[Lady Justice 14] - Lady Justice and the Lottery

by Robert Thornhill

  Morty nodded.

  “Remember how we wondered why nobody writes songs like they used to back in the forties and fifties?”

  Morty nodded again.

  “Well now they’re going to,” he announced proudly, “because I’m going to pay them to do it. Stacy, I know you know TV and film people in Hollywood. Surely you know some folks in the music business, too.”

  “Well, yes, but --- .”

  Before she could finish, Sol broke in. “What in the world makes you think people today want to hear the stuff that you and Morty listened to when you were kids?”

  “People want it,” Earl declared. “They just don’t know it. Tell me this --- why do you suppose that almost every TV commercial that uses a soundtrack uses something from the forties or fifties? I was watching a TV show the other night about some people that thought they were going to be blown up by a bomb. While they waited for their fate, the song that was playing was The End of the World by Skeeter Davis. Why didn’t they pick some new song? Because they couldn’t find anything that compared to that great old classic, that’s why!”

  Sol started to protest.

  “I’m not done yet!” Earl declared. “Think about the musicals today. Quick! Give me the name of a song from a modern musical that has become an American classic --- one that the average guy on the street could hum.”

  “See!” he said when no one answered. “What’s happened to musicals like South Pacific? Why is no one writing songs like Some Enchanted Evening. I just get goose bumps all over again every time I picture Mary Martin and Ezio Pinza pouring their hearts out. Now that was real music! Stacy, I want you to find me another Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller that can write songs like Jailhouse Rock, Kansas City and Stand By Me. I want you to find me another Rogers and Hammerstein. I’m willing to pay whatever it takes to get REAL music for America to listen to.”

  “I hear what you’re saying, Earl,” Stacy replied, “but there’s a lot more involved than just getting someone to write your music. The people that produce what you hear on the radio and what you see on MTV are in the business of giving the public what they want, and unfortunately, people today just aren’t into Pat Boone or Nat King Cole.”

  “Nonsense!” Earl argued. “People just aren’t into it, because nobody’s giving it to them. How would a young person know if they liked chocolate ice cream if they’ve never tasted it? I’m really serious about this.”

  At that moment, Sol pulled into Terminal B in front of the Delta Airlines check-in.

  Before Stacy climbed out of the car, she put her hand on Earl’s. “I’ll ask around, Earl, but don’t get your hopes up on this one.”

  The silence was nearly deafening as Morty, Earl and Sol headed back to Kansas City.

  Finally, Sol broke the silence. “Morty, have you been by your ball field lately?”

  “It’s been about a week,” he replied.

  “You should take a look,” Sol said. “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

  When they pulled up to the field, Morty gasped, “Well I’ll be damned! It’s beautiful!”

  The city block that only a few short weeks ago had harbored vagrants, rats and the occasional drug dealer, had been leveled and now a ball field, complete with lights, bleachers and a clubhouse occupied the space. Workers were busy laying sod.

  “Another week and it should be ready to go,” Sol said. “Our volunteer in charge has organized other volunteers to be on hand during the times the kids are playing.”

  “Fantastic!” Morty gushed. “It’s even better than I’d hoped it would be.”

  Sol sat in silence for a moment. “Do you guys have somewhere you have to be or can you spare me another hour or two?”

  “I’m good,” Earl replied.

  “Me, too,” Morty agreed.

  “Great! I’d like to take you for a little drive out in the country.”

  About forty minutes into the drive, Morty said, “Hey, I recognize this road. My grandparents used to live out this way.”

  “I know,” Sol replied. “They were my aunt and uncle --- remember?”

  “Oh, yeah. I guess they were.”

  “The thing that I remember about you as a kid, Morty, was that you loved to spend time with them on their farm. As I recall, on summer vacation, you would go visit as often as your folks would let you.”

  “I sure did,” he replied. “I loved coming out here. I’d go out in the morning with my grandpa to help him do the chores and when we came back in, grandma would have a steaming pile of pancakes and warm maple syrup ready for breakfast. In the evenings, we would either play cards or sit around their big console radio and listen to Fibber McGee and Molly or Inner Sanctum.”

