“Right after he moved in, I started getting calls from the neighbors. They tell me that every so often they detect a strange smell coming from the house. They also say that the tenant gets a lot of late-night visitors. I remembered when the policeman came to the Landlords’ Association meeting and told us about the warning signs of drug activity. I had a suspicion that’s what’s going on. I have a friend in the police department. I had him run the guy through their data base, and guess what? My tenant had just been released from jail. He had been convicted of manufacturing and distributing methamphetamines. In fact, they caught the guy after a batch he was cooking caught on fire and burned the house to the ground.
“Before that damned Bill of Rights was passed, my company would have gotten that information for me and I would have never rented to him. Now I’m stuck.”
“What did your cop friend tell you?” I asked.
“He said I’d have to come up with some hard evidence before the Drug Enforcement Unit could act. He said that they’re short on manpower and can’t just sit outside a house hoping to catch them doing something wrong.
“I told him I’d get what he needed. I called the guy and told him I wanted to make a routine inspection of the property. He reminded me that the new Bill of Rights required a landlord to give a 24-hour notice before coming on the property. That was just enough time for him to pack up his crap and get it out of the house before I arrived. I checked the house but didn’t find squat. I’m sure after I left, he just brought the stuff back in. I know I’ve got a meth lab in my rental and it’s all because of that damned Bill of Rights. I just don’t know what to do. If I don’t get him out, my rental will be ruined.”
I knew exactly what he was talking about. I had seen the smoking remains of other rentals that had been incinerated by an explosion. Almost as bad is a rental where meth has been cooking for a long period of time. The chemicals seep into the walls and floors creating a biohazard. I’ve met landlords who have had to strip the interior walls down to the studs to eradicate the dangerous chemicals. Unfortunately, many of the abandoned properties that blight our streets are former drug houses that owners have walked away from rather than spend thousands to repair.
What a nightmare!
“See,” Darrin said, “isn’t this exactly what Suzanne Romero was looking for, another landlord screwed by the system?”
“It certainly is,” I replied, “but we still have no proof that there is actually a meth lab in the house.”
“I --- I was hoping you and your partner could help me with that,” Milo said, meekly.
I looked at Kevin and he nodded.
“Okay,” I replied, “we’ll look into it. Give me the address and we’ll be in touch.”
I sometimes can’t believe how things are so different now that I’m working for the Lady Justice in the high heels and fishnet stockings.
While still in the employ of the other one, the one wearing a blindfold and wearing a flowing white robe, there was no way we could set foot in the suspected drug dealer’s house without a warrant.
The Lady Justice I work for now has no such restrictions.
“The first thing we need to do,” I told Kevin, “is get inside the place and see for ourselves if the guy is really cooking meth.”
Kevin heartily agreed, so we camped out on the street a block from the rental house. We stayed until midnight and sure enough, the guy had people coming and going all evening.
Finally, enough was enough.
“We’re definitely not getting in at night,” Kevin said. “Too much activity. Our best bet is to come back in the morning and hope the guy leaves for a while.”
I concurred, and we were back on the street at eight the next morning.
Around ten o’clock, the guy stumbled out of the house rubbing his eyes and headed for his car.
“Probably making a coffee run,” Kevin said as we watched him drive away. “That should give us enough time to get in and out.”
We headed to the back door. Kevin went to work with his picks, and moments later we were in the kitchen.
“We’d better check and make sure we’re alone,” I said. “I’d hate to get cornered in the basement.”
Cautiously, we checked the other rooms in the house. Finding no one, we headed to the basement.
We flicked on the lights and there it was.
“He’s cooking all right,” Kevin said. “Now what?”
“Now we get out before the guy returns home. We got what we came for.”
“No pictures?”
“Any pictures we take at this point would only be proof that we illegally entered the guy’s house. Remember, we need evidence that will stand up in court. Our photos would be fruit of the poisonous tree.”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Any ideas?”
“I just might,” I replied.
I called Milo and thirty minutes later the three of us were in my office.
“Bad news, Milo,” I said. “We’ve confirmed that your tenant definitely has a meth lab in the basement.”
“How did you find out?” he asked.
I looked at Kevin. He shook his head. “Better you don’t know the details. We just know.”
“So what do we do now?” he asked, wringing his hands.
“Here’s what I want you to do,” I replied, “Give your tenant a call and tell him you want to come by for another inspection. You’ll have to give him twenty-four hours’ notice. As soon as you hang up, the guy will undoubtedly start cleaning the place out like he did the last time. Kevin and I will be there and take photos of him moving his lab. The photos will serve two purposes. We can take them to the DEU and that should be probable cause for them to get a warrant. The photos will also be another round of ammunition our attorney can use in court to demonstrate the flaws in this new Bill of Rights.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Milo said. “I’ll call him as soon as I get home and tell him I’ll be there at nine o’clock the day after tomorrow.”
As soon as Milo left, we headed back to the rental house with Kevin’s 35mm SLR.
