Lady Justice and the Lottery Read online

  What Readers Are Saying About The

  Lady Justice Mystery/Comedy Series

  Look out Stephanie Plum I think Walt and his gang are going to give you a run for the money. I think I enjoy Walt and his gang more than I do the Stephanie Plum series. Can't wait for the next book in the series. Thanks again Mr. Thornhill for such an awesome series! Gail, Novi, MI.

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  A humorous mystery novel that made me think of Janet Evanovich`s books. I had been immediately attracted to the book by the title and cover. The blurb made me know it was going to be an adventure with plenty of murder and mystery told in a light-hearted way. I love the "noir" type of book. Sherry, Pensacola, FL.

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  I love this series! Every time there is a reason to get a present, I just order the next 3 books in this series and tell my husband his shopping is done. A fast read, a good mystery, great characters, and I always learn something new when I read a book in this series. Lori, Rochelle, IL

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  This book is a hoot to read! It is also refreshingly delightful to have an “elderly” hero!

  Annie, Saint Paul, MN.

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  Love the mix of mystery with the humor. I highly recommend this book to every mystery lover and to anyone else who is thinking of reading something different for a change of pace. Linda, Waynesville, NC.

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  I found it refreshing that the characters of the series are past middle age. The author showed that just because somebody is older they still are able to kick butt. Conny, Puyallup, WA.

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  Robert Thornhill's group of older crime fighters is a fun romp with a lot of twists and turns. Empowering, satisfying and surprising. This series is very appealing to those of us past 50 (long past for me). What fun! Sandy, Sweet Mystery Books

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  A well-executed murder mystery that has the elements of a dark comedy - light reading with dark, eerie overtones. Amy, Indie Reader Review

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  LADY JUSTICE

  AND

  THE LOTTERY

  A WALT WILLIAMS

  MYSTERY/COMEDY NOVEL

  ROBERT THORNHILL

  Lady Justice and the Lottery

  Copyright August, 2013 by Robert Thornhill

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way, by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, incidents and entities included in the story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events and entities is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America

  Cover design by Peg Thornhill

  1. Fiction, Humorous

  2. Fiction, Mystery & Detective, General

  L ady Justice and the Lottery

  Prologue

  If money was no object --- what would you do --- where would you go --- how would your life change?

  That’s a question that over twenty-five hundred people that have become instant millionaires by winning a lottery have had to answer.

  For some, the experience has been positive, but for many, their dream of becoming rich became their worst nightmare.

  The National Endowment for Financial Education estimates that as many as seventy percent of the people that land sudden windfalls lose that money within several years.

  Typically, the announcement of the lucky winner brings about an endless barrage of contacts from con artists, shirttail relatives and long-lost friends hoping to get their piece of the new-found wealth.

  Whether the experience becomes a dream fulfilled or a nightmare depends on how well equipped the person is to handle the pressures of instant riches.

  A West Virginia man who won $315 million a decade ago on Christmas later said the windfall was to blame for his granddaughter's fatal drug overdose, his divorce, hundreds of lawsuits and an absence of true friends.

  Who among us hasn’t fantasized about what we would do if somehow we picked the lucky numbers.

  New car --- new home --- trips to exotic places --- wine, women and song?

  Each of us have our own personal wish list, but like the philosopher once said --- be careful what you wish for --- you might just get it!

  One thing is for sure --- if you win big, your life will be changed forever!

  CHAPTER 1

  Seventy-two year old Earl Lassiter, sitting on the couch in front of the TV in the home of his seventy year old friend, Morton Friedman, scrunched his nose in disgust as the huge hulk of a man, dressed in leather, with studs in his lip and big circles implanted in his ears, leered into the camera.

  Two slinky, half-naked girls rubbed against him in time to the booming music.

  Hey everybody take a look at me! I’ve got street credibility.

  I may not have a job, but I have a good time, with the boys I meet ‘down the line’.

  I don’t need you! So you don’t approve? Who asked you to?

  Hey jerk! You work. This guy’s got better things to do.

  Hell, I ain’t never gonna work - get down in the dirt.

  I choose to cruise!

  “Unbelievable!” Earl muttered, clicking off the TV. “How can they call that music? And what kind of message is that sending to kids? Screw work --- just have a good time! No wonder the world is such a mess!”

  “Couldn’t agree more,” Morty said, shaking his head. “On the one hand, I wonder if we’re just getting old. I remember how my folks felt when I came home with my first Elvis records.”

  “Yeah, I get that,” Earl replied, “but it’s a long way from ‘Let me be your Teddy Bear’ to ‘Don’t look at me wrong when I come to the hood. When I hit the block, I still will kill’.”

  “I feel sorry for the kids,” Morty said. “Seems like most of the songs today are sad, depressed or angry. I can’t imagine what it would be like, growing up without songs that make you feel good. Remember Papa Oom Mow Mow by the Rivingtons? The song didn’t make a lick of sense, but you couldn’t listen to it without grinning and when it was over, you felt good --- happy!”

