[Lady Justice 02] - Lady Justice and the Lost Tapes Read online

  LADY JUSTICE

  AND THE

  LOST TAPES

  A WALT WILLIAMS

  MYSTERY/COMEDY NOVEL

  ROBERT THORNHILL

  Lady Justice and the Lost Tapes

  Volume #2

  Second Edition

  Copyright August, 2014 by Robert Thornhill

  First Edition

  Copyright December, 2010 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

  DEDICATION

  To my good friend, Lee Dresser

  The Krazy Kats

  May 22, 1941 – April 24, 2014

  A rocker ‘til the very end!

  “Well, Walt Williams strikes again, and I enjoyed the adventure … Keep up the good work!”

  —Lee Dresser, The Krazy Kats, Author of Was There A Band Here Tonight?

  “Old folks with Viagra-free staying power. Think Matlock on steroids. Thornhill may have created a new genre … Walt and the gang return for another round of snappy one-liners and fast-paced vignettes that will leave readers begging for the next installment and criminals begging him to retire again …

  Thornhill doesn’t get bogged down in heavy prose or tedious dialogue. Readers from eighteen to ninety-eight will giggle openly at the lighthearted puns and delightful tongue-in-cheek wordplay. An ageless story told with a genuine style.”

  —Michael Clutton, Author of Juice Revolution

  “Bob’s first book caught me off guard so many times. His idioms and phrases are priceless. When I wasn’t expecting it, I would be hit with something that made me laugh so hard I cried!

  With the second book, I was already hooked on the characters. They are each endearing in their own way, and I love [Walt’s] way of finding the good in people whom most would just judge as they would a book cover. [Bob’s] writing grabs your interest from the beginning and will leave you wanting the stories to just continue on.”

  —Vicky Mitzner

  “We were delighted to read Lady Justice and the Lost Tapes! This book is laugh-out-loud funny. We didn’t want to put it down as we turned each page, anxious to see what would come next.”

  —Lee and Marilyn Dobbins

  “Walt Williams and his trusty band of senior citizen peacekeepers are once again making Kansas City a safer place in Lady Justice and the Lost Tapes! From solving a mafia-engineered land scheme to celebrating the music of the King (Elvis), this second installment of Bob Thornhill’s Lady Justice Series is a must-read for anyone who enjoys lighthearted detective stories. Walt’s undercover misadventures are a riot. I laughed all the way through. If you’re looking for a book to tickle your funny bone, this is it!”

  —Mary Carmean, Office Operations Administrator, RE/MAX Heartland

  PROLOGUE

  Salvatore Lorenzo took a long drag of his Cuban cigar, exhaled and watched as the smoke rose to the ceiling.

  “So Councilman, how much money are we talking about?”

  Already apprehensive, sitting across from the godfather of the Kansas City mob, Manny Delano cleared his throat and collected his thoughts.

  “Millions, Mr. Lorenzo; Urban renewal brings in millions! Examples are Quality Hill, the Power & Light District, the Glover Plan, just to name a few. Once the City Council approves a project, State, Federal and local money starts pouring in to buy up the property in the target area. Tear-downs and board-ups that weren’t worth spit are suddenly going for ten times their market value.”

  Lorenzo flipped an ash onto the floor. “And you’re sure you have enough votes to get this thing through the City Council?”

  Delano drew a deep breath. “Yes, Sir. I believe I do. No--- I’m certain that I do.”

  “You’d better be,” Lorenzo replied. “If I decide to divert funds from our other projects and this thing goes south --- well, your district will be looking for someone to fill the sudden vacancy in your council seat. Do you get my drift?”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “Good. Now tell me about this target area.”

  Delano spread a map across the table. “The boundaries are the freeway on the west side, Paseo on the east, Independence Avenue on the north and Truman Road on the south.”

  Lorenzo studied the map. “So what’s there now?”

  Delano turned to Michael and Constance Lorenzo who has been listening intently to the councilman’s presentation. “I’ll let Connie speak to that question. Riverfront Realty has served that area for years and Connie knows every inch of it.”

  Connie tapped her finger on the map. “Definitely a blighted area. Hookers and drug dealers on every corner. The majority of the single family homes are rentals but there are a few older, long term owners that still keep their property up hoping things will turn around.

  “The businesses are what you’d expect, liquor stores, porn shops, bars and night clubs and convenience stores.”

  Lorenzo pondered a moment. “So what are our chances of acquiring the majority of these properties discreetly before the City Council announces the Urban Renewal Project to the public?”

  “Connie and I can handle the acquisition of the single family homes, Uncle Sal,” Michael Lorenzo replied. “The businesses are another story. Some of them have been operating for decades. They may be reluctant to sell.”

  “I think we can persuade obstinate owners to consider a reasonable offer.” He turned to his long-time partner. “What do you think, Emile?”