  “I’ll bet that if you closed your eyes, you could picture the old farm just like it was back then,” Sol said.

  Morty closed his eyes and Sol could see that in his mind, Morty had traveled back in time to 1950.

  “Ok, we’re here,” Sol announced, pulling the car off the road in front of a tangled mass of overgrown vegetation.

  Morty opened his eyes and gasped. “Oh my God! What happened to the farm? There’s nothing left but a crumbling foundation and weeds!”

  Then, across the field, he saw the remnants of the old barn where he had played in the hay bales stacked high in the mow and where his grandpa had taught him how to milk old Bessie.

  Tears glistened in his eyes. “Sol, why did you bring me here? I just can’t bear to see how it’s fallen into ruin.”

  “You needed to see this, Morty. You and Earl too.”

  “But why?”

  “From the very moment that the two of you hit it big, your thoughts have been on one thing --- bringing back the past. I brought you here so that you could understand that no amount of money can turn back the clock. Morty, you’re rich beyond belief. If you wanted to, you could buy this piece of ground, cut down all the weeds and rebuild your grandparent’s farm just as you remember it, but I want you to tell me the truth --- would doing all that bring back your grandparents?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Nor would it bring back those warm summer evenings when you sat on the porch listening to the cicadas buzzing in the trees. The only place those things are real, is in your memory. The only way you can bring them back is to close your eyes and open your mind, because what you’re seeing out there now is what is real today. Now let’s relate this to your ball field.”

  “Okay,” Morty said with resignation. “I see where this is going.”

  “Just let me finish,” Sol said. “You wanted to build that ball field because you hate so much what kids have to go through to play ball today. You wanted them to experience it just like you did when you were a kid. I totally understand, but now that you have seen your field, tell me this --- how is what you’ve created so much different than what your grandson is experiencing? That field that I saw today doesn’t look anything like Polson’s vacant lot where we used to play. Lights --- bleachers --- clubhouse --- sounds just like the field where your grandson plays. Volunteers to keep the gangs and the druggies off the field. We didn’t need any of that back then. The way I see it, what you’ve created is EXACTLY like what’s already out there. The only difference is that as an old rich guy, you’re footing the bill instead of parents coming up with the dough out of their pockets. Don’t get me wrong --- that’s not a bad thing, but have you really turned back the clock?”

  Morty was crestfallen. “No, I guess I haven’t.”

  “And you,” he said, directing his attention to poor Earl who had been quietly listening, “In the Still of the Night? It’s a beautiful song, but it’s special to you because you got your first smooch from Maureen while you were dancing to it. It’s no different than this,” he said, pointing to the crumbling foundation. “This is what we have today. I have to agree with you that today’s music doesn’t hold a candle to what we had as a kid, but no amount of money is going to bring back the ‘oldies’. If you want to enjoy the
m, put on your old 45’s, close your eyes and pretend it’s 1957 and you’re in high school again. Remember the line in the song, Looking for an Echo, by Kenny Vance and the Planotones, ‘we’ve turned into oldies, but we were newies then’ --- well that’s us and that’s our music. The kids today are making their own memories. Justin Beiber is their Elvis and Taylor Swift is their Connie Francis --- heaven help them.”

  “I --- I guess I’ve never thought of it like that,” Earl said, his head drooping.

  “South Pacific? If Rogers and Hammerstein wrote that musical today, it would probably be a flop. In 1949, the war was just over. Thousands of men and women had fought valiantly to save the world from the hated Germans and Japanese. Everybody knew who the bad guys were and every returning serviceman was a hero. This is a different day and age. There are still brave men and women fighting overseas, but I’d be willing to bet that if you asked the man on the street why we’re in Iraq or Afghanistan, few would come up with an intelligent answer. Are we there because we’re still championing the cause of freedom, or is it because of the oil --- or to keep the huge military-industrial complex busy --- or are we bombing the shit out of those places so that giant companies like Halliburton can be awarded billions to go in and build them back up? Why are our soldiers risking their lives for people who shoot them in the back? Yes, it’s definitely a different world and any musical today would certainly be different than South Pacific. For kids today, World War II is like the Revolutionary war was to us --- something from the distant past. I’m really sorry, my friends, but all your riches can’t turn back the clock.”

