[Lady Justice 22] - Lady Justice and the Conspiracy Trial

by Robert Thornhill

  “I see what you’re saying.”

  “Then there’s Michael Crichton,” he said, tapping again. “Another best-selling author trying to wake up the public with his fiction. In State of Fear, he takes on eco-terrorists and climate change and presents volumes of evidence that climate change is another government smoke screen to cover up what’s really going on.”

  “Maybe chemtrails.”

  “Maybe so, but the point is, Walt, Robin Cook has sold over 400 million books and Crichton has sold over 200 million, way more than Conspiracy will ever sell, and what has that accomplished? Nothing really, as far as swaying the public is concerned. People just don’t care.”

  That statement reminded me of the words of my first floor tenant, Professor Leopold Skinner, when I asked him why more people don’t care. “Apathy, the curse of modern society. Why do only fifty percent of the voting population cast their votes in a presidential election? Frustration, as in you can’t fight city hall. The government is just too big and powerful. Complacency, as in I’m doing all right, why rock the boat.”

  I thanked Robert for his time and hard work and promised we’d stay in touch.

  Four people were dead or missing, our attempt to sway the masses with fiction had failed, and now Jack Carson had dumped the problem right in my lap, and I had no idea what I was going to do.

  Actually, I did know what I was going to do --- nothing!

  CHAPTER 5

  I needed a break --- from crazy guys with razors, and more importantly, from the contents of the manila envelope locked away in my safe.

  When Maggie got home, I asked her if she had any buyers or listing appointments for the weekend. Thankfully, she did not, and when I suggested a few days away, she was more than enthusiastic.

  One of our favorite retreats is Branson, Missouri, the entertainment capital of the Midwest. Tucked away in the Ozark hills, Branson is the perfect place for old codgers like us who grew up in the 50’s. Among the hundred or so shows available are tributes to Ritchie Valens, Chubby Checker, The Platters, The Drifters and of course, Elvis. For me, a trip down memory lane is the perfect balm to sooth my troubled soul, and I was anxious, as the old Ronnie Milsap tune suggests, to Get Lost in the 50’s Again.

  From Kansas City, it’s a good four hour drive, and one of the things I enjoy along the way is stopping at one of the little towns along Highway 13 for lunch.

  I particularly enjoy this because country restaurants add an additional category to the five major food groups, gravy.

  I’d be willing to bet that not one restaurant on the Country Club Plaza has gravy on their menu, but every country restaurant has at least two kinds, brown and white.

  Another big difference between city and country eateries is the green beans. Country green beans melt in your mouth because they have been simmering in a big pot with bacon or ham hocks for hours. City green beans crunch. I’m sorry, but beans just shouldn’t crunch.

  Every country restaurant has a daily special. It might be fried chicken, pot roast or ham and beans, and you can usually have two pieces of chicken, a whopping serving of mashed potatoes smothered in gravy and soft green beans for around five bucks.

  Then there’s the pie, the kind with three inches of scrumptious merengue on top. You don’t find pies like that in most city restaurants because they’re lovingly baked by someone’s grandma.

  You can always tell the best country restaurant, because the parking lot is filled with pick-up trucks.

  Our first day in Branson, we did all the usual tourist stuff. Maggie likes to stroll through the dozens of stores that sell quilts and other authentic Ozark handmade crap, and what woman doesn’t like hunting for bargains at the Outlet Mall?

  That evening, we bought tickets to the Legends in Concert, and were treated to performances by The Blues Brothers, Johnny Cash, Tina Turner and Elvis. All in all, a good day.

  We have a tradition that every time we come to Branson we take a side trip to Big Cedar Lodge, a resort about a half hour south of town. We were introduced to the place a few years ago when we attended a real estate retreat, and fell in love immediately.

  Nestled in the hills next to a mountain stream, the accommodations are rustic and every room or building is adorned with stuffed creatures of every kind.