  Emile Mancuso smiled. “Joey Piccolo can be very persuasive. I don’t think we’ll have a problem there. But I do have another concern. We will be diverting funds from our drug and protection operations into Eastside Properties, Inc. to buy up the parcels. If the cops go sniffing around, the whole thing could blow up on us. We need someone in the KCPD to keep tabs on police operations in the area. Any ideas?”

  “Not to worry, Emile,” Lorenzo replied. “I just happen to know a captain that has had a run of bad luck at the Riverboat Casino. He’s in debt to us so deep he’ll never see the light of day on his salary. He’ll play ball.”

  “Then it sounds like everything is in place,” Mancuso said, looking around the room. “Michael, you and Connie start working on those single family homes. I’ll have Joey get the hookers and druggies out of the neighborhood and Sal, you get us that cop. Let’s do this!”

  CHAPTER 1

  As I drove to the precinct station, I suddenly noticed that Mother Nature was starting her fall makeover.

  There had been a bite in the air, and as I drove down the tree-lined boulevards of Kansas City, I saw the leaves starting to take on the browns, reds, and bright yellows of fall.

  Where had the summer gone?

  Just a few short months ago, I was bored to death, realizing that retirement wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Then, one morning, I witnessed the mugging of an elderly lady and I knew that Lady Justice had a job for me to do.

  It wasn’t easy getting into the police department at the ripe old age of sixty-five, but with the help of my old high school chum, Captain Short, I not only became a full-fledged officer, I was also put in charge of a new program for senior recruits, The City Retiree Action Patrol.

  Before my involvement in the police department and the C.R.A.P. program, time seemed to drag on, but the last few months had flown by. Having a purpose in life and living your dream gives you a new lease on life, no matter what your age.

  I parked, and as I entered the building, I met Captain Harrington and Lincoln Murdock.

  To say that I was not one of their favorite people would be a gross understatement.

  Captain Harrington had fought against me becoming an officer and the C.R.A.P. program from the beginning. It didn’t help that I had shot him with a Benford #5 taser in front of the other captains.

  Murdock was just a jerk. He gave me grief when-ever he could, but Ox, my partner, and Vince, my first recruit in the new program, had convinced him to back off.

  Doing my best to be cordial, I said, “Good morning,” and went out of my way to steer clear of their path.

  Just as we passed, Murdock swerved and collided with me, knocking me into the wall.

  “Hey, old timer. You better get yourself some glasses so you can see where you’re going.” He and Harrington went off chuckling to themselves.

  What a great way to start the day.

  Then I remembered something the professor, one of the tenants in my apartment building, told me. “Eat a live toad in the morning and nothing worse will happen to you the rest of the day.”

  I’ve just had my toad, I thought. The rest of the day will be a breeze.

  Our assignment for the day was to serve bench warrants from the Sixteenth Circuit Court.

  A bench warrant is issued by a judge most typically when a perp fails to appear for his court date or comply with a court order. Police
have the authority to pick up the subject and bring them before the court.

  Our perp was Marvin “Blackie” Mercer. He allegedly ran a chop shop on Prospect Avenue and was arrested for possession of a stolen vehicle. He had missed his court date.

  We pulled into the parking lot of Mercer’s garage. The big bay door was open, and we saw a stocky man in a leather apron with a welding torch.

  He was as big as Ox and wore a red bandana around his head. A heavy chain ran from his belt to a set of keys hanging out of his pocket.

  Typical biker.

  A woman was standing behind him with a beer in her hands and a sneer on her lips.

  “Marvin Mercer?” Ox said as we approached.

  “Don’t call me Marvin! The name’s Blackie.

  Whadda you want?”

  “Well, Blackie, we have a warrant for your arrest. You missed your court date.”

  “And you two punk cops think you’re gonna take me in?”

  He reached for a can of aerosol spray paint, held it in front of the flaming torch, and pushed the button.

  The red spray from the can ignited as it passed through the torch and sent a flaming red stream in our direction.

  Homemade flamethrower!

  I remembered from high school, some of the guys would get together after a meal of refried beans. They would take a cigarette lighter and ignite one another’s farts.

  That was fun. This, not so much.

  Ox and I stumbled backwards, away from the searing flames, tripped on a power cord, and fell in a heap.

  Mercer dropped the torch and headed for the door. “Get your butt in gear, Wanda. Let’s get out of here.”

  They both ran out the door, and as we were untangling ourselves, we heard the unmistakable rumble of a Harley.

  We got to the door just in time to see Marvin take off with Wanda behind him holding on for dear life.

  Marvin gunned it and did a wheelie. Wanda slipped off the back and landed on her butt. As he drove away, we saw the back of his t-shirt, which read, “If you can read this, the bitch fell off.”

  Irony!

  We jumped in our black and white, and with sirens blaring and lights flashing, we took off after Marvin.

  Our old Crown Vic had seen better days. We knew there was no way we were going to catch Marvin on his Harley.

  We called dispatch and told them we were in pursuit of a fleeing felon, going south on Prospect. All units in the area were alerted. They would converge on the area and try to cut him off.