  “And what about the love songs?” Earl asked. “There’s no romance anymore. Everything’s about sex. My favorite was In The Still of the Night by The Five Satins. Now that was a love song! Maureen and I danced to that song at the sock hop. When it was over, we shared our first kiss. I wonder to this day if she would have let me kiss her without that song. Today, everything’s just ‘thump and hump’, no romance.”

  “Look at us,” Morty said. “Two old farts sitting around talking about ‘the good old days’. Were they really better?”

  “I don’t know about ‘better’,” Earl replied, “but they certainly were cheaper. I was talking to my oldest daughter, Louise, the other day. She told me that they spent over a thousand dollars on Aiden’s prom. A thousand dollars! Professional photos, fancy dinner, limousine, a suite at the Marriott for the ‘after prom’ party. For our prom, I borrowed a convertible from a friend, Maureen sewed her own dress, Mom took our picture with a Brownie and we went out to Lake Jacomo afterward to ‘neck’. The whole thing cost me fifty bucks and it was wonderful.”

  “That’s a rip all right,” Morty replied. “Almost as bad as little league baseball. Doris in
vited me to go to Josh’s baseball tournament last weekend. They were playing for the championship. When the kids took the field, I thought I was in Royal’s Stadium. The field was perfectly manicured. It had an electronic scoreboard and lights for evening ball. The boys had professional uniforms and there were paid umpires.

  “I asked Doris how much all that set them back. She said that it cost twelve hundred bucks just to be on the team and with the uniforms, equipment and travel to out of town games, they would drop a couple of grand. I almost dropped a load! Two grand to play baseball! When we were kids, we played all summer and it didn’t cost my folks a dime.”

  “Mine either,” Earl replied. “During the summer, a bunch of us would get together on the school ball field, choose up sides, and play until dark. If somebody else was using the field, we found an empty lot, used cardboard, or anything else we could find for bases, and played till we dropped.”

  “I mentioned that to Doris. She gave me that ‘Dad, you’re behind the times’ look, and told me that things like that just weren’t possible today. Parents don’t let their kids out of their sight. It’s too dangerous. But that wasn’t the worst part. We’re talking about twelve year old kids here, and the coaches were expecting them to play like professionals. The coach on the other team was a real asshole. He kept screaming at the boys. ‘YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO COVER SECOND! GET YOUR HEAD IN THE GAME.’ The poor kid came off the field crying. Another boy struck out and the kid looked like he had committed a felony. Hell, Mickey Mantle struck out seventeen hundred and ten times. It’s part of the game. I wanted to grab that coach by the balls and squeeze.”

  “So if a boy’s parents can’t afford two grand,” Earl asked, “where do they play ball?”

  “That’s the question, isn’t it?” Morty replied. “I’m guessing that a lot of them end up on the Country Club Plaza raising hell and getting carted off by the cops.”

  “Geeze, Morty, I came over here for a good time, but after that horrible rap music and this crappy conversation, I’m kinda depressed. You don’t happen to have your 45 of Papa Oow Mow Mow around here, do you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. Oh, by the way, did you pick up our lottery ticket?”

  “Oh, crap!” Earl replied sheepishly. “It totally slipped my mind.”

  “Slipped your mind! What a putz! This is the largest jackpot ever! Over 600 million and you forgot to buy a ticket!”

  “Calm down Morty. I don’t get the big deal about the size of the jackpot. What difference does it make whether it’s forty million or six hundred million. How much money does somebody really need?”

  “That’s not the point,” Morty replied indignantly. “I gave you my dollar and you were supposed to buy the ticket.”

  “That’s another thing,” Earl said. “We each get about twelve hundred bucks a month from Social Security and we blow part of it on lottery tickets. You do realize, don’t you, that our chances of winning are one in a hundred and seventy-five million?”

  “Of course I do,” Morty replied. “In fact, our chances of being struck by lightening, dying in a bathtub or being crushed by a reptile are better than winning the lottery, but guess what? People are being struck by lightening all the time. Why not us?”

  Earl looked at his watch. “Plenty of time. I’ll pick up the ticket on the way home. I was going to stay longer, but you’re getting grumpy. Any special numbers you want?”

  “Naw, let the machine pick. I know it’s silly, Earl, but like the ad says, ‘You can’t win if you don’t play’.”

  CHAPTER 2

  My name is Walt Williams and I’m a cop.

  Actually, for about a week, I was a celebrity cop.

  As luck would have it, I was doing crowd control and just happened to be the closest guy in a uniform when a would-be presidential assassin had a change of heart and decided to surrender his gun.*

  The whole thing was caught on some gal’s IPhone and ‘bingo’, I was an instant hero. The fact that at age 69, I was the oldest guy on the force, only added fuel to the media flame.