  Once again, silence filled the car as Sol headed back to the city.

  Finally Earl spoke. “I guess we’re just a couple of old fools, Morty.”

  “Looks like it,” he agreed. “Well now that Sol has shot our plans all to hell, what are we going to do with all this loot? We obviously can’t bring back the good old days.”

  “Maybe not,” Earl replied, “but I’ve been thinking --- we’re not that old --- we’ve still got a few good years left in us. Instead of living in the past, maybe we should just concentrate on the present and plan a little something for the future --- something fun. Heck fire, Maureen is gone --- my kids have their own lives to lead. I’m not opposed to frittering away some of this cash on wine, women and song. Maybe I’ll find myself a young bimbo and be her sugar daddy.”

  Morty laughed. “Right! I can just see you in one of the nightclubs in Westport, bopping up and down to that crap they call music. You wouldn’t last two hours. If you’re looking for a little sport, you might hit on Myrtle Mincus down at the Senior Center. I hear she’s pretty easy.”

  “Go ahead --- laugh! You may be ready for the rocking chair, but like the old Elvis song, I still ‘Got A Lot Of Livin’ To Do’!”

  Sol shook his head in dismay. Keeping these two old codgers out of trouble appeared to be way more than he had bargained for.

  “Please!” Earl pleaded. “I don’t want to do this alone!”

  “Well I don’t want to do it at all!” Morty replied. “Neither of us have any business at the Blarney Stone. We’ll just make fools of ourselves and besides, I’m usually in bed by ten.”

  “That’s exactly my point! We’ve fallen into the ‘old fogey rut’; up at five because we can’t sleep, nap at one because we’re tired, supper at five-thirty and beddy-bye just in time to watch the news. We don’t have to live like this!”

  “So how exactly do you want to live?”

  “I don’t know,” Earl sighed with frustration. “I just know that I’m lonely and I need something more in my life. Maureen and I loved to dance. I miss that. There’s supposed to be a good DJ at the Blarney Stone. I want to go there and dance.”

  “If you want to dance, go to the senior center. They have a dance every Wednesday and it’s at one in the afternoon, not in the middle of the night!”

  “But everyone there is OLD!” Earl protested.

  “DUH!” Morty replied sarcastically. “Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

  “Sorry, Morty, but I’m just not looking for a woman with false teeth, a hearing aid, a hip replacement and two face lifts!”

  “Picky, picky, picky!”

  “So are you going with me or not?”

  “Oh I suppose,” Morty said with resignation. “Somebody has to keep you out of trouble!”

  When the two old friends walked into the Blarney Stone they were greeted by the ‘THUMPA, THUMPA, THUMPA’ blasting from the stack of speakers by the stage.

  “Jesus, Earl!” Morty said, covering his ears. “Ten minutes in here and we’ll need hearing aids!”

  They found a table with two stools. Soon a barmaid wearing short shorts and a tube top straining to contain her full breasts appeared. “What’ll you have?”

  Neither of them were drinkers and they actually hadn’t given it much thought.

  “What do you have?” Earl asked.

  “This is a bar!” the girl replied, in disbelief.

  “Two cokes!” Morty said.

  “Really?” the girl replied, stalking off.

  “Good start!” Morty said, mockingly.

  The music was blasting away and the two turned their attention to the dance floor.

  “Nobody’s touching!” Earl declared. “They’re just jumping up and down and grinding their hips!”

  “Told you,” Morty replied. “If you want a foxtrot or a cha cha, you gotta go to the Senior Center.”

  Morty saw Earl looking over the crowd. “See anyone you want to dance with?”

  “Nope not yet. Wait! That one over there!”

