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  LADY JUSTICE

  AND THE

  DEVIL’S BREATH

  A WALT WILLIAMS

  MYSTERY/COMEDY NOVEL

  ROBERT THORNHILL

  Lady Justice and the Devil’s Breath

  Copyright June, 2018 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

  Fiction, Humorous

  Fiction, Mystery & Detective, General

  LADY JUSTICE AND THE DEVIL’S BREATH

  PROLOGUE

  COLUMBIA, SOUTH AMERICA

  The sun was unmercifully hot in the small village of Yopal, a few miles north of Bogota.

  Andre Kepler wiped the sweat from his brow as he and his wife, Marcia, awaited the arrival of Carlos Moreno.

  “Are you sure we want to get involved in this?” Marcia asked. “It’s not too late. We can leave right now.”

  “This is our big chance, Marcia,” Andre replied. “You heard how much Dominick made in Phoenix. Let’s at least hear what the guy has to say. Here he comes now.”

  They watched as Carlos Moreno entered the compound accompanied by two men armed with AR-15’s.

  “Come with me,” he said, leading the couple to a massive tree at the edge of the compound.

  Beneath the tree’s lush, green foliage hung beautiful bell-shaped blossoms.

  “This,” Carlos stated almost reverently, “is the Borrachero tree.”

  Then he pointed to a cluster of pods.

  “Within these pods lie the seeds that will make you rich beyond your wildest dreams.”

  He withdrew a pouch from his belt. “In this pouch is a powder made from the Borrachero seeds. Its chemical name is scopolamine, but it is better known as Devil’s Breath. The person possessing this powder has the power to control the actions of others.

  “Used properly, your victims will willingly surrender their money and jewels and, more importantly, do your bidding without question.

  “The two of you were referred to us by Dominick. I assume you are here because you are interested in joining our organization.”

  Andre and Marcia had been listening intently.

  Andre looked at Marcia and she nodded. “Yes, we’d love to be a part of your organization.”

  “Very well then. Let’s go over some ground rules. First, your contact in Kansas City is Ramon Dias. He is very loyal to me. He will teach you how to use the drug. Once you begin, one third of your profits are to be turned over to our organization through Ramon.”

  He looked at the two men with the AR-15’s. “If you cheat the organization, there will be consequences. Do you understand?”

  They both nodded vigorously. “Yes, we understand.”

  “Good. Additionally, the organization may from time to time, ask you to perform special assignments. You will, of course, willingly comply.” He looked at his henchmen again. “Do you understand?”

  “Yes, we do.”

  “Very well then,” he said, handing the pouch to Andre. “Let’s introduce Devil’s Breath to the good citizens of Kansas City.”

  CHAPTER 1

  It was Amateur Night at The Comedy Club and Jerry Singer couldn’t wait to take the stage.

  The septuagenarian comic with his repertoire of old-age jokes was a crowd favorite.

  Jerry took a deep breath and stepped up to the mike. “I see we have a pretty young crowd out there tonight. Let me tell you --- enjoy it while you can. I can tell you from personal experience that old age is no fun. I used to have a little black book filled with the names of beautiful women. Now all that’s there are doctors.

  “I used to be a wild and crazy guy. I loved to party, but now my back goes out more than I do. You know you’re getting old when you and your teeth no longer sleep together, and there’s nothing worse than sinking your teeth into a big juicy steak --- and they stay there.

  “A friend gave me a good piece of advice. He said to be nice to my kids because they’ll be choosing your nursing home. I heard about a guy who went into one of those places. The old man was actually astounded by the luxury of his new surroundings. On the first day, as he was sitting in front of the television, he started to list to his right side. Instantly, a nurse ran over and tactfully straightened him out. Over lunch he started to lean a bit to the left, but within a few seconds a nurse gently pushed him upright. That night his son called. ‘How you doing, Pop?’ ‘Just great, Son. It’s a wonderful place. I have my own TV and the food is good.’ ‘It sounds perfect, Dad.’ ‘There is one problem though,’ the father whispered. ‘They won’t let you fart!’”

  The audience roared.

  “Thank you,” Jerry said. “I’ll leave you with this thought --- there’s one advantage to being 102 years old. There’s no peer pressure!”

  Andre and Marcia applauded with the rest of the audience as Jerry left the stage.

  “What do you think?” Andre whispered.

  “I think he’s perfect,” Marcia replied. “Are you ready?”

  Andre nodded.

  “Then let’s do this!”

  The couple approached Jerry at his table. “We really enjoyed your monologue. You were hilarious! May we buy you a drink to show our appreciation?”

  “Well, thank you,” Jerry replied, blushing, “but I don’t drink.”

  “Good for you,” Andre said. “Then how about a soft drink? You must be thirsty.”

  “Well, a Sprite would be nice. I am pretty dry.”

  “I’ll get a round for all of us,” Andre replied. “Be right back.”

  “Looks like you’re alone tonight,” Marcia said. “No wife, kids or friends to watch you perform?”

