Lady Justice in the Eye of the Storm

by Robert Thornhill

  As we got nearer, we saw a crumpled bicycle by the van and a boy prostrate on the ground.

  “Damn,” Ox muttered, “looks like some kid’s been hit.”

  He pulled the SUV to the curb and started to open the door.

  I put my hand on his arm. “The captain said, ‘no detours.’”

  “So what are we supposed to do --- just leave a kid lying in the street? Let’s check it out and then we can call it in.”

  Before I could reply, he was out the door. I followed him to the fallen boy.

  We had just knelt down to examine him when we felt cold steel pressed against the back of our heads.

  “Not a word, cop, or you die right here.”

  They bound our hands with plastic ties and herded us into the van.

  The captain had said, ‘no detours,’ but doing the right thing had gotten us in trouble again.

  Louie and Willie had been following Ox’s SUV back to the apartment building on Armour Boulevard when they saw Ox pull to the curb on 18th Street.

  “Wot’s dat fool doin’ now?” Willie muttered.

  Louie squinted and craned his neck. “Looks like an accident up there. I see a crumpled bike.”

  They watched as Ox and Walt exited the van and ran to the scene. They had just knelt down when two men emerged from behind the van and pressed guns to the back of their heads.

  “Shit, man!” Willie exclaimed. “Dat was a set up. Dey’s takin’ Ox an’ Mr. Walt.”

  “An’ I know who it is,” Louie muttered. “Dat’s Deandre Tweedy, Rashan’s brother. Looks like he’s plannin’ on some payback.”

  “What you waitin’ for?” Willie asked. “Let’s get up there.”

  Just then two more men came out of the van and helped push Ox and Walt inside.

  “I see four young punks and we’re two old dudes,” Louie replied. “I don’t like those odds. All we gonna do is get ourselves shot, and what good would that do? We gonna need some back up on dis. Call the captain. We’ll follow and see where they’re goin’.”

  Willie dialed and got the precinct operator.

  “I need Captain Short. Dis is Willie Duncan, a friend of Walt Williams. Dis is an emergency.”

  “I’m sorry, Captain Short has left for the day and is unavailable. Would you like his voice mail?”

  “Hell no I don’t want no voice mail. I need the captain.”

  “I’m sorry, Sir, but ---.”

  Willie slammed the phone shut.

  “Shit! De captain’s gone. Ain’t no one else gonna listen to an old black dude.”

  “I got me an idea,” Louie replied. “Didn’t the captain say he had a squad car outside your building?”

  “Sho did.”

  “Give Walt’s old man a call and have him give those cops your number. They can follow us to wherever they’re takin’ them.”

  “Works for me.”

  Willie punched the number into the phone. “John, dis is Willie. Here’s what I want you to do.”

  John Williams hung up the phone and looked at the small group of friends that were expecting their hero home any moment.

  “We’ve got a problem.”

  He quickly explained the situation and they all headed down to the idling cop car.

  John tapped on the window. “You need to call this number,” he said, handing a note to the cop. “Walt and Ox have been abducted. Willie and Louie are following the van that took them. Give them a call and they’ll tell you where to go.”

  The cop handed the note back. “Sorry, can’t do it.”

  John couldn’t believe it. “Why in the world not?”

  “Orders,” he replied. “Direct from the captain. He said to stay right here until we’re relieved --- no exceptions.”

  “That’s just crazy! You’re here to protect Walt, but if you don’t make this call, he may never get here alive.”

  “Sorry, we have our orders.”

  John looked at the little group that had followed him onto the lawn. Mary, Walt’s housemother at his Three Trails Hotel was there with her ever-present ball bat. She never left home without it.

  John grabbed the bat. “Here’s what I think of your orders,” he said, taking a swing that popped off a side mirror.

  “What the hell!” the cop roared. “You crazy old fool. I’m going to have to take you in if you don’t stop that nonsense.”

