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  LADY JUSTICE

  AND THE

  EVIL TWIN

  A WALT WILLIAMS

  MYSTERY/COMEDY NOVEL

  ROBERT THORNHILL

  Lady Justice and the Evil Twin

  Copyright March, 2019 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 EVIL TWIN

  CHAPTER 1

  Inside the Shady Lady strip club, Murray Friedman and Darrin Plotz were watching the scantily clad dancer swing seductively from the brass pole.

  “Nice! Really nice!” Murray said, approvingly.

  “No kidding!” Darrin replied. “It ain’t easy hanging upside down on a pole like that. The girl has skills.”

  “They should make pole dancing an Olympic event,” Murray said, laughing. “I’ll bet it would draw the biggest crowds.”

  They continued to watch as the dancer slid down the pole and rolled to the edge of the stage. A man in the front row rose and slipped several bills into her G-string.

  “Hey!” Darrin said, “I know that guy. Isn’t he the cop that busted our meth lab five years ago?”

  “Yeah, you’re right! Him and his big partner.”

  Darrin pulled out his cell phone and started recording as the old guy slipped more bills into the woman’s G-string and whispered something in the dancer’s ear. “Time to even the score.”

  When the dancer finished her number, she and the old guy moved to a booth away from the stage.

  “Lap dance,” Darrin said, grinning. “This is perfect!”

  He continued to record as the dancer gyrated in front of her customer.

  “I love it!” Darrin said gleefully, as the man buried his face in the dancer’s ample cleavage.

  “Okay, Cecil B. DeMille, what are you planning to do with your film?”

  “Send it to his wife, of course. Payback!”

  “Do you even remember the cop’s name?” Murray asked.

  Darrin thought for a minute. “Williams. Walt Williams, and they called his big partner, Ox.”

  “How you gonna get it to the wife?”

  “If I remember right, she’s a real estate agent. We’ll look her up. How many seventy-year-old agents can there be named Williams? Dollars to donuts she has a website with her email address.”

  Murray smiled. “Wish I could be a little mouse in the corner watching when the old cop gets home. The missus is gonna tear him a new one!”

  CHAPTER 2

  The life of a private investigator can, at times, be exciting, but most of the time it’s just boring. Today was the latter as my partner in Walt Williams Investigations, Kevin McBride, and I spent the afternoon watching the mailbox of Henrietta McDougall.

  The wealthy spinster was certain that a thief was pillaging her mail and hired us to catch him in the act. If there really was such a thief, today he didn’t show. Unfortunately for us, that meant another day of butt-numbing surveillance.

  As I climbed the steps to my third-floor apartment, I was looking forward to kicking off my shoes, pouring a chilled glass of Arbor Mist, and settling into my recliner until time for supper.

  When I opened the door, I announced my arrival in the usual way. “Hi honey. I’m home.”

  Hearing no response, I headed to the kitchen. I found my wife, Maggie, seated at the kitchen table. Her eyes were red, and I could see from the pile of tissues that she had been crying.

  Maggie is a real estate agent, and my first thought was that one of her sales had fallen through.

  “Sweetie, why the tears? Did you lose a sale?”

  She looked up at me, shook her head, and the water works started again.

  Now I was concerned. “Is everyone okay? Dad? Bernice?”

  She looked at me and her eyes narrowed. “Walt, how could you?”

  Now I was really bumfuzzled. “How could I what?”

  She blew her nose and gave me another withering look. “Am I not enough for you anymore?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I replied, defensively.

  “Oh really?” she said, tossing me her cell phone. “Looks to me like you had quite an afternoon.”

  I looked at the phone and saw a video clip had been loaded.

  I punched the button and my jaw dropped open when I saw myself cavorting with a scantily clad woman.

  “Maggie! That’s --- that’s not me! It looks like me, but it’s not me! I swear!”

  My wife had fire in her eyes. “Surely you can do better than that!”

  “Honest! I was with your brother all afternoon.”

  I looked at the time stamp on the video. “Three-fifteen. I was sitting in front of Henrietta McDougall’s house with Kevin at three-fifteen.”

  I handed the phone back to her. “Call him. He’ll tell you.”

  She pushed the phone away. “I don’t want to talk to anyone. I’m too upset.”

  I dialed Kevin’s number. “It’s Walt. I need you to come over here right now.”

  “Jesus, Walt! I just got home. I’m bushed.”

  “If you don’t come now, I may be sleeping on your couch tonight.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Kevin was sitting at our kitchen table.

  “Okay, what’s so all-fired important?” Then he saw Maggie’s red eyes. “Walt, what have you done now?”

  I handed him the video.

  “Holy crap!” he muttered. “I think I see the problem.”

  “Look at the time stamp,” I said. “Three-fifteen today. Will you please tell your sister where I was at three-fifteen?”

  Then I saw the puzzled look on his face. “You were with me, but ---.”