  Jerry blushed again. “I’m not married --- never have been. As for my friends, I practice my shtick on them all the time. They’ve heard way too many of my jokes.”

  At that moment Andre returned, setting glasses of the sparkling beverage on the table.

  “Here we go,” Andre said, raising his glass. “A toast to the King of the Comedy Club.”

  “Thank you,” Jerry said, taking a long gulp.

  That was the last thing he remembered.

  CHAPTER 2

  My wife, Maggie, stepped into my office, briefcase in hand.

  “I’m leaving now,” she said, giving me a peck on the cheek. “I have out-of-town buyers this morning, and this afternoon I’m having an open house at my Brookside listing. I’ll be home in time to fix dinner. Just remember to get the chicken breasts out of the freezer. It’s trash day so don’t forget to put the trash by the curb. Also, if you have time, you might run the sweeper. Love you!”

  And with that, she was gone.

  Maggie, of course, is still an active real estate agent with City Wide Realty. I was too until I retired and traded my briefcase for a badge. I was a cop for five years, but after taking a bullet in the kiester, I decided to quit while I was still breathing. Now I’m a P.I. and the proud proprietor of Walt Williams Investigations along with my brother-in-law, Kevin McBride.

  Unfortunately, I work from home. I say unfortunate because if I’m not actually working a case, which is most of the time, I get stuck with the mundane chores of running a household.

  Don’t get me wrong. I don’t
mind pitching in and doing my share, but I’d much rather be sleuthing.

  Our last case involved a Black Widow vigilante who had snuffed the lives of seven men accused of being sexual predators. Then, without explanation, she suddenly disappeared. It had been weeks since the demise of her last victim and the case had grown cold.

  I was about to bag up the trash when the phone rang.

  Saved by the bell!

  It was my old partner on the force, Ox.

  “Walt, you’d better get down here. We have a problem.”

  “What kind of problem?”

  “It’s Jerry. He’s been arrested for armed robbery.”

  I was flabbergasted. “Our Jerry? Surely not!”

  “Yep, I’m afraid so. He tried to stick up a convenience store last night. He probably would have gotten away but a cop stopped by the place for coffee and donuts. Caught him red-handed.”

  “You said ‘armed robbery.’ Jerry doesn’t own a gun.”

  “Well, he had one last night --- an 8mm Smith & Wesson.”

  “Holy crap!”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You’d better get down here, pronto.”

  As I headed downtown I tried to make sense of what Ox had described.

  My tenant, Jerry, is the most mild-mannered guy I know. When he wears his little bow tie, he’s the spitting image of Wally Cox’s character, Mr. Peepers. If he finds a spider in his apartment, he won’t squash it. He’ll scoop it up in a jar and return it to the wild. There’s just no way he would threaten someone with a gun.

  Thankfully, I still have some clout at the city jail. After calling in a few favors, I was sitting across from Jerry in an interview room.

  “Walt! Thank goodness you’re here. I’d hug you but it would be awkward with these things on,” he said, holding up his cuffed hands.

  “Jerry, I can’t believe you’re here. What happened?”

  “I wish I knew. I was at The Comedy Club last night. I had just finished my act and a man and woman approached my table. They said they really enjoyed my monologue and wanted to buy me a drink. The guy went to the bar and bought three Sprites. I took a big drink, and the next thing I knew, I was locked up in here.”

  “You don’t remember anything else?”

  “Nothing. From the moment I took that drink until I woke up in the slammer, everything is a blank.”

  “You must have been drugged.”

  “That’s what I thought, but they’re telling me I tried to hold up a convenience store. How did that happen?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Walt, I’m petrified. It’s scary in here. This place is full of creepy people. I can’t go to jail. I’m too old and too pretty to be some lifer’s bitch!”

  “Calm down,” I replied, trying to reassure him. “That’s not going to happen.”

  “What should I do? What happens next?”

  “First, keep your mouth shut. Don’t say anything to anyone without your attorney present --- not to the police and not to your cellmates.”

  “But I don’t have an attorney.”

  “You will. I’m going to get you the best defense attorney in Kansas City.”

  “Then you’d better hurry. They tell me I’m going to be arraigned this morning.”

  “Just hang in there. I’ll take care of everything.”

  I just hoped I could keep my promise.

  My next stop was the office of Suzanne Romero.

  She is, by far, the best defense attorney in Kansas City, and we have a history.

  She defended Mary Borders, the housemother at my Three Trails Hotel, when she was accused of murder for whacking an intruder who had threatened her with a knife, and she had saved Ox and me when we had been framed by a corrupt cop.

  I returned the favor by clearing one of her clients of art fraud and, most recently, helped her free mob boss, Carmine Marchetti, who’d been falsely accused of murdering reporter, Jack Carson.

  Fortunately, she was in and granted me an audience.

  “Walt, good to see you. What brings you by?”

  “Well, as it happens, I’m in need of a good lawyer.”