  “Oh, really?” John replied, bashing the spotlight with a second swing. “You have to catch me first. Come on, Mary.”

  They made a dash for John’s car and peeled out with the cops in hot pursuit, lights flashing and siren blaring.

  John tossed the phone to Mary. “Make the call.”

  “Willie, this is Mary. Where to?”

  “So who are you guys and what’s this all about?” Ox asked as the van pulled away.

  “The name’s Tweedy, Deandre Tweedy, and it’s payback time. An eye for an eye.”

  Now it all made sense.

  “Look,” I said, “I’m sorry about your brother. I wouldn’t have shot if I didn’t have to. He really didn’t give me any choice.”

  “Yeah, well he’s dead all the same, and pretty soon you will be too.”

  “You don’t have to do this, Deandre. Killing us won’t bring your brother back, and it’s just going to make things worse in the city.”

  “You think I give a rat’s ass about the city? This is about respect. When you shot my brother, you disrespected my family, and there’s only one way to make that right. Now shut up!”

  He pulled into the parking lot of the old Woodland School which had been abandoned years ago. His headlights illuminated a scene that sent chills down my spine. Bundles of firewood and a can of kerosene stood next to two fence posts. The recording Ox had made of the two dummies being consumed by flames, flashed into my mind.

  This wasn’t my first exposure to being burned at the stake. A few years earlier, Maggie and I had been abducted by Hawaiian zealots who needed a sacrifice to Pele, the Goddess of Fire, and we were it. We were saved by the skin of our teeth when my dad showed up with a convoy of eighteen wheelers.

  They dragged us unceremoniously out of the van and tied us to the fence posts.

  “Any ideas?” I asked Ox as they piled twigs and firewood around our legs.

  “Not really. You?”

  “Nope, but I’m definitely getting a Joan of Arc complex,” I replied, trying to infuse a bit of levity into the situation.

  “If this is it,” Ox said, “I just want you to know that it’s been a good ride. You were the best partner a guy could ask for.”

  “Don’t say that. We’re not toast yet.”

  But when Deandre soaked our feet, legs and the wood with every drop of the kerosene, I wasn’t so sure.

  He had just pulled a flare from his pocket and was striking the end, when we heard a siren coming down Woodland.

  Deandre kept striking until the flare burst into flame.

  “See you in hell, cop,” he said, as he tossed the flare at my feet. Then turning to his buddies, “Let’s get outta here!”

  The flare had hit one of the logs and bounced about six inches from the wood. Thank heavens the accelerant was kerosene. If it had been gas, the flare would have ignited the fumes and we would have gone up in a ball of flames.

  The flare had landed far enough away from the soaked wood that it wasn’t an immediate danger, but I watched in horror as a trickle of the liquid formed a small stream and headed straight for the flare. The six inch separation dwindled to five then four just as three vehicles roared into the parking lot.

  The closest one came to a screeching halt a few feet in front of us. Dad jumped out of the car and kicked the flare away with less than an inch to spare.

  My old man had come through for me again.

  CHAPTER 17

  By the time Dad arrived with his purloined cop, Deandre and his buddies had disappeared into the night.

  After hearing the details of our improbable rescue, I was ama
zed once again that our fat had literally been snatched from the fire by the quick thinking of two old black guys, my eighty-nine year old dad, and a septuagenarian with a baseball bat.

  It was after midnight when the crime scene unit finished their work and we had given our statements. The trauma of the past two days was definitely taking a toll on my seventy-year-old body. I had hoped that I could slip quietly into my apartment, grab a shower and hit the sack, but it wasn’t to be.

  Dad, Mary and Willie had made it back to the building before me and had shared their tales of daring-do with Bernice, Jerry, Maggie and the Professor. Apparently, their adrenalin high had not yet subsided. I was greeted by a round of hugs and a barrage of questions about the details of our abduction prior to our daring rescue.