  We could see Mercer gaining ground on us. But in the distance we saw the flashing lights of another cruiser that had blocked the intersection.

  Mercer slowed down and hung a left on Thirty-fifth Street. We were catching up. As he picked up speed, another black and white appeared from a side street, cutting him off.

  At the last minute, he swerved and plowed into the open doorway of a huge garage. The sign above the door said, “Earl Shine Automotive. We’ll Paint Any Car For $99.” We pulled up outside the bay door and looked inside.

  Mercer had crashed into an Earl Shine paint booth that was in the process of painting a Yugo bright red.

  Blackie wasn’t black anymore!

  I remembered the professor saying, “Man who drive like hell bound to get there.”

  Lady Justice loves her irony.

  CHAPTER 2

  I was feeling pretty good as I drove home from the station. There’s a real satisfaction in bringing the bad guys to justice.

  I parked, and as I walked up the sidewalk, I met Willie. “Evenin, Mr. Walt.”

  Willie took care of the maintenance on my huge portfolio of apartments before I retired and sold the whole kit and caboodle. He sort of retired with me, and now he lives in the basement studio of my Armour building and looks after things here and at my only other building, the Three Trails Hotel.

  “Good evening to you, Willie. What’s up?”

  “I got a favor to axe you, Mr. Walt. You member my fren Maxine what works de corner at Independence and Prospect? Well, she call me and said dat Doris, who works at Independence and Troost, ain’t been seen fo two days. She an’ de other girls is real worried about her.”

  “Has anyone made a missing persons report to the police?”

  “Come on, Mr. Walt. You know betta dan dat. Doris ain’t got no family, and de other girls don’t want no part of de po-lice. And besides, who’s gonna care? She jus another ole black ho to de cops.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Let’s take a drive over to Independence Avenue and see what’s going on.”

  We drove east on Armour and north on Prospect to Independence Avenue. Sure enough, there on the corner was Maxine dressed in six-inch heels, black spandex leotards, and a gold v-necked sweater that showed lots of cleavage.

  “That girl’s a real pro.” Willie beamed.

  I’ll take his word for it.

  We pulled to the curb, and Willie called for Maxine to get in.

  “Maxine, this is my friend Walt I was telling you about. He’s okay. He’s gonna hep us find Doris.”

  “Hi, Maxine. When did you last see Doris?”

  “It was two days ago. We bof went to work ‘bout eight o’clock. I ain’t seen her since.”

  “Is it possible she hooked up with someone who wanted an, uh, extended visit?”

  “Nope. We always tells each other if we got an all-nighter so’s the other girls don’t get worried. We look out after each other.”

  “Where did Doris live? Has anyone checked her apartment?”

  “She live over on Eighth Street, jus’ a few blocks from her corner. I got a key, but I was scared to go der by mysef.”

  “You’re not alone now,” I said. “Let’s go take a look.”

  As we drove along Independence Avenue, I noticed that as we got closer to Troost there were more abandoned board-ups and homes for sale.

  “What’s going on around here?” I asked. “Things look awfully quiet and deserted.”

  “Yeah, somethin’s going on for sure lately. All the action seems to be movin’ east in my direction. Don’t know why.”

  We pulled up in front of Doris’s building and went to her apartment. I took the key from Maxine and slipped it in the lock. I pushed the door open and called Doris’s name.

  No answer.

  We stepped in the door, and I flipped the light switch on.

  I saw a blur of yellow out of the corner of my eye and a loud mew and a “Holy shit!” from Willie as a big, furry ball latched onto his chest.

  As Willie was screaming and dancing around trying to separate himself from his attacker, Maxine said, “For gosh sake, Willie. It’s just Punkin’, Doris’s cat. He’s probably lonesome.”

  “Damn!” Willie said. “Dat’s de firs’ time I been skeered by a pussy!”

  We looked around the apartment, and it was apparent that no one had been there in several days. The cat’s food and water bowl were empty, and his litter box was full.

  I saw a photograph in a frame on an end table and did a double take. There was the photo of a woman that I assumed was Doris and a younger man—Willie!

  Willie saw me staring at the photo. “Yeah, dat’s me. Doris an’ me had a thing once.”

  “Must have been pretty special,” I said. “Having your photo here after all these years.”

  “I always treats my ladies right. Don’t I, Maxine?”

  “Sho do, Willie. She always had a sof ’ spot in her heart fo’ you. You know, Mr. Walt, people drive down de street and all de see is ole street ho’s, but we people too, and we got feelin’s jus’ like everyone else.”

  And she was right.

  “Has Doris mentioned anything unusual happening in the last few weeks?”

  “Well, now that you mention it, she tole me she had a visit from Joey Piccolo. He works for de Italian mob guys. He tole her she betta move her black ass to another corner or she be sorry. An’ she tole him dat she been workin’ dat corner fo’ ten years an she ain’t about to move now.”