“I think our best bet is in the back,” Kevin said. “There’s an alley that runs along the back of the property. I’d be willing to bet that they bring a van in through the alley and pull right up to the back door.”
As soon as we arrived, we made a pass through the alley behind the house.
“Nothing yet,” I said. “Let’s find a spot out of the way and watch.”
About an hour later, Kevin’s prophecy was fulfilled. A black van entered the alley and pulled into the backyard of the rental.
“Bingo!” he said, “We’re in business.”
We gave them a few minutes to get the removal process started, then slipped quietly into the alley. We found a spot behind a neighbor’s trash can that gave us an unobstructed view of the van and the back of the house.
As soon as the first man appeared, Kevin started snapping photos. The whole process took just over an hour. When we heard the van door slam shut, I pointed to the camera. “Let’s see what we got.”
My heart sank as Kevin scrolled through the thirty photos he had taken. The men were carrying stuff out of the house all right, but everything was packed in cardboard boxes.
Kevin saw the problem right away. “Well crap! We didn’t get diddly squat, did we?”
“No, we didn’t. We show these pictures in court and the defense attorney says the guys were taking their laundry to the laundromat. We know what’s in those boxes, but we can’t prove it.”
We just sat there in a funk, then I had an idea. “Do you remember the little camera we used at the dentist’s office. The one where we caught him groping the female patients while they were out?”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“That’s what we need in that basement. We install the camera, then when the tenant brings the meth lab back in, we’ve got him.”
“So, you’re thinking we break in again?”
“Won’t have to,
” I replied. “Milo is going to inspect the house and we’re going with him. Remember the other time when you borrowed a sniffer and a couple of gas company coveralls from your friend?”
He grinned. “I see where you’re going, and I like it.”
When Milo came by my office, Kevin and I were already in our gas company coveralls.
“Do you have your story straight?” I asked.
“Sure do. The reason for the inspection is that the gas company has detected a leak in the neighborhood and is checking all the houses.”
“Good! Let’s do this.”
Milo knocked on the door.
“Hi Jeremy,” Milo said, “So sorry to bother you again but this is really important. The gas company contacted me a few days ago. They think there may be a gas leak somewhere on the block and they’re checking all the houses. A bad leak could ignite an explosion that would take out the whole block and we certainly don’t want that.”
“Guess not,” Jeremy replied, gruffly. “Come on in. How long is this gonna take?”
“Not long,” I replied, holding up the sniffer. “We just have to check the gas lines in the basement. Which way?”
“Through the kitchen,” he replied.
The four of us trudged single file down the stairs. The meth lab, of course, was nowhere to be seen, but we knew where it had been sitting. Jeremy was interested in the sniffer and followed me into the far corner of the basement as I checked for leaks. He was probably wondering if the device could detect the chemicals he had been cooking.
While we were occupied in the corner, Kevin placed the tiny camera where it would record the meth lab as it was reassembled.
“Everything looks good here,” he said, after the camera was in place.
“I’m good over here, too,” I replied. I turned to Milo. “I think that’s all we’ll need, Mr. Bridges.”
Milo turned to Jeremy, “Thanks for your indulgence. I feel so much better knowing the gas leak is not on my property.”
Milo had played his part perfectly.
Back at my office, we booted up the laptop and Kevin punched the app that was connected to the camera.
We watched in fascination as Jeremy and his crew reassembled the lab. Two hours later, a new batch of meth was being cooked.
“We got the bastard!” Milo said, triumphantly.
“We certainly did,” I replied. I’ll take this footage to Rocky Winkler at the DEU tomorrow. If I know Rocky, Jeremy Waters will be out of your hair for good.”
“Plus,” Kevin added, “we got what we need for Suzanne Romero.”
Things were proceeding according to plan --- or so I thought.
CHAPTER 10
A few days later, I received a call from Mary Murphy, my housemother at the Three Trails Hotel.
“Mr. Walt, you better get over here before I kill this little creep!”
“Kill? Who?”
“Benny DiMarco. I’ve been smelling pot the past few days. I traced the smell to Benny’s room. There’s actually smoke coming out from under his door. He knows we have a no smoking and no drug policy. I told him to pack his crap and get out. He’s locked himself in and won’t budge. I can bust that flimsy lock with one kick.”
“No, no! Don’t do that! Just calm down and I’ll be right over.”
During my years as a landlord, I had done many evictions. They were all legal and by the book. Because most of my rentals were low end, I had a lot more evictions than landlords with more expensive properties.
Landlords are permitted to represent themselves in court, so rather than pay an attorney three hundred bucks, I learned how to do it myself. I learned most of it by watching attorneys who were representing other landlords. Unfortunately, most of them couldn’t find their ass with both hands. The judge always hears lawyer cases first, so I learned what not to do by watching these goofballs make fools of themselves.
The Three Trails Hotel is a horse of another color. It was not like my other rentals. There are no rental agreements or leases. We rent by the week. If a guy has the forty bucks, Mary gives him a key. She tells him the rules and lets him know in no uncertain terms, that if he violates these rules, he’ll find his crap on the street curb.
