[Lady Justice 07] - Lady Justice and the Vigilante Page 10

  Coughlin was logging some great publicity each time Vince or I were involved in a big collar, so he was more than ready to add more accolades to his public image.

  With all that out of the way, it was time for Ed to begin the application process.

  He had to pass a written test, a physical and an oral review.

  If he made it to that point, he would begin his physical training in hand-to-hand combat and qualify on the firing range.

  He breezed through the physical and the written test without a problem.

  On the day of his oral review board, the captain asked if I could attend and give Ed an endorsement.

  As I looked back on my own oral review, I was amazed at the changes in attitude that had taken place in two short years.

  At that time, no one believed that an old fart like me had any business being a rookie cop and I really didn’t blame them.

  I passed by the skin of my teeth, but only after I shot one of the beligerant captains with a taser.

  Now, two years later, these same guys are asking my opinion about hiring another old geezer.

  I felt proud and happy to share my experience with Ed at the Salvation Army and relate his heroics in saving Mary.

  Ed’s karate training made the PT class a breeze and everyone was amazed at his proficiency with a handgun.

  He passed his first time on the firing range.

  On the day he received his badge, Ed had a whole cheering section in the audience.

  Maggie, Dad, Bernice, Jerry, Willie, The Professor and Mary were joined by at least a dozen other volunteers from the Salvation Army to wish him well in his new career.

  Lady Justice just got a new recruit.

  Ed Jacobs had just clocked out and was heading to his car when he saw a familiar face standing on the curb waiting for the Metro bus.

  It was the jackass that had pulled the knife at the Thanksgiving dinner.

  Ed had been keeping tabs on the guy and was disappointed to hear that he was going to be cut loose.

  Since no one was actually injured in the altercation other than the perpetrator himself, and given the crowded conditions in the jail, the judge had sentenced him to time served and two hundred hours of community service.

  Another travesty of justice.

  Ed had seen the look in the soulless eyes of the sociopath as he wielded the knife, and he knew it was just a matter of time until he actually claimed a victim.

  Ed waited patiently in his car until he saw the perp climb aboard the bus.

  He pulled into the traffic lane and followed at a safe distance.

  The perp exited the bus at Twelfth and Monroe and after pausing a moment under the glare of the streetlight, he made his way to the Monroe Bar and Grill.

  Ed found a parking space on the street where he could watch the entrance.

  Patience.

  An hour later, the perp staggered onto the street. It was obvious that his goal had been to make up for the drinking time lost while in lock-up.

  Ed watched him weave down the street and disappear into an alley.

  He followed and found the guy with his pants unzipped taking a leak behind a dumpster.

  After zipping up, he pulled a tissue from his pocket, blew his nose and tossed the tissue onto the pavement beside the dumpster.

  Ed approached with his gun drawn.

  “Looks like ten days in lock-up didn’t teach you a lesson.”

  The guy squinted at Ed through bloodshot eyes.

  “You a cop?”

  “You got that right and you’re under arrest for littering and urinating in a public place.”

  Ed pointed to the tissue.

  “Now pick that up and put it in the dumpster.”

  “You gotta be kidding, man.”

  Ed waved his gun. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

  Ed watched as the guy dutifully deposited the offending tissue.

  “You probably never watched Woodsy Owl when you were a kid, did you?”

  The guy looked perplexed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, man. You’re crazy!”

  “Woodsy Owl told us to ‘Give a hoot --- Don’t pollute’. Now look what you’ve gone and done,” he said pointing to the steaming puddle of urine.

  “Did you know that you can get the death penalty for littering and urinating in public?”

  “That’s crazy, man! There ain’t no death penalty for that stuff!”

  “There is today!” Ed said, pulling the trigger.

  As the guys warm blood mingled with the steaming urine, Ed smiled.

  “Every litter bit hurts.”

  The vigilante had struck again and this time, it hit close to home.

  Ox and I were on patrol when a body was found in an alley on Twelfth Street.

  We were dispatched to the scene to help cordon off the area and for crowd control.

  I took a look at the body and immediately recognized the guy that had pulled a knife on Mary at the Salvation Army.

  Ox recognized him too.

  “Why do you suppose this jerk got the vigilante’s attention? He was just a street punk.”

  “Well, we actually don’t know it was the vigilante. He could’ve pissed someone off at the bar down the street.”

  “Didn’t he just get released yesterday?”

  “Yep, and that might have been what peaked the vigilante’s interest if it was him --- time served and community service. Not exactly a stiff sentence for threatening someone’s life.”

  After the crime scene guys finished their work and the body had been carted off to the morgue, Ox and I were ordered to help with a canvass of the neighborhood.