  She rolled her eyes. “What have you done now?”

  “Thankfully, it’s not me this time. It’s my friend, Jerry Singer.”

  She thought for a moment. “Isn’t he that funny little man who lives in your building? The one who’s always cracking jokes?”

  “That’s him. He was arrested last night for armed robbery. He was caught trying to rob a convenience store. A cop just happened to stop by and took him into custody.”

  She frowned. “That’s odd. Isn’t he getting up in years?”

  “Yes, he’s in his seventies. Here’s the weird part. He claims he was approached by a couple at The Comedy Club. They bought him a soft drink and he doesn’t remember a thing after that. I think he was drugged.”

  “That’s certainly possible, but it doesn’t explain the armed robbery. No drugs I’m aware of would cause a person to commit a felony against his will.”

  “What about Rohypnol, the date-rape drug? I’ve heard that it takes away free will and the victim usually has no memory of what occurred after.”

  “Not likely. A person who has been given a ‘roofie’ will appear drunk and have difficulty standing. Their speech will be slurred, and they will have difficulty with motor movements. Under those circumstances, it would be impossible to pull off an armed robbery.”

  “Well, something sure happened and Jerry’s in jail. He’s being arraigned this morning. Will you help?”

  “I’m in. Let’s go!”

  We arrived in the courtroom just minutes before Jerry was to appear. Suzanne only had time for a brief introduction.

  “Mr. Singer, my name is Suzanne Romero. I’m a friend of Walt. I’ll be representing you today.”

  “Oh, thank God! Can you get me out of here?”

  “I’ll certainly try.”

  At that moment, Jerry’s case was called.

  When everyone was seated, the judge read the charges. “The state versus Jerold Singer. The charge is armed robbery and armed criminal action. How do you plead?”

  Suzanne stood. “Suzanne Romero for the defense, Your Honor. The defendant pleads not guilty.”

  “Very well.” The judge turned to the prosecutor. “As to bail, do you have any recommendations?”

  The prosecutor stood. “Alan Bailey for the prosecution. Your Honor, the defendant was caught during the commission of a felony with a firearm. We request he be remanded without bail. Given the seriousness of the charges, we believe him to be a flight risk.”

  Before the judge could respond, Jerry jumped to his feet. “A flight risk! Are you kidding? Where would I go? If you could go around the world for five bucks, I wouldn’t have enough money to get out of sight!”

  The judge banged his gavel. I thought I saw a glimmer of a smile, but then he frowned. “Miss Romero! Please get your client under control. I’ll not tolerate such outbursts in my courtroom.”

  Suzanne was red-faced. “Yes, Your Honor. I apologize. You see, in seventy-plus years, this is my client’s first appearance in a courtroom. I just took the case and didn’t have time to instruct him on proper courtroom procedure. My client is retired, living on Social Security, and has no priors. Even though the charge is of a serious nature, we believe there are extenuating circumstances. He is certainly no flight risk. The defense requests reasonable bail.”

  The judge gave Jerry a long look. Jerry’s Mr. Peepers demeanor must have convinced the judge that the court wasn’t dealing with the second coming of Jack the Ripper.

  “Bail is set at twenty-five thousand,” he said, banging his gavel.

  The bailiff led Jerry out of the courtroom.

  Suzanne turned to me. “You go with him. I want to talk to the prosecutor. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

  The minute I walked into the conference room, I saw Jerry was about to cry.

  “Twenty-five thousand dollars!
I don’t have that kind of money. Does that mean I’ll have to stay in this hell hole?”

  “Not at all,” I replied, trying to calm him. “I’ll put our apartment building up for collateral. We’ll have you out of here before the day is over.”

  “You would do that for me?” he asked, obviously relieved.

  “Of course. What are friends for?”

  At that moment Suzanne returned. I saw the concerned look on her face.

  “Not good,” she said, shaking her head. “I told the prosecutor we were sure you were drugged. His response was, ‘prove it!’ We can’t, of course. Too much time has elapsed for a blood test. Your body would have metabolized whatever was in your system. Unfortunately, he has the eyewitness account of the cop who caught you in the act, plus a video of the whole thing.”

  Jerry was wide-eyed. “So what does that mean?”

  Suzanne drew a long breath. “It means that we have to find the man and woman who drugged you. Otherwise, the prosecution has an open and shut case.”

  Then she turned to me. “You wouldn’t, by any chance, know a good private investigator who could help us track down the creeps who drugged your friend?”

  “I just might!” I replied, grinning.

  CHAPTER 3

  Once Jerry was released on bail, we figured the best place to start our search was The Comedy Club.

  “Pat Magroin is the proprietor,” Jerry said anxiously. “Maybe he saw something.”

  We found sixty-five-year-old Magroin in his office. “Hey, Jerry,” he said. “Nice job last night. You killed ‘em.”

  “About last night,” Jerry replied, “Did you happen to notice the couple who came to my table after my performance?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did.”