[Lady Justice 25] - Lady Justice and the Spy

  LADY JUSTICE

  AND THE SPY

  A WALT WILLIAMS

  MYSTERY/COMEDY NOVEL

  ROBERT THORNHILL

  Lady Justice and the Spy

  Copyright February, 2017 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 SPY

  CHAPTER 1

  Sarah Savage, code name Nightshade, peered through the peephole in the hotel room door.

  She had heard footsteps in the hall and as she expected, two men were approaching the door of room 211.

  The men were not of Russian, Middle Eastern or Asian origin. They were Americans. Sarah recognized both men. Like her, they were part of Consular Operations, a clandestine intelligence agency run by the CIA whose task was to eliminate threats to the United States, both foreign and domestic.

  During her forty years of service, her assignments had taken her throughout the world to track down and destroy men and women seen as dangerous to U.S. interests.

  She knew the two men in the hall were on just such a mission, only this time, she was the quarry being sought. She was the one who was to suddenly and mysteriously disappear.

  Sarah suspected someone would be coming for her and had taken precautions. She had rented room 211 in her own name and the adjoining room, 213, using an alias. Hearing the cautious footsteps in the hall, she had quietly slipped through the doors separating the two rooms, locking both securely. It was through the peephole in 213 that she watched her stalkers.

  Anticipating their arrival, she dressed in jeans, a loose sweatshirt and an old letterman’s jacket she had found in a thrift store.

  She watched as one of the men produced a key card, probably lifted from a maid busy cleaning rooms, and slipped it in the door lock.

  As soon as she heard the ‘click’, she tucked her short cropped hair under a baseball cap and donned a pair of sun glasses. When the men disappeared inside 211, she grabbed a ball bag into which she had packed her worldly possessions, a change of clothes, cash, her collection of passports, each with a different name, and her 9mm Beretta.

  She stepped into the hall, and as she suspected, there were agents stationed at both the elevator and stairwell. She took a deep breath and started toward the elevator, wondering if her disguise would fool the experienced operative.

  As luck would have it, halfway down the hall another door opened. Two young men in baseball gear stepped out. The city was hosting a baseball tournament and Sarah had selected this hotel because it was housing several out of town teams.

  She fell in behind the boys, past the agent, and into the elevator. As the door closed, she breathed a sigh of relief.

  Soon she was on the street. She had escaped this time, but she knew her luck would one day run out. The men pursuing her were relentless as she had been when given an assignment. There were just too many of them and with their sophisticated equipment, they would eventually find her. But before they did, she had one last goal in life --- to find the daughter she had given up at birth and meet her for the first and last time.

  CHAPTER 2

  It was going to be a grand day. I just knew it!

  It was one of those rare days when my wife, Maggie, still an active real estate agent at the age of seventy-two, had no appointments, and I, the named partner in Walt Williams Investigations, had no cases.

  Such a day for two septuagenarians should be commonplace, but for us, not so much. Since opening my P.I. business after five years in the Kansas City Police Department, there had been a steady stream of people seeking my services, and Maggie always had buyers and sellers needing her attention.

  But not today.

  It was to be a day just to be together and do the things that loving couples do, if you get my drift.

  At our age, waiting until evening to get cozy had ceased to be an option. After putting in a day’s work, we were both usually pooped --- the perfect example of the old saying, “the spirit’s willing, but the flesh is weak.”

  As many folks our age, we found ourselves beginning to eat our evening meal earlier and earlier. It wasn’t uncommon for us to be seated in a restaurant at 4:30 or 5:00, along with other baby boomers. It was really quite pleasant, being among people who were actually talking to each other and even holding hands.

  We had tried eating later when the restaurant was filled with Millennials, busy on their phones, virtually ignoring their companions, but it just wasn’t the same.

  However, I was impressed with the dexterity of those who had mastered the art of eating with one hand while texting with the other. Quite an achievement for the new generation.

  It is always amusing to us, when we’re watching a movie or TV show and the couple make arrangements for a dinner date. When the handsome leading man says, “Dinner tonight? Great! I’ll pick you up at nine,” we roll our eyes and grin. By nine, we’re both in our jammies and trying to stay awake for the evening news.

  Not a great recipe for romance.

  Nevertheless, as comedian Bonnie Hunt so aptly stated, “Just because there’s snow on the roof, doesn’t mean there’s not a fire inside.”

  Where there’s a will, there’s a way, and Maggie and I decided this was going to be the day to stoke that fire.

  Showered, freshly shaven and teeth brushed, I stretched out on the bed in my most provocative pose, awaiting the object of my affection.

  When Maggie slipped into the room, she was wearing the teddy with the fur around the bottom she had worn on our wedding night. Needless to say, I was thrilled.

  Like a West Point cadet, the anticipation of what was waiting for me under the furry, peek-a-boo hem brought Mr. Winkie to attention.

  I had just given Maggie my sexiest come-hither nod when there was a knock on the door.

