[Lady Justice 04] - Lady Justice And The Avenging Angels

by Robert Thornhill

  When we entered the store, I thought Mary was going to pass out. There must have been a hundred feet of shelving with every possible kind of cheese, and each kind had free samples with little toothpicks.

  She started at one end and made her way down the aisle, stuffing little cheese cubes in her mouth.

  Willie shook his head. “Dat ole woman gonna be so stopped up she gonna need three boxes o’ E-Lax to bust her loose.”

  I wandered to the gift shop at the far end of the store and saw the two books I was looking for. By the time I had made my purchase, Mary was only halfway down the counter.

  I had noticed that our gas tank was only a quarter full, and there was a gas station right across from the cheese store, so I told the folks that I would fill up and be right back. I had just finished pumping when an old pickup towing a jon boat pulled up to the pump next to me. A crusty old guy that looked a lot like Chester on the old Gunsmoke TV show was unscrewing his gas cap when I heard a loud whap from the bottom of the jon boat.

  I peeked over the edge, and a huge creature with whiskers and beady eyes slapped a big tail against the side of the boat. Whap!

  “Ain’t she beaut? Probably go forty-five, maybe fifty pounds.”

  “What in the world is it?” I gasped.

  “Catfish. You must be a city boy.”

  I looked at the creature’s head. It looked like it had been pressed in a vise. “How’d you catch him? You run over him with your truck?”

  “That there’s a flathead catfish right out of the Osage. Fine eatin’ I’m telling you.”

  I noticed some words painted on the side of the boat: “Dan the Catfish Man.”

  “So are you Dan?”

  “Shore am. And you be?”

  “Walt Williams,” I said, sticking out my hand.

  “You like to fish, city boy?”

  “Never done it. At least not for anything like that.”

  He handed me a dirty, beat-up business card. “Well, if you ever want a fun weekend, gimme a call, and we’ll set you out a trot line.”

  “So you’re a guide?”

  “When I hafta be.”

  I had a thought. “You lived around here all your life?”

  “Yep.”

  “Then you probably know most of the folks around here.”

  “Yep.”

  “Do you know the Tucker family?”

  “Yep.”

  “Could you give me directions to their farm?”

  “Yep.”

  After Dan gave me detailed directions, I thought about another question.

  “My friends and I drove through town. There seemed to be an awful lot of churches for a town of eight hundred thirty-five people.”

  Dan smiled. “You ain’t seen half of ’em. There’s another dozen or so little churches scattered all over the back roads of St. Clair County. You’re right in the middle of the Bible belt, sonny.”

  “I know that this might seem like a strange question, but can you think of any of these little churches that might be considered … um … different, more radical than the others? Maybe where the members are more standoffish and don’t welcome strangers?”

  Dan squinted his eyes. “So you maybe lookin’ for some super-religious folks that might be in cahoots on somethin’ else?”

  I wish he hadn’t said that word. Sometimes my brain has a time-out and goes off in some weird direction. All of a sudden, I was thinking about a TV episode of Two And A Half Men where someone uses the word cahoots. Charlie, like me, drifts away and thinks, Cahoots—what a funny word. Sounds like an owl sneezing, ca-hoot, ca-hoot.

  I must have been smiling when Dan brought me back from my mental wandering. “Hey, city boy. Did I say something funny?”

  “Uh, no, sorry. You were about to say … ?”

  “Nope. Can’t think of nuthin’ special. There’s lots o’ folks a little standoffish around here. Been that way as long as I can remember.”

  I thanked him and headed back to the cheese store. Mary was at the checkout when I walked up. She stuffed a little crunchy thing in my mouth.

  “You gotta taste these things. They’re little pretzel things filled with peanut butter. Yummy!”

  I had to admit they tasted pretty good. When everyone was loaded into the car with their cheese booty, I told them we had one quick stop to make.

  I followed the directions that Dan had given me and wound up on a gravel road. The Tuckers’ farm was right where he said it would be. I pulled up into the driveway and got out of the car.

  A big yellow lab jumped off the porch, ran up to me, and put her snoot right in my crotch. I hate that.

  Before I could knock, the door opened, and a man came onto the porch. A woman, most likely his wife, hung back in the doorway.

  The man leaned over the porch rail and hocked a big mouthful of brown spit into the lilac bush. “Can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for Will Tucker.”

  “I’m Will Tucker.”

  He noticed the puzzled look on my face.

  “Somethin’ wrong?”

  “I was looking for the Will Tucker that graduated in 2008.”

  “That’s my son, Will Jr. He ain’t here.”

  Mr. Tucker turned to his wife and motioned her inside.

  “When will he be back?”

  “Ain’t comin’ back—at least not for a while. He’s spending the summer in Montana with kin.”

  “I see. Well, thank you for you time.”

  Tucker watched until I turned around, and then he turned and went in the house. On the way down the steps, I snapped off a leaf of the lilac bush. When I got back in the car, Maggie looked at the green leaf dripping brown goo.

  “Ew, Walt. What in the world is that?”

  “Evidence!”