  Being famous wasn’t high on my ‘to-do’ list and the media soon tired of dogging the old cop that didn’t want to be interviewed.

  Thankfully, my fifteen minutes in the spotlight only lasted about fourteen and a half. Some movie star was arrested for driving under the influence and the president made another bone-headed move, so the paparazzi were off to greener pastures.

  Now that the furor has died away, my partner, Ox, and I are out of the spotlight and back on our regular patrol.

  ‘Regular’ usually meant a stop at Krispy Kreme or Dunkin’ Donuts, but today, Ox buzzed right by without even slowing down.

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  He noticed my quizzical look as the flashing neon ‘Hot Now’ sign faded into the distance.

  “It’s all your fault!” he said, taking one last look in the rear view mirror. “Well, your wife’s anyway.”

  “Oh really? How so?”

  “Maggie has been talking to Judy and filling her head with all kinds of stuff. Now, all of a sudden, she’s on this health kick and I’m on a diet. One day, everything is hunky-dory and the next day, my whole life has changed!”

  I knew exactly what he was talking about.

  Maggie, my wife of almost two years, is a health nut, and I say that in a most loving way.

  After we were married, her approach had been subtle --- vitamin supplements appeared at my morning breakfast and old dietary staples from my bachelor days, like Pringles and Twinkies, suddenly disappeared from my pantry.

  When, at last, we had ‘the conversation’, I remember her words distinctly. “It took me sixty years to find the right man to spend the rest of my life with, and I’ll be darned if I’m going to let him poison himself to death with junk food!”

  Apparently, my wife had decided to proselytize.

  It probably wasn’t too difficult to convert Judy, who was already trim and fit, but Ox was another matter.

  Ox has always been ‘robust’. At 6’2” and 220 pounds, Ox is an imposing figure, which isn’t a bad thing when you’re a cop, but I had noticed that there was an extra bulge in his waistband. He had probably taken on an extra ten pounds.

  I figured the best approach with my friend was to be empathetic but realistic. If Judy had decided that Ox was going to embark on a dietary metamorphosis, he might as well accept it and make the best of it. In my own case, I was reminded of the warning issued by the Borg in the Star Trek saga, “Resistance is futile!”

  “I feel your pain,” I said in my most comforting voice. “I haven’t had a Ding Dong since we’ve been married.”

  “Really?” he replied incredulously. “How do you survive?”

  “It’s really not so bad once you accept the fact that your high fructose corn syrup days are gone forever, and that your wife is only doing what’s best for you. Besides, I have noticed that your belt is open an extra notch.”

  “Is it that obvious?” he asked sheepishly.

  “Let’s just say that a dietary adjustment might not be a bad thing. Now that your transformation has begun, let me share some things that might be on the horizon for you.”

  “You mean there’s more!”

  “You haven’t even scratched the surface of healthy living, my friend. Soon you’ll be shopping in the organic section of the supermarket, and one morning, two pills will show up at your breakfast table, a probiotic and one for your prostate.”

  “I get the prostate thing, but what’s a probiotic?”

  “It’s healthy bacteria that help your colon function properly.”

  “So I’ll be swallowing bacteria --- for breakfast?”

  “You won’t even know the little guys are there. The thing you’ll really enjoy is the colon cleanse.”

  I was about to share my own experience with this phenomenon when the radio came to life. It was probably a good thing because Ox undoubt
edly wasn’t ready for the rigors of ‘the cleanse’.

  “Car 54. What’s your twenty?”

  Ox keyed the mike. “We’re headed south on Main at Westport Road.”

  “We have a report of a burglary at 48th and Jarboe. Please respond.”

  “On our way. Now what were you saying about this cleanse thing?”

  “Never mind. Another time.”

  We pulled up in front of a modest bungalow on a quiet residential street west of the Country Club Plaza.

  Ox’s knock was answered by a slim balding guy in his fifties wearing a red tunic.

  “Thank goodness you’re here! Please come inside.”

  He tapped a metallic object on the chest of his tunic and announced, “Sweetheart, the police are here.”

  A moment later, a busty woman with flowing black hair, wearing a billowing white gown appeared.

  I could see that Ox was perplexed, but I understood the symbolism immediately.

  “Jean-Luc Picard and Deanna Troi, I presume.”

  “Ahh, wonderful!” the man replied. “Another Trekker. You’ll certainly appreciate the loss we have suffered. Actually, we’re Jack and Anna Crawford.”

  “Dispatch said that you experienced a burglary. What was taken?”

  “Three phasers from my Star Trek collection; one from the original series, one from the Next Generation and the standard phaser #2. I paid over two-hundred dollars for each one.”

  “You’ve lost me,” Ox said. “What exactly is a phaser?”

  Crawford looked at me sympathetically.