  “GO AWAY!”

  Evidently whoever was there didn’t hear or didn’t care. There was another knock, more insistent this time.

  Exasperated, I threw on my robe and plodded to the door.

  It was Willie, my friend and maintenance man who lives in the basement studio of our three-story six-plex.

  “What?” I grumbled, my irritation at being interrupted showing.

  “Good monin’ to you too, Mr. Walt. I jes’ wanted to stop by an’ tell you I’se goin’ over to Emma’s for a few hours. She called all hot an’ bothered, an’ I figured I betta take care o’ business, if you know what I mean.”

  “I get the picture, but why are you telling me?”

  “Cause Mary wanted me to do some stuff at de hotel today. If she calls, tell her I’m indisposed an’ I’ll be der later.”

  “Indisposed? Is that what you’re calling it these days?”

  He just shrugged and grinned. Then he noticed my robe and looked at his watch.

  “Ten o’clock and youse still in your robe. Sleepin’ in today?”

  “Uhhhh, actually I was just getting ready for work,” I lied, trying to keep a straight face.

  “Well, if dat’s de case,” he said, pointing to the protrusion in the front of my robe, “den you betta do somethin’
wit dat befo’ you go.”

  “Good bye, Willie.”

  I headed back to my romantic rendezvous, hoping to recapture the magic moment before Willie’s intrusion.

  Maggie had climbed into bed and as I entered, she gave me a seductive wink and patted the bed beside her.

  I threw off my robe and was about to join her in matrimonial bliss when the phone rang.

  “Better get it,” she said with a sigh. “If we don’t pick up, whoever it is may just keep trying.”

  I picked up the receiver. “This better be important,” I grumbled.

  “Mr. Walt. Mary here. I been trying to reach Willie. He’s supposed to come over and replace some light bulbs and run the snake down the #3 crapper. I’ve been trying to call, but no answer.”

  “He said to tell you he’s indisposed this morning but will be over later.”

  “Indisposed? What the hell does that mean?”

  “Ask him yourself when he gets there. I wouldn’t expect him until mid-afternoon.”

  “Well damn! I had stuff to do this afternoon. Guess I’ll just do it this morning. Tell Maggie I said ‘Hi.’”

  I hung up and turned to my sweetie. “Mary says ‘Hi.’”

  By this time, Mr. Winkie was flying at half-mast.

  “Hard to focus with all the distractions,” I muttered.

  “Will this help you focus?” she asked, giving the furry hem of her teddy a saucy flip.

  “Indeed it will,” I replied, crawling in beside her.

  I was just leaning over for a smooch when someone else came knocking at our door.

  “Damn! Hold that thought,” I muttered, donning my robe for a second time.

  I peeked through the peep hole and saw Dad and Bernice from apartments 3 & 4 outside my door.

  “Morning, Sonny,” Dad said as I opened the door. Then he spotted my robe. “Oh, sorry. Hope I didn’t wake you up.”

  “No, I wasn’t sleeping. What can I do for you?”

  “By any chance, did you pick up a package that might have been left by the mailboxes? We placed an order at Pricilla’s. It should have been here by now.”

  Dad and Bernice were frequent shoppers at Pricilla’s Adult Entertainment Store, and weren’t a bit shy about using the items purchased therein.

  One day, I knocked on Dad’s door and Bernice opened it wearing nothing but a leather thong and a pink feather boa. Understand, Bernice is a 90-90, 93 years old and 98 pounds. It was a vision not easily unseen. Lord knows I’ve tried.

  “Sorry, Dad. No package.”

  “Well darn! We ran out of our massage oil. You know, the kind that heats up when you rub it in and tastes like strawberries. Been hankering for some strawberries, if you know what I mean. Oh well, I guess we’ll just jump into the car and pick up a jar.”

  “Oh goody!” Bernice gushed. “A road trip. Where are we going, John?”

  “Paradise, Sweet Cheeks,” Dad replied, patting her on the butt.

  It was beginning to look like everyone was getting lucky but me.

  I trudged back to the bedroom.

  “Who was that?” Maggie asked.

  “Dad and Bernice.”

  “What did they want?”

  “You really don’t want to know.”

  She was about to protest when there was another knock.

  I gritted my teeth. “Be right back.”

  I threw open the door. “WHAT!”

  I scared poor Jerry half to death.

  “Jeez, Walt. You’re a bit cranky this morning.”

  “You have no idea,” I replied.

  “Maybe I can cheer you up. I’ve got a joke to run by you.”

  “Jerry! Remember our deal. No jokes! If you want to rehearse for your gig at the comedy club, go do it at the Three Trails. Those people have nothing better to do than to listen to your drivel.”

  “I tried, Walt. I really did. I went over there but the place was empty. Mary’s not there. I couldn’t even find old man Feeney, although based on the stench in the hall outside of the #4 john, I probably just missed him. I wouldn’t bother you, but I’m going on tonight and I just had to run this one joke by someone.”