  Chapter 14

  The strobes of neon fireflies punched holes in the dark forest, and the mating call of tiny tree frogs echoed through the valleys of the Ozark hills. A full moon was rising in the night sky, and the light shining through the boughs of the tall oaks cast grotesque shadows in the open clearing.

  Outside of the old barn was peace and tranquility.

  Inside, John Blackwell stood before his minions, the fire of righteous indignation burning in his eyes.

  “Noah, tell me of this man from Kansas City.”

  A tall, strapping youth stood. “I was at the library, workin’ on the computer. This man—I heard him say his name was Walt Williams—came in with two women and a Negro. He was quizzing Angie about who used the computers, and they was talkin’ about the bombings in Kansas City.

  “Angie went to get him copies of the sign-up sheets, and while she was gone, this Williams guy saw Will Jr.’s picture on the wall. Then he started askin’ questions about Will. I thought I recognized the guy, and then it came to me. He was a cop. I was in the crowd the day that Will blew himself up, and he was there, holdin’ back the crowd.

  “An’ that ain’t all. Turns out he owned the rooming house where David was makin’ the white crystals. I hid behind a bookshelf and listened to him and his friends. They was studying stuff about the Youngers and Monegaw. I followed ’em when they left. They went to the cheese store and then out to the Tuckers’ place. That’s all I know.”

  “Thank you, Noah. You did well.” Blackwell turned to Will Tucker. “What about this Williams, Will?”

  “He come to the door and asked about Will Jr. I told him that Will was spendin’ the summer with kin in Montana, and he left.”

  Blackwell pondered this new information. “The scriptures tell us that there must be opposition in all things. While our cause is just and good, we could not expect Satan to stand idly by while we rid the earth of his whoremongers and idolaters.

  “This Will
iams is an emissary of the Dark One and has been sent to place stumbling blocks in our path, but the scriptures also tell us that when the Lord is with us, there is no one who can stand against us. We must watch this Williams and his friends.

  “Noah, you will go to Kansas City and keep a watchful eye on our enemy. The army of the Evil One is forcing us to alter our plans. They have identified the canisters and prevented us from destroying the whores at that den of iniquity, so we must adapt.

  “They have found a thread to St. Clair County, so we must not tarry. We must be diligent in carrying out the work of the Lord.”

  Outside, a cloud passed in front of the full moon, plunging the forest into darkness.

  Chapter 15

  I was anxious to talk to Captain Short after our Osceola visit. After squad meeting on Monday morning, Ox and I knocked on the captain’s door.

  “Come in. How was your trip to Osceola?”

  “Well, there’s good news, and there’s bad news. The bad news is that there are nine computer terminals in the St. Clair County Library, six of which are open to the public. They have a list of people who use the computers, but not everyone signs in. It’s a pretty loose system. I have the sign-up sheets for the two days that the messages were sent, but I’d be willing to bet the guy never signed in. I wouldn’t. I’m afraid that’s a dead end.”

  It was obvious that the captain was disappointed. “So what’s the good news?”

  “While I was at the library, I saw a photo of the graduating class at the Osceola High School for 2008. I would swear that I recognized the kid that got blown up on Garfield. The librarian told me his name was Will Tucker Jr. I got directions to his family’s farm and talked to Will Tucker Sr. He said his son was spending the summer in Montana with relatives, but something just didn’t sound right. So I got this.” I held up a plastic baggie with the spit-covered lilac leaf.

  “What in the world is that?”

  “It’s spit. The dad spit tobacco juice on a bush while I was standing there. After he went back in the house, I tore off the leaf with the spit. I figured that with this, our lab guys could compare the dad’s DNA with that of the dead kid. If they match, we know the boy’s identity.”

  Captain Short smiled. “So now my sixty-seven-year-old rookie is a forensics expert.”

  “I just thought—”

  “Good work, Walt! This may be the first solid lead we have to these terrorists! Unfortunately, DNA testing isn’t as simple as they portray it on TV, so it may take awhile to get the results back. I’ll send it off right away.”

  I was feeling pretty smug as I left the captain’s office.

  That evening I made arrangements with Willie to go over the two books we had purchased at Osceola Cheese. There was a wealth of information in both that we hadn’t had time to study.

  After supper, I was on my way to Willie’s studio in the basement when Jerry accosted me in the hall.

  He seemed out of breath and had a concerned look on his face. “Walt, did you hear on the news about the truck that just got hijacked?”

  Since I had been enjoying another of Maggie’s organic supper concoctions, I hadn’t heard, so I bit. “No. Was anyone hurt?”

  “No one was hurt, but they lost a whole truckload of Viagra. The news report said they’re looking for a gang of hardened criminals.”

  “Jerry, I swear—”

  “Have a good evening, Walt,” he said and walked off with a big grin on his face.

  I found Willie in his apartment intently studying the books.

  “Walt, lissen to dis. It says dat my great-great-grandpa, dat Speed McDonald was a cook for dem James and Younger boys. I’d heard of Jesse James befo’ but didn’ know nuthin’ bout the Youngers. Here, you read it.”