  “I know. It looks like me, but we both know it’s not. Tell her. Please!”

  He turned to Maggie. “I don’t know who this guy is, but it’s not Walt. We were together all day.”

  Maggie wiped away a tear. “Really?”

  We both nodded.

  “Then who ---?”

  “I have no idea,” I replied, “but I’m damn sure going to find out. Maggie, I would never ---. I love you and you’re the only girl for me.”

  She leaped from her chair and threw her arms around me. “I’m so sorry I doubted you, but you have to admit that it certainly looks like you.”

  “Now we have two questions,” Kevin said. “First, who is this guy, and second, who took the video and sent it to your wife? I think I might have the answer to the second question. Someone who wants to get even.”

  “Let’s start with the second question,” I said. “What’s the email address of the sender?”

  Kevin looked at the phone. “The email address is D-man@hotmail-dot-com. Ring any bells?”

  “No, but I know somebody who can figure it out, Nick Thatcher at the Watchers. He’s my go-to guy when I need tech stuff done.”

  I looked at my watch. “Too late tonight. I’ll call Nick first thing tomorrow. You want to come?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” Kevin replied. “What’s on your agenda for the rest of the evening?”

  “I’ll answer that,” Maggie said, t
aking my hand. “I owe my husband an apology, and he’s going to get a good one.”

  “That’s my cue to leave,” Kevin said, heading to the door. “Don’t hurt him. He’s old.”

  It’s never fun being falsely accused, but the apology certainly was.

  I called Nick early the next morning, and at nine o’clock we were in the office of the Watchers.

  “What technological conundrum may I assist you with today?” Nick asked, grinning.

  I handed him Maggie’s cell phone. “Take a look at this video.”

  He punched the button and his eyes grew wide. “Holy cow, Walt! I never figured you for a strip club guy.”

  “See, that’s the thing --- the guy with his nose between her boobs isn’t me.”

  “Sure looks like you.”

  “Well, it’s not!”

  “Then I guess you have a doppelganger.”

  “A what?”

  “Doppelganger. It’s a non-biologically related look-alike or double of a living person. They can be real, but sometimes they’re portrayed as a ghostly or paranormal phenomenon and usually seen as a harbinger of bad luck.”

  “This guy is obviously real and he’s definitely a harbinger of bad luck. Some schmuck sent this video to my wife.”

  “Ohhh, nasty!”

  “No kidding. I need to find out who sent it. Can you help me?”

  Nick looked at the sender’s email address. “Give me a few minutes.”

  He went to his computer and started pecking away. A few minutes later, he returned. “Does the name Darrin Plotz ring any bells?”

  I thought for a moment. “Yes, as a matter of fact, it does. Ox and I caught Darrin and his buddy cooking meth in their basement. I thought the guy was still in jail.”

  “Not unless they’re bringing in strippers as part of a rehab program,” Kevin said.

  “Very funny. Thanks, Nick. You’ve come through for me again.”

  “Glad I could help. I hope everything’s copacetic with the missus.”

  “It is. Thankfully, I had an alibi.”

  Back in the car, my next call was to my old partner, Ox.

  “Ox, Walt here. Do you remember Darrin Plotz?”

  A pause. “Yeah, I do. We went to serve a warrant on the guy for missing a court date and caught him and his buddy --- uhhh, let me think --- his buddy, Murray Friedman, cooking meth. Why do you want to know?”

  “Could you look them up? I need to know their current status.”

  “Give me a minute.” A few minutes later, he was back. “Both of them were released from prison two weeks ago. I don’t have an address on either of them, but they’re on parole. I can give you the parole officer’s information.”

  “That would be great.”

  “What gives?”

  “It’s a long story, but the short version is that Darrin is trying to get some revenge. Have Judy call Maggie and set up an evening out. I’ll tell you the whole story then.”

  “You got it, pal. I’ll text the parole officer’s information.”

  I looked at the text message on my phone. “The parole officer is Donna Davis. Let’s swing by and pay her a visit.”

  We entered the Missouri Probation and Parole office on Prospect Avenue and walked up to the reception desk.

  “Is Donna Davis in?”

  The gal at the desk was reading a novel. Without even looking up, she pointed down the hall. “Second door on the right.”

  “Donna Davis?” I asked, tapping on the door.

  “That’s me. What can I do for you?”

  “We’d like to talk to you about one of your parolees.”

  “Sorry, no can do. It’s confidential.”

  “What if I told you one of them was violating his parole?”

  She thought for a moment. “Who are we talking about?”

  “Darrin Plotz and probably Murray Friedman.”

  “Come in. Who are you anyway?”

  “My name is Walt Williams and this is my partner, Kevin McBride. We’re private investigators, but five years ago I was a cop. Actually, Officer George Wilson and I were the ones who busted Plotz and Friedman.”

  “Well, that’s different,” she replied. “Why the interest?”