  “If I listen, will you go away?”

  “I promise,” he replied, crossing his heart.

  “Then let’s get it over with.”

  He took a deep breath. “If girls with big boobs work at Hooters, where do one-legged girls work?” Pause “IHOP! If you eat there, tipping your waitress takes on a whole new meaning.”

  “Jerry! You stole that from an episode of Two and a Half Men! I saw it on a rerun just the other night! That’s plagiarism!”

  “Is not!” he replied indignantly. “It’s funny isn’t it?”

  I nodded.

  “People use each other’s stuff all the time. Sometimes I do Rodney Dangerfield. Singers put out whole albums covering other people’s songs. If it makes people laugh, I don’t care where it comes from.”

  I guess I didn’t either. “Are we done, Jerry?”

  “Actually, I ---.”

  “Good bye, Jerry,” I replied, slamming the door.

  “Who this time?” Maggie asked.

  “Jerry, and again, you really don’t want to know.”

  “Actually, I do,” she replied indignantly. “If my morning with my lover is being interrupted, I’d like to know why.”

  I was about to give her the details, when the phone rang again. I just shrugged my shoulders and picked up the receiver.

  “Walt, it’s Kevin. You busy?”

  I covered the receiver and turned to Maggie. “It’s your brother.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Well, actually, I am.”

  “Whatever it is, I hope it can wait. We have a new client and she’s here right now. We’d like to come over.”

  Kevin is my partner in Walt Williams Investigations. He’s a real good guy, but has never learned the art of taking ‘no’ for an answer.

  I turned to talk to Maggie and realized she had slipped out of bed and was now wearing a baggy sweat suit.

  Again, I covered the mouth piece. “Maggie! Where’s your teddy? What about ---?”

  Before I could complete my sentence, she held up her hands in mock surrender. “Sorry, Walt. I’m afraid that ship has sailed.”

  I sighed and returned to Kevin. “Sure, come on over.”

  It was painfully obvious that this morning would not conclude with a ‘happy ending.’

  CHAPTER 3

  When Kevin arrived, I was surprised to see he was accompanied by his wife, Veronica, as well as our new client.

  How Kevin and Veronica came together is an amazing story.

  Kevin was dying of kidney failure and figuring his days were numbered, wanted to cross off one of the items on his bucket list --- one last evening of debauchery with a beautiful woman.

  My friend, Willie, reformed con man, still had contacts on the street. He made some calls and presto, Veronica, who was working for an escort service, showed up at his door.

  Long story short, for some unfathomable reason, and in spite of their age difference, they hit it off and became a couple. Just a few months ago, seventy-three year old Kevin and thirty-eight year old Veronica tied the knot.

  Veronica and our new client appeared to be about the same age.

  “Walt, I’d like you to meet Cathy Carter. Cathy, this is my partner, Walt.”

  We shook hands just as Maggie walked in. She was wearing neither the teddy nor the sweat suit, but her usual business attire.

  “Cathy, this is my sister, Maggie,” Kevin said.

  After introductions all around, Maggie pecked me on the cheek. “Since you’re going to be tied up, I figured I might as well go to the office and catch up on some paperwork.”

  “Not the way I was hoping to be tied up,” I whispered.

  She winked as she walked out the door. “Maybe later.”

  I led our guests to the room that served as both the office for Walt Williams Investigati
ons and Maggie’s real estate business.

  When we were seated, I asked, “So Cathy, how can we be of service?”

  She looked a bit sheepish. “Actually, now that I’m here, I feel rather silly. It’s --- it’s probably just my imagination.”

  “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

  She reached for Veronica’s hand. “Veronica and I were classmates at Westport High School, class of ’97. This year is our 20th class reunion. I was the class secretary during our senior year, so it’s my job to try to locate as many classmates as possible and invite them to the reunion. It’s quite a task.”

  “I’m well aware,” I replied. “My 50th was a few years ago and I got roped into the same job. You’ll spend ninety-nine cents many times on peoplefinders.com before you’re through. It is rewarding though, when you connect with an old classmate after all those years.”

  “That’s what I thought --- until I started making the calls. That’s when things started getting weird.”

  “Weird? How?”

  “You expect to lose a few classmates along the way, accidents, cancer, and stuff like that, but what I wasn’t expecting was to find that three of our classmates had been murdered in the last few months.”

  “Murdered? Are you sure?”

  “Positive! I talked to the families of each member. And what’s even stranger, is that none of the three murders have been solved. The police don’t even have suspects or a motive.”

  “Do they all live in the same city?”

  “No. Seattle, Nashville and Miami. Three murders, that close together, but that far apart --- it couldn’t be just a coincidence. Or could it?”

  “I’m not a big believer in coincidence. I can see why you’re concerned.”

  “I’m wondering if we should go on with our class reunion. If someone is targeting our classmates all over the country, what might possibly happen when we’re all together in one room?”

  “Do you have the information on the deceased classmates?”