  Morty looked where Earl was pointing and saw a woman with long black hair.

  “Why her?”

  “Because she’s the only one I’ve seen so far that doesn’t have pink hair or studs sticking out of her face.”

  A moment later the woman laughed, revealing a pea-sized stud in the middle of her tongue.

  “Never mind!”

  A few minutes later, a thirtyish woman walked into the bar. Her hair was normal and she didn’t appear to have been pierced.

  “I’ll give her a shot,” Earl said.

  “Are you sure? Looks like she’s been rode hard and put away wet.”

  “That’s disgusting!” Earl replied. “Anyway, I can’t dance to this crap the DJ is playing.”

  He headed to the DJ stand.

  “Do you take requests?”

  “Sure do. Wha’d you have in mind?

  “How about Dream, Dream, Dream by the Everly Brothers?”

  “You gotta be kidding me?”

  “Ben Franklin doesn’t kid around,” Earl said, handing the DJ two hundred dollar bills.”

  “Your funeral,” the DJ said, searching through his digital files.

  A moment later, the melodious strains of the love song filled the bar.

  “Hey!” someone yelled. “Why are you playing that shit?”

  “Can the oldie crap!” someone else yelled.

  The DJ looked at Earl and shrugged. “Told you.”

  “Never mind,” Earl said, sadly.

  “Here’s your money back, old timer.”

  “Keep it.”

  Earl returned to the table. “Let’s get out of here, Morty. This was a big mistake!”

  As the two men walked out of the bar, a man seated across the room smiled. He had been watching them all evening and now he had just what he was wanting.

  CHAPTER 12

  On Monday morning when I saw Ox walking across the parking lot, I could tell that something was amiss.

  I noticed right away that his usual rosy complexion was ghostly pale and the face that I was used to seeing with the chipmunk cheeks was gaunt and sunken. His usual steady gait looked more like a trail hand that had just come off a twelve-hundred mile cattle drive and he was carrying one of those inflatable donut thingys that people sit on.

  He had the look of a beaten man.

  “Rough weekend?” I asked,
knowing full well what the answer would be.

  “You have no idea,” he replied with a grimace.

  “Colon cleanse?”

  He nodded. “It hit me early Saturday morning and I was still going strong at midnight last night. Still not sure I’m out of the woods. Never thought that I’d get through a two hundred and fifty page novel on the crapper, but it happened.”

  “I see you’ve brought some reinforcements,” I said, pointing to the rubber donut.

  “I figured that if I was going to make it through the day, I’d need some help. After what I’ve been through, ‘fire in the hole’ has taken on a whole new meaning for me.”

  I had to stifle a grin. “So how would you rate your experience on a scale of one through ten?”

  “Minus two! If there’s any upside, I did lose twelve pounds.”

  “Congratulations!” I said, patting him on the back.

  After squad meeting, the captain called us into his office.

  I was surprised to see Rocky Winkler. We hadn’t talked since the big drug sweep. I was sure that word had gotten back to him, probably by way of Frank Dutton, that I was upset about the raid on the Three Trails.

  “Walt, Ox,” he said, taking my hand, “I’m really sorry about rousting your friend. Once in a while we get one wrong.”

  “These things happen,” I replied, trying to be conciliatory. “No harm done. No hard feelings.”

  “Good! I’m glad to hear it. Actually, I’m here this morning to make a little peace offering.”

  I wasn’t sure where this was going, but he had my attention.

  “We’re going to give our new little toy, the Dragonflyer X8, a test run today, and since we have the thing courtesy of the guy you saved, I thought maybe you would like to come along and see it in action.”

  I looked at the captain and he nodded his approval.

  “Well sure. We’d love to come,” I replied. “How’s it being used?”

  “I’m sure you’ve heard the old saying, ‘nature abhors a vacuum’. When something is taken away, sure as shootin’, something will come along to take its place. Our drug sweep took a huge bite out of the product that was available on the street. The drugs were gone but the demand for them was still there. It was just a matter of time until some new drug kingpin brought his stuff to Kansas City.”