The original captain’s chair from the bridge of the Star Ship Enterprise. The actual one used in the original series.”
“Holy Crap!” I exclaimed. “That thing should bring a small fortune.”
“What’s so big about an old chair?” Ox asked with a perplexed look.
“You’ve got to be kidding!” I replied. “In 79 episodes, over a three year period, Captain Kirk commanded the Enterprise from that chair, exploring new worlds and battling alien invaders. At the end of most episodes, he would look out into the vast reaches of space and say, ‘Take us out, Mr. Sulu --- out there!’ It’s like the throne of England. It will bring thousands!”
“Exactly!” the captain said. “They’re hoping for upwards of a half million.”
“I just don’t get it,” Ox said shaking his head.
“Here’s the thing,” the captain replied. “With that kind of money, security is going to be tight. Mr. Crawford was really impressed with the two of you and asked if he could borrow you for the auction.”
“Sounds like fun,” I said. “I’d love get a close look at that chair --- maybe even sit in it.”
“I think that can be arranged,” the captain replied. “Oh yes, there’s one more thing. Pretty much everyone there will be dressed in costume. If the two of you aren’t in costume, you’ll stick out like sore thumbs. Mr. Crawford has made arrangements for one of the show’s make-up artists to take care of you.”
“How cool! Authentic costumes! Do you know who we’ll be? Kirk? Spock? Dr. McCoy?”
“I think he said something about Klingons? Does that mean anything to you?”
“Oh crap!”
“What?” Ox exclaimed. “What’s a Klingon? Is that a bad thing?”
“Uhhh, no, Ox. Lieutenant Worf was a Klingon and one of the heroes in The Next Generation series. You’ll love it!”
I figured that if I told him the truth, I’d never get him to the auction. I’d just let it be a surprise.
When I got home that evening, Maggie was sitting on the porch with a basket in her lap.
“Before you settle in for the evening, could we swing by the hotel? I have something I’d like to drop off for Mary.”
Mary Murphy is the seventy-eight year old housemother at the only other property that I own, the Three Trails Hotel. To be honest, the derelict old building on Linwood Boulevard is a flophouse. I tried to sell it when I liquidated all my other rental properties, but I couldn’t find another sucker, so I’m stuck with it. There are twenty sleeping rooms that share four hall baths. Naturally, anyone that would rent such a dwelling is pretty much at the bottom of the social register, so I have to have someone on site to keep a lid on things. That person is Mary Murphy.
Mary doesn’t shy away from confrontation and I have seen her back down scruffy men half her age. She roams the halls with a 36-inch ball bat and she isn’t afraid to use it.
Inside that gruff exterior, she has a heart of gold and she would do just about anything for me. She’s a dear friend.
“So what’s in the basket?”
“Tomatoes,” Maggie replied, holding up a bright red orb. “One of my clients dropped off a huge box of them --- more than we’ll ever eat, so I figured we’d share some of them with Mary.”
“Very thou
ghtful of you. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it.”
We pulled up in front of the Hotel just in time to see Mary pitch a suitcase over the porch rail, barely missing the head of a kid that was ducking for cover.
“If I ever see your ugly face on this property again, I’ll hit you so hard it’ll hurt your whole family. Now vamoose!”
The terrified kid grabbed his suitcase and ran like his pants were on fire.
Mary saw us coming up the sidewalk. “Mr. Walt! Maggie! My two favorite people in the whole world.”
In the blink of an eye, she had changed from the wicked witch of the north to a fairy godmother.
“What was that all about,” I asked pointing to the kid who was still running as if pursued by Satan himself.
“The little creep was smoking dope. I kept smelling it in the hall, so I hid in one of the crappers and watched. Sure enough, the little shit came walking down the hall puffing on a doobie. I grabbed him by the ear and threw his pansy ass out on the street. We don’t allow no drugs here.”
“Good work, Mary,” I said, trying to stifle a smile.
“Brought you a present,” Maggie said, holding out the basket.
Mary opened the lid and a big grin spread across her face. “I love fresh tomatoes. Thank you so much.”
Mr. Feeney had just come out of the hotel and onto the porch. “I love tomatoes, too.”
Mary gave him the evil eye. “If I see that hand anywhere near my tomatoes, you’ll be pulling back a bloody stump!”
Old man Feeney retracted in horror and hurried off the porch.
Like I said, Mary isn’t one to be trifled with!
CHAPTER 7
“Why do I let you talk me into these things?” Ox mumbled as we entered the make-up room to be magically transformed from humans into Klingons.
“Don’t put this on me!” I replied. “This was the captain’s idea. I’m not crazy about sitting in a make-up chair for an hour either.”
“An hour! You’ve got to be kidding. Why so long?”
Then he saw the photo of Worf from the Next Generation series with his ridged forehead, long wavy hair and droopy mustache.
Lady Justice and the Lottery Page 4