  My favorite building is the Devil’s Pool restaurant. They have a breakfast bar with biscuits and sausage gravy to die for.

  The Devil’s Pool was the first stop on our day’s agenda.

  We were stuffed to the gills, when our server presented us with the check.

  “I hope you folks are going to stop by Top of the Rock while you’re out this way.”

  Top of the Rock was a golf course along Highway 65 adjacent to Big Cedar Lodge.

  “Probably not. Neither of us golf.”

  “Ohh, I guess you don’t know about the additions Johnny has made.”

  She was referring to Johnny Morris, the Missouri billionaire, who owns the Bass Pro Shops, Big Cedar Lodge, Dogwood Nature Park, and Top of the Rock, among other things.

  “No, we don’t. So what’s new?”

  “A few months ago, The Lost Canyon Cave Nature Trail and the Ancient Ozarks Natural History Museum were opened. You really should check them out.”

  The Lost Canyon Trail wound around through the forested Ozark Hills and included a trip through an underground cave complete with waterfall. The best part was that it was taken in a golf cart that I could drive myself.

  The trail was beautiful. As it wound around through the hills, squirrels chattered at us from their woody perches, cardinals flitted from tree to tree, and we even saw a red fox scamper for cover as we rounded a bend.

  A gentle breeze whispered through the tall oaks and the gurgling of the mountain stream was just the tonic needed to sooth a troubled soul.

  I was more relaxed than I had been for days --- until we emerged from the forest cover and the first thing I saw was a half dozen fluffy trails stretching from one horizon to the other.

  In an instant, my euphoria turned to melancholy. It was like a punch in the gut, knowing that the planes were spewing a toxic stew of aluminum oxide, ethylene dibromide and barium that would eventually fall to earth polluting and changing forever, the natural beauty we had just enjoyed.

  I was so disheartened, I was ready to call it a day, but thankfully, we did not.

  At the end of the trail was the museum. It was huge, over 35,000 square feet.

  I picked up a brochure and read, “Created to celebrate the fascinating history and stunning natural beauty of the Ozarks, the Ancient Ozarks Natural History Museum features artifacts, images and interactive exhibits that chronologically walk you through the development of the Ozarks. As you explore the museum, you will learn about the people and animals that have inhabited the region for over 12,000 years. Bass Pro Shops and Top of the Rock founder Johnny Morris was so amazed by the exhibits at the Chicago Field Museum that he commissioned the same design team to help create the displays you’ll find here. Featured attractions include carbon-dated skeletal remains of a wooly mammoth, a saber tooth cat, a giant ground sloth, and prehistoric cave bears.”

  Sure enough, there were all kinds of prehistoric creatures that once inhabited the Ozarks, but the exhibits that fascinated me most were of the Indians indigenous to the area. Room after room was filled with arrowheads, pottery, and artifacts of their daily lives.

  Photos of the early tribes intrigued me most. Along with the photos, were words of wisdom attributed to famous Indian leaders.

  As I read, I soon discovered that these so-called primitive people had a far greater understanding of our place in the world, than do the bureaucrats spewing poisons into our skies.

  In 1854, Chief Seattle spoke these words, “Every part of this earth is sacred to my people. Every shining pine needle, every sandy shore, every mist in the dark woods, every clearing and humming insect is holy in the memory and experience of my people. The perfumed flowers are our sisters: the deer, the
horse, the great eagle, these are our brothers. The rocky crests, the juices of the meadows, the body heat of the pony, and man --- all belong to the same family.

  “The air is precious to the red man, for all things share the same breath --- the beast, the tree, the man. They all share the same breath.

  “What is man without the beasts? If all beasts were gone, man would die from a great loneliness of spirit. For whatever happens to the beasts, soon happens to man. All things are connected.

  “Teach your children that the earth is our mother. Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of the earth. If men spit upon the ground, they spit upon themselves. This we know: The earth does not belong to man; man belongs to the earth. All things are connected like the blood which unites one family.