Although in her seventies, Mary rules with an iron hand and a Louisville Slugger baseball bat. Tenants know that she means business. She used that bat to crack open the skull of an assassin who was holding a gun on Maggie and me, and she shot an intruder who had threatened her with a knife. They know it’s not healthy to mess with Mary Murphy.
That being said, I have left the evicting to Mary. Unfortunately, her methods are, to say the least, unconventional.
Through the years, I have held my breath, wondering when her heavy-handed management style would get us in trouble.
These were the things that were going through my head as I drove to the hotel.
I found Mary pacing back and forth on the porch. I could almost see the steam coming out of her ears.
“Good! You’re here! Now can I kick in his door?”
“No kicking! Let’s start from the beginning. What’s going on?”
“Like I told you, I caught Benny smokin’ dope in his room. I went up to kick him out, but he locked himself in and said he didn’t have to come out. He was spouting something about a Tenant Bill of Rights.”
“Oh crap!” I muttered. We’d gotten by just fine all these years, and now this damned Bill of Rights was mucking things up.
“I’ll go up and talk to him.”
I knocked on the door. “Benny, it’s Walt Williams. Open the door so we can talk.”
“I don’t want to talk to you and I don’t have to open the door. The Tenant Bill of Rights says you have to give me 24 hours’ notice to come in.”
“Okay then,” I replied, “we’ll talk through the door. Mary says you’ve been smoking pot. You know we don’t allow smoking or drugs.”
“Did Mary actually SEE me?” he retorted. “Go on. Ask her.”
I turned to Mary. “Well, did you?”
“Not exactly, but I saw the smoke coming out from under his door. If we could go in there right now, I bet we’d find his stash.”
“Yeah, but you can’t,” Benny bellowed. “Come back in 24 hours and you can search the whole room.”
Mary tugged my arm. “By tomorrow he’ll have ditched the stuff. We gotta go in now.”
Frankly, I wasn’t certain what I could do. I figured it would be wise to err on the cautious side.
“Okay, Benny. We’ll be back tomorrow.”
The ruckus had drawn other tenants out into the hallway.
Rick Jarvis, a friend of Benny’s, spoke up. “While you’re here, Mr. Williams, we’d like to talk about another matter.”
It took me by surprise. “What matter, and who exactly is ‘we.’”
Rick looked around at the other tenants who had gathered. “All of us. The Tenant Bill of Rights says we have the right to organize and collectively bargain. There’s something we want you to do.”
Now I was beginning to get hot under the collar. “Oh really? And what might that be?”
“We want you to install vent fans in all four bathrooms. We can’t even stand to go into the bathroom after Mr. Feeney takes a dump.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I looked at Mr. Feeney. “How do you feel about that.”
He looked at me sheepishly. “Well, one thing’s for sure. Jim’s tamales smell a lot better goin’ in than comin’ out.”
“Tell you what,” I said, “I’ll be back in 24 hours. We’ll talk about it then. Come on, Mary. Let’s go.”
Back in her apartment, Mary was livid. “Mr. Walt! They can’t do that --- can they?”
“To tell the truth, Mary, I’m not sure. Things are different now. I’ll find out where we stand and let you know.”
Back in my car, my first call was to Suzanne Romero.
“Suzanne, we need to talk. The Tenant Bill of Rights has struck again, only this time it’s pers
onal.”
A half hour later, I was in her office.
She listened carefully as I described what had taken place at the hotel.
When I finished, she said, “The first thing we have to do is establish whether or not the Three Trails is actually a hotel. What can you tell me about it?”
Before I bought the old place, I had researched its past history.
“The Three Trails was built in the late 1800’s. Back then, there was no question about it being a hotel. It was one of the more elegant establishments in Kansas City. Through the years, it changed hands many times, but it has always been a hotel of some kind.”
She nodded. “Okay then, what we have to do next is to determine whether the occupants are transient guests or tenants. A transient guest is one who rents for a relatively short period of time with no intent of establishing permanent residency. A tenant rents property intending to become a long-term resident. Which do you have?”
I thought for a moment. “I suppose we have both. Many of them rent for a week or two, then move on. There are a few, like Mr. Feeney, who have been there several years.”
“I see. Do they sign any kind of lease or rental agreement?”
“No, if they have the forty bucks, Mary gives them a key. They pay week to week. If they don’t pay, they move. If they want to stay another week, they pay.”
“Do any of the occupants use the hotel as their mailing address?”
“No, there are no mailboxes on the property. Most of the guys have post office boxes.”
“Then I think you’re okay. The Bill of Rights does not apply to hotels or motels.”
“So you’re saying we can still give a guy the boot without going through the court eviction process?”
She nodded.
“And I don’t have to install vent fans in the bathrooms?”
“Does each bathroom have an operable window?”
“Yes.”
“Then no, you don’t.” She went to a file cabinet and pulled out a brochure. “Here are some guidelines for hoteliers. You should probably share these with Mary.”
[Lady Justice 40] - Lady Justice and the Landlords' Nightmare Page 6