  “I need to have a word with him,” I said, handing her the video. “He took this and sent it to my wife.”

  She handed the phone back grinning. “I can see why you would be upset, but that’s not a violation of his parole. Seems to me it’s your fault for going into a joint like that.”

  “That’s the problem. It’s not me.”

  “Sure looks like you.”

  “I’m sure that’s what Plotz thought and figured he’d get a little payback by sending it to my wife.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “Just an address. I want to have a chat with him and see what he knows about this guy who looks like me.”

  “I guess it wouldn’t hurt, you being the cop that nailed him. Let me get it for you.”

  She pulled a file, scribbled down an address, and handed it to me.

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

  The address was on 10th Street, just east of Troost Avenue.

  We pulled up in front of a three-story apartment building just as two men were walking out of the front door.

  “Down!” I whispered. “That’s them.”

  “How do you want to handle this?” Kevin asked.

  “Let’s follow them. I’d bet my Social Security check they’re up to no good.”

  I peeked over the steering wheel and saw them heading west. I followed as they turned south on Troost. A few blocks later, they turned into the parking lot of Ace Auto Body Repair.

  “I know that place,” I said. “It’s a chop shop run by a guy named Rudy Blanco, and guess what, he’s got a felony record. Do you know what that means?”

  “Sure do,” Kevin replied. “Associating with a known felon is a violation of his parole.”

  “That’s not all,” I said. “Check out the bulge in his jacket. He’s packing heat. Another violation. I think I’ll give Ox a call.”

  “Ox, Walt here. Where are you?”

  “Independence Avenue and the Paseo. What’s up?”

  “How would you and Amanda like an easy collar?”

  “Always. What have you got?”

  “Kevin and I have just followed Plotz and Friedman into Rudy Blanco’s chop shop on Troost. Poltz is armed. Two parole violations. Interested?”

  “You bet.”

  “Great! You and Amanda take the front. Kevin and I will stake out the back in case they try to run.”

  “We’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  I headed to the alley that ran behind the shop. We parked and took our places on either side of the back door.

  Minutes later, I heard Ox’s booming voice. “Darrin Plotz and Murray Friedman! Get on your knees and lace your fingers behind your heads.”

  Of course they did just the opposite. We heard footsteps coming our way. They busted through the back door and came to a halt seeing two old gumshoes with guns.

  “That’s far enough!” Kevin ordered. “Now down on your knees like the officer asked.”

  Plotz’ mouth dropped open when he spotted me. “You! I suppose this is payback.”

  Ox got there in time to hear Plotz’ remark.

  “Payback? Does this happen to have something to do with the story you were going to tell me over dinner?”

  I nodded and handed him the video. “Plotz took this and sent it to Maggie --- and before you say anything, that’s not me.”

  “Sure looks like you.”

  I saw the confused look on Plotz’ face. “What do you mean, that’s not you. Murray and me saw you there.”

  “No, doofus, you saw someone who looks like me. You figured you’d get a little payback and sent the video to my wife. Look where that got you.”

  “Hey!” he protested. “That’s not against the law!”

  Ox pulled the gun from his
belt. “No, but carrying a weapon and associating with a felon are violations of your parole. You’re going back to the joint. On your feet.”

  “Before you go,” I said, “what do you know about the guy in the video?”

  He shrugged. “If it ain’t you, we don’t know nothing.”

  “What club were you in?”

  “The Shady Lady.”

  I turned to Ox. “They’re all yours.”

  Back in the car, Kevin asked, “Shall I assume our next stop is the Shady Lady?”

  “That seems like the next logical step. I just hope the girl in the video is working.”

  It took a few minutes for our eyes to adjust to the dimly lit strip joint.

  A scantily clad girl was gyrating on the stage in front of two guys urging her on with dollar bills. Other than that, the place was empty of customers.

  I spotted another girl at the bar nursing a drink. “That’s her. That’s the girl in the video.”

  I saw her face light up as we approached. “Hi handsome. Back for another dance?” Then she spotted Kevin. “Ohhh, you brought a friend. Do you want to take turns, or should I call one of the other girls?”

  “Neither,” I replied. “We just want to talk.”

  She grinned. “You weren’t interested in talking yesterday.”

  “That wasn’t me.”

  “Sure it was, sweetie. I’d remember that handsome face anywhere.”

  “No, it wasn’t. It was a guy who looked like me. I need to find him. Did he tell you his name?”

  “You got to be kidding. Names don’t mean anything in a place like this. Everybody lies. But to answer your question, no, no name.”

  “Can you tell me anything about him?”

  “I can tell you one thing. As soon as I started rubbing up against him, I could tell he was well endowed, if you know what I mean.”

  “There you go,” Kevin quipped, “proof that it wasn’t you.”

  I rolled my eyes and the girl giggled.

  “Can you tell us anything else?”

  “Not really. After the dance, he just got up and left. He did give me a big tip.”