  “Whatever befalls the earth befalls the sons of the earth. Man did not weave the web of life, he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.”

  Tears came to my eyes as I read the words of this ancient sage. A hundred and sixty years ago, he could not have envisioned huge silver birds flying from coast to coast spreading poison across the land, and yet he knew that the air was precious and not to be defiled. He understood that if men spit upon the ground, they spit upon themselves, and that is exactly what is happening as the poisons being spewed into the air fall to the ground.

  I moved on to another saying of Black Elk of the Oglala Lakota tribe, “We can no longer rule over the beasts of the earth and seek dominion over our environment. We human beings are not privileged beings who are above or separate from the world. We are part of the landscape and everything and with this awareness comes humility and the gift of harmony. All beings are to be respected, for all have souls. In truth, we depend on all of the creatures of this world. For in order to survive, we humans must consume plants and animals and life must be taken so that we can live. It is only with this awareness that we learn humility and find balance.”

  The people behind the chemtrail conspiracy were pulling out all stops to harness Mother Nature and have dominion over our environment, and in the process, were destroying the very thing they were trying to harness. Their toxic brew of aluminum, barium and ethylene dibromide was affecting every living creature, causing irreparable damage by impairing brain, heart, and liver function. People curious about the increased incidence of Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, and a host of other disorders, need only to look up and see the dirty streaks across the sky.

  On the next placard were the words of Sun Bear of the Chippewa Tribe. “I do not think the measure of a civilization is how tall its buildings of concrete are, but how well its people have learned to relate to their environment and fellow man.”

  Given the tensions in our country between the races, between the haves and have nots, between the gays and straights, and a host of other differences, and the pollution that our air, water and land is enduring, Sun Bear’s words make our current state of affairs a mockery.

  It was totally incredible to me, that these so-called savages had a far better understanding of man’s place and role in the world than the schmucks that are running things today.

  One last poem by Chief Dan George touched my heart.

  The beauty of the trees,

  the softness of the air,

  the fragrance of the grass,

  speaks to me.

  The summit of the mountain,

  the thunder of the sky,

  the rhythm of the sea,

  speaks to me.

  The faintness of the stars,

  the freshness of the morning,

  the dew drop on the flower,

  speaks to me.

  The strength of fire,

  the taste of salmon,

  the trail of the sun,

  and the life that never goes away,

  they speak to me.

  And my heart soars.

  I wanted my heart to soar, but instead, it was heavy. I had come to the Ozark hills seeking refuge from the thoughts that were troubling me, but as we headed back to Kansas City, I knew in my heart that the contents of the manila envelope locked away in my safe, would continue to haunt me.

  CHAPTER 6

  The next day, I was still in a funk.

  My brief commune with nature and reading the wisdom of the ancient ones had rekindled my desire to expose the government’s clandestine program. I knew the means to that end were locked away a mere six feet from where I sat, but I also knew that once I started down that path, my life and the lives of everyone I loved would be in jeopardy.

  The jingle of the phone interrupted my melancholy thoughts.

  “Walt? Kevin here. We need to talk. I’ll be there in a half hour.”

  I was about to protest, but the line was dead. It looked like I’d be speaking to my brother-in-law whether I wanted to or not.

  True to his word, Kevin was sitting in my office thirty minutes later.

  “Okay, what’s so important? Do you have a new client for us?”

  He paused for a moment. “Well, I hadn’t thought of it that way, but yes.”

  “Great! Anyone I know?”

  “Actually, you do. It’s me.”

  Now I was really confused. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

  He grinned sheepishly. “I asked Veronica to marry me. We’re getting hitched.”

  I nearly fell out of my chair.

  After not seeing him for fifty years, Maggie’s brother, Kevin, appeared at our door dying of kidney failure. He was hoping that Maggie would be a match and donate a kidney, but when that didn’t work out, Kevin figured his days were numbered.