  After sharing my story, Jerry remarked that most guys, when subjected to a roast, just get insulted and have embarrassing stories told about them, but are not actually set on fire.

  I had noticed that Maggie had been more subdued than the others, and finally she brought the party to a merciful end.

  “Okay, that’s enough. Walt has to be exhausted. There will be plenty of time tomorrow to talk.”

  She grabbed me by the arm and ushered me up to our apartment.

  “You go shower and I’ll get you a cold glass of Arbor Mist.”

  I stood under the pulsing shower until the water turned cold.

  As promised, Maggie had the Arbor Mist waiting.

  As I plopped into my recliner, I could tell that Maggie needed to talk. She had been nothing but supportive during my five years on the police force, but I knew my succession of narrow escapes was wearing thin.

  “Okay, let’s hear it.”

  “Walt, during the past month, you and Ox have been in two officer-involved shootings, we were nearly blown away and barely survived a hurricane, and tonight you were almost burned alive. Plus, we’re afraid to even set foot out of our building. We’re virtual prisoners in our own home, and from the looks of things, this is far from over. I’m so worried about you. I know you’re tough and all that macho stuff, but you’re seventy! How much more can you take without totally falling apart or getting sick, or getting murdered by one of those crazies out there?”

  I had to admit I had been wondering those same things myself.

  I had to be truthful with her. “Honestly, I don’t know. Right now, I just wish that all of this was over. I wish I could take a time machine back to the day when Tyrell Jackson was shot and make sure that Ox and I were on the opposite side of town. Then none of this would have happened. But since I’m not Marty McFly and I don’t have a DeLorian, there’s probably no way that I’m going back to the future. All I can tell you is we have to stay strong and stay together until this thing is over. Then I promise you we’ll take a hard look at what we want to do with the rest of our lives.”

  “That’s a promise?”

  “Absolutely,” I replied, crossing my heart.

  For the next week, things were relatively quiet in our building.

  We had promised the captain that we wouldn’t set foot outside and we had kept our word. We ordered a lot of pizza and Jimmy John’s Gourmet Sandwiches, and when we needed staples such as bread and milk, the captain had the cops stationed out front make a run to the grocers.

  Once in a while, there would be an inquisitive passer-by or a reporter looking for a story, but thankfully, there were no sit-ins or protests at our place or Ox’s.

  Unfortunately, the same was not true elsewhere.

  In fact, the protests and sit-ins had escalated to an alarming degree.

  The site where Tyrell Jackson had fallen was just a few blocks away from the Bodega where Officer Malloy had been gunned down by Rashan Tweedy.

  Demonstrators had gathered at the Jackson location railing against racial profiling and police brutality, while supporters of the police department had gathered at the Bodega protesting the violence of street thugs.

  One group was chanting, ‘How many more?’ and ‘We ain’t taking it no more,’ while the other was shouting, ‘Where’s the outrage?’ and ‘Support our police.’

  At first, the distance between the two groups kept direct confrontation to a minimum, but as time passed, the crowds grew in number. TV crews and reporters were everywhere, and like the incident across the state, the media coverage brought everyone with a cause out of the woodwork. People were being bussed in from all over the country hoping to get exposure, and soon, the crowds that had numbered in the hundreds, turned into thousands.

  With the growing crowds, the gulf between the two locations disappeared and as members of the opposing camps began rubbing shoulders, violent confrontations became more commonplace.

  The police were doing the best they could to prevent the violent incidents from escalating without resorting to violence themselves. Not an easy task.

  You could sense the tension. The city was a powder keg, and everyone was wondering what would be the spark that would set it off.

  The captain didn’t want it to be us.

  The date for Officer Malloy’s funeral had been announced and, of course, Ox and I wanted to attend to pay our respects to a fallen comrade, but the captain said ‘no.’ The last thing anyone wanted was for demonstrators to hear the two ‘killer cops’ would be attending and ruin the family’s final goodbye with disruptive demonstrations.