  I read the fascinating story in Wilbur Zink’s little book and was amazed at the close connection of the two outlaw families to Willie’s ancestors. Apparently, the gangs would hold up trains and Wells Fargo offices and then flee back to this little Ozark community to hide. The book said they would often hole up with John and Hannah McFerrin, Willie’s great-great-great-grandparents.

  One reason they chose the area was because of the little town of Monegaw Springs. In the late 1800s it was a thriving town on the banks of the Osage River and boasted hotels and dance halls. Nearby, a huge bluff rising a hundred feet above the river valley gave the gang an unobstructed view for miles, and they could readily see any riders coming in the distance.

  The karst topography of the region created many caves around the big bluff in which the boys hid themselves and the booty from their many raids.

  I was reading along when a paragraph struck me squarely between the eyes. “Willie! Listen to this!”

  Describing the old McFerrin cabin, the paragraph read, “It is said that at one time Cole Younger was lying on a bed near a window, and he reached up and cut his initials on the windowpane with his diamond ring. In later years, several people tried to purchase the pane, but Aunt Hannah refused to sell it. The night after she passed away, the glass mysteriously disappeared.”

  I felt a cold chill, and the hairs stood up on my arms. “Willie! Where is the old window we found in the storage locker? You didn’t throw it away, did you?”

  “No, sir. You tole me to keep it, so I put it in de furnace room.”

  We rushed to the furnace room, and Willie pulled the old window from behind some old snow tires stacked in the corner. We brought it into the light, and sure enough, in the lower right-hand corner were the initials, CY.

  Willie moaned. “I damn near trew dis in de dumpster!”

  “Willie, this isn’t just a valuable artifact; it’s a piece of your family history handed down through five generations.”

  Willie clutched the old window to his chest for a long time. We returned to his apartment, and he placed the precious glass in a safe place. We continued reading about his family’s relationship to the Youngers.

  According to the book, the gun battle between the Youngers and the Pinkerton Agents took place within a few hundred feet of the McFerrin cabin on the very day that his grandmother, Chloe McDonald, was born, March 17, 1874.

  Speed McDonald, Willie’s great-great-grandfather, witnessed the gunfight. He helped carry the body of John Younger into the McFerrin house and then helped bury it in a shallow grave the next day. The day after that, Speed dug up the body and carried it by wagon to a cemetery several miles away, where he reburied it.

  “Sounds like your great-great-grandpa was a busy man.”

  “Sho nuff. Guess he was real tight wit dem outlaws.”

  Another thought occurred to me. “The book says that just before the gun battle, the gang robbed the Iron Mountain Railroad at a place called Gad’s Mill. It makes you wonder what happened to all the loot they took.”

  I pulled the old parchment map from the back of Willie’s family Bible and looked at the crude symbols that had been scrawled there. I pointed to the big X.

  “You don’t suppose—I mean, could it be possible?”

  “You tink mebbe my folks mitta’ knowd where some of dat loot was hid?”

  “What do you think?”

  Willie shrugged his shoulders.

  “Well, I think it’s time for another trip to St. Clair County.”

  I pulled the old beat-up business card out of my pocket and dialed the number.

  “Yo, Dan here.”

  “Hi, Dan. This is Walt Williams.”

  “Who?”

  ‘We met at the gas station the other day, and you gave me your card.”

  “Oh yeah. The city boy. I remember.”

  “I’d like to hire you for this coming Saturday.”

  “Ah, ready to pull in some big catfish, are ya?”

  “No, actually, I’d like to hire you as a guide. My frien
d and I are interested in the local history around Osceola. We’d like you to show us around—maybe go to the bluff at Monegaw Springs.”

  “Well, I ain’t never done that before, but as long as you’re willin’ to pay, I guess I could.”

  “Great! Let’s meet at Osceola Cheese at nine o’clock.”

  I was excited to get back to the country, and as I lay in bed that night, visions of buried loot, hidden away for over a century, danced in my head.

  Chapter 16

  My plans to search for buried treasure came to a screeching halt the next morning when Captain Short made his announcement.

  “I’m sorry to have to be the bearer of bad tidings, but all scheduled leave and days off are cancelled until further notice. We’re facing a situation this week that will involve every bit of manpower we can muster.”

  The captain definitely had our attention.

  “The terrorist group has changed their M.O. The previous bombings have come without warning, but yesterday afternoon WDAF TV received another communication.”

  The captain read from a clipboard:

  Now therefore beware, I pray thee, and drink not wine nor strong drink, for wine is a mocker and strong drink is raging and whosoever is deceived thereby is not wise.

  Be not deceived: neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor abusers of themselves with mankind, nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of God. Let us walk honestly, as in the day, not in rioting and drunkenness.

  Woe unto them that rise up early in the morning, that they may follow strong drink: that continue until night, till wine inflame them. Woe be unto them that crawl in drunkenness and stupor for they shall be consumed with fire and brimstone from the avenging angels of the Lord.

  “The word crawl was emphasized. We’re sure that it’s a direct reference to the Crawl For Cancer event scheduled for this Saturday. You may be more familiar with the more generic name for the event, the Pub Crawl.