  At the top of his bucket list, was his intention to dip his wick a few more times before he was sprouting daisies. I wasn’t much help in that department, but Willie still had contacts from his days on the street. After a few well-placed phone calls, Kevin and Veronica hooked up for his death bed tryst.

  In a surprising, almost miraculous turn of events, a kidney became available and Kevin got a new lease on life.

  To everyone’s surprise, Kevin and Veronica became an item. I had heard about May-December romances, but Kevin was in his seventies and Veronica was a voluptuous blonde nearly half his age. It was no big secret why Kevin was attracted to Veronica, but her attraction to him was a mystery.

  Our little circle of family and friends are not judgmental, and soon Veronica was an integral part of our little clique. She even did some undercover work with us on a couple of our cases.

  “I --- I don’t know what to say,” I stammered.

  “You could start with congratulations.”

  “Of course, congratulations! But I’m curious and if you don’t mind me asking, why marriage? Not to be rude, but given your age ---.”

  “Actually, it is rude, but since you’re my partner and brother-in-law, I’ll tell you. Veronica’s old man ran off when she was five. Her mom was a druggie and couldn’t keep things together, so Veronica was in one foster home after another. She was on her own at seventeen. She’s never had a real home or a stable relationship --- until now.

  “What we have together, and all of you having taken her under your wings, are the only family she’s ever known, and we want to make it a permanent thing. Yeah, I know I’m an old coot, but I figure I can give her another ten years before I’m in Depends and drinking Ensure, and that’s good enough for her.”

  “I’m happy for you, Kevin. Maggie will be too.”

  “Thanks, but there is a problem. That’s why I’m here. I need your help.”

  “I don’t understand. Why do you need me?”

  “There’s one big cloud hanging over my head that has to be cleared up before we can get married.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Manny Sorveno.”

  I knew immediately what he was talking about.

  When Kevin was a kid, he got mixed up with the wrong crowd and was riding along with Bugsy, one of the mob’s enforcers, when a collection went bad and a shopkeeper was murdered. The cops were
n’t interested in kids like them. They wanted to nail bigger fish, so they got Kevin and Bugsy to testify in exchange for witness protection.

  As a result, Sammy ‘Scarface’ Sorveno was convicted and eventually died in prison.

  Sammy’s son, Manny, never forgot who had ratted out his father, and when Kevin came out of hiding looking for a kidney, Manny found him and was determined to settle the score.

  Manny kidnapped Maggie, hoping to draw Kevin into a trap, but in the end, it was Manny who died in a hail of bullets.

  “What in the world could I possibly do?”

  “Come on, Walt. You know the mob. They don’t forget things. Manny was looking for me for fifty years to get revenge. I was the one responsible for Manny getting whacked and I just don’t want Veronica hurt if they come after me.”

  “It’s been what --- a year and a half since Manny was gunned down? Don’t you think they’d have knocked you off by now if that was their intent?”

  “Maybe, maybe not, but I don’t want to take the chance. If it was Maggie, would you?”

  I saw his point. “So what do you want from me?”

  “Carmine Marchetti. I want you to talk to him and see where I stand.”

  I couldn’t believe what he was asking.

  It was no secret that Marchetti was the godfather of the Kansas City mob.

  Under normal circumstances, I would stay as far away as possible from guys like him, but not long ago, I had not one, but two encounters with the Don.

  The first was right after Jack Carson disappeared. Rumor had it that Carson was working on a story about the mob’s protection racket when he met Calinda, Marchetti’s daughter, and much to Carmine’s chagrin, they fell in love. For some reason, I threw caution to the wind and confronted Marchetti who vehemently denied having anything to do with Carson’s disappearance.

  Shortly after that, I received the two texts with Maggie’s photo warning me to back off. When she was abducted, I confronted Marchetti a second time. He swore on his mother’s grave that he had nothing to do with Maggie’s abduction.