  As usual, no one had seen or heard anything.

  CHAPTER 11

  The next morning, on my way out, Willie flagged me down.

  "Mr. Walt, hold up a second."

  "What's up, Willie?"

  "It's Louie de Lip. He wants to talk wit' you."

  Louie the Lip was a holdover from Willie's days as a street hustler. They had stayed in touch and on more than one occasion, Louie's proximity to Kansas City's underbelly had helped us solve some crimes.

  In fact, it was Willie and Louie that had saved my sorry ass one night when Joey Piccolo, a street punk, had tried to bring my law enforcement career to a premature end.

  I owed Louie and he knew it. I wondered if this was payback time.

  "Any idea what he wants to chat about?"

  "It's dem Ruskies. Dey back in Northeast.

  "He says to meet him in de parkin' lot at Union Station. He be sittin' on de bench at de bus stop."

  "Tell him that I'll swing by after squad meeting."

  When squad meeting had concluded, the captain summoned Ox and me.

  "Ed Jacobs' partner called in sick this morning. I'd like to have Ed ride with you. Maybe he can pick up some tips from the 'Dynamic Duo'."

  "Sure, Captain, no problem."

  As we pulled out of the parking garage, I told Ox about my conversation with Willie.

  "Better head to Union Station, then," he replied.

  We turned off Main Street onto Pershing Road and I saw Louie sitting on the bus bench.

  Ox pulled up in front of the bench and Louie slipped into the backseat beside Ed.

  "Hey, Louie," I said.

  "Walt. Ox,"

  Louie was one of those characters that once you see, you'll never forget.

  They say some girls have 'Betty Davis eyes', well, Louie has 'Mick Jagger lips’.

  He looked over at Ed. "Who's dis guy?"

  "Ed Jacobs, meet Louie. Ed's a new recruit. He's with me. He's okay."

  Ed stuck out his hand, but Louie just nodded. I guess you had to earn his trust.

  "So what's up?"

  "It's dem Ruskies. Dey tryin' to get back in Northeast.

  "De I-talians and us, well, we got us an arrangement. Dey do dere stuff and we do our stuff and nobody gets hurt, but dese Ruskies, dey want ever'ting.

  "Word on de street is
dat de Ruskies is gonna start hittin' de I-talians. If dey do, dere's gonna be blood all over Northeast and none of us wants any part of dat."

  "So how do we fit in?"

  He turned to Ox. "Head north on Main an' I'll show ya."

  Just before we got to the old Argosy Hotel, he said, "Pull to de curb."

  The Argosy was another throwback to Kansas City's bawdy days of the thirties.

  Once a fine hotel, it had deteriorated into a flophouse that made the Three Trails look like a Hilton.

  "See dat SUV?" he asked, pointing to a black Caddie.

  "Yes."

  "Well, dat belongs to a Ruskie who's stayin' dere. Word is dat he's de guy what's gonna do de hit."

  "So what do you want us to do?" I asked. "Do you expect us to tail him and take him down before he blows someone away?"

  "Well, you de cops, ain't ya?"

  We dropped Louie back at the bus stop and headed back to the precinct.

  "Well that was pretty 'cloak and dagger'," Ed said. "Do you guys do that a lot? And what was that name that the captain called you?"

  "You can call me Bond," I quipped. "James Bond."

  We relayed our story to the captain.

  "And exactly who told you all of this?"

  Ox and I had already decided that we had to keep Louie out of the picture.

  "It was an anonymous tip."

  The captain looked skeptical. "Maybe we should see what Organized Crime has to say about all this."

  He made a call and in a few minutes we were telling our story to an officer from the Organized Crime Unit.

  "We've heard some scuttlebutt about that, but nothing solid. Are you sure this 'anonymous tip' is authentic?"

  "It sure sounded like it."

  "I'm short on manpower. If the captain can spare you, let's put a tail on the guy."

  "Us?" I asked. "We don't exactly blend into the scenery in a squad cruiser."

  "I've got something that will help."

  He left the room and returned with a device about the size of a cell phone, and an IPad.

  "GPS," he said. "Magnetic. Stick this thing under his wheel well and you can track him from several blocks away. He'll never know you're around."

  After a quick lesson, we were on our way.

  Ed secured the GPS in the Caddie's wheel well and we parked on Grand, a couple of blocks away.

  After about an hour had elapsed, the green blob on the screen started moving.

  "There he goes," Ox said. "Looks like he's heading north."

  We followed at a safe distance and watched as the blob stopped in the nine hundred block of Troost.

  "Benny 'The Butt!" Ox said.

  "What?"

  "The pawn shop. There's a