  We would have to be content mourning the loss of a brother from our homes.

  I was watching coverage of the latest clashes between the rival groups on TV when there was a knock on the door.

  It was the captain.

  “How are you all holding up?” he asked.

  “Bored out of our minds, but we’re okay.”

  He nodded to the TV screen. “Hell of a mess. If we don’t get a handle on this thing pretty quick, it could really get ugly.”

  “Any ideas?”

  He grimaced. “Actually, yes. Could you ask Willie to join us?”

  From the tone of his voice, I could sense that I might not like what was coming next.

  “Uhhh, sure. Hang on.”

  I gave Willie a call, and moments later, he was in our living room.

  Maggie had been in the kitchen cleaning up the supper dishes. She heard our voices and joined us just as Willie arrived.

  Needless to say, she was surprised to see the three of us. “Okay, what have I missed?”

  The captain rose and gave her a hug. “Well, nothing yet, but I’m about to make a proposal to these two. I’m glad you’re here.”

  When everyone was seated, he began. “Like I was saying, if we don’t do something, we may find ourselves with a full blown riot on our hands --- looting, burning, the whole nine yards. The chief, the mayor and the city council have come up with a plan. It’s a long shot, but it just might do some good.

  “These two incidents have struck some raw nerves and people have been demonstrating on both sides trying to get their points across. The problem is that everybody is shouting and nobody is listening. It’s impossible to have any kind of meaningful dialogue in the middle of a street with a hundred people shouting at once.

  “The fact is, both sides have legitimate complaints and something needs to be done so we don’t have incidents like this in the future, but what we have been lacking is a venue where representatives of both sides can air their grievances and we can explore solutions.

  “We have come up with such a venue. The mayor has contacted one of the major TV news channels and they have agreed to cooperate with the city to put on a forum to discuss the issues we’re facing.

  “The station is sending one of their news anchors, Andrea Clemmons, to moderate the forum. Representatives of both sides will be invited and the discussion will be broadcast nationally on the news station and locally on our PBS station.”

  “That certainly sounds like a good start,” I replied. “How can we help?”

  “Actually, that’s why I’m here. We want you, Ox and Willie to be part of the panel. It ju
st wouldn’t be a meaningful discussion if the two officers who were involved in the shootings which started this whole thing weren’t there to be questioned.”

  I was speechless, but Willie was not. “How come you want me on dere? I didn’ have nothin’ to do wif’ any o’ dis.”

  “Actually, you did,” the captain replied. “Walt and Ox wouldn’t have been at that Bodega if you hadn’t asked them to help Louie. But even more important, you’re a black man living with the cop who shot Rashan Tweedy. I’m sure everyone would be interested in your perspective.”

  “I ain’t got no perspective. Mr. Walt was jus’ doin’ his job and Tweedy got what was comin’ to him.”

  “Exactly!” the captain replied. “That’s what people need to hear.”

  Maggie was apprehensive. “I would hope this wouldn’t turn into some kind of circus where Walt and Ox are crucified for being killer cops.”

  “Absolutely not. Everyone invited will know the ground rules and will abide by them. This isn’t about bashing anyone or anything. It’s a forum where people can express their fears and concerns and where we can look for solutions.”

  “Have you spoken with Ox?” I asked.

  “Yes, I just came from there. He and Judy are on board.”

  I looked at Maggie and Willie. They both shrugged their shoulders.

  “If you really think this can help put the fire out, I guess I’m in too.”

  The captain smiled. “I knew I could count on you. Looks like the Ebony and Ivory forum is a go.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Ebony and Ivory was certainly an interesting name for the upcoming forum.

  The reference was, of course, to the song penned by Paul McCartney back in 1982. Although it was a #1 hit, it was panned by many as being saccharine and overboard. Nevertheless the message in the lyrics was quite clear.

  Ebony and Ivory live together in perfect harmony

  Side by side on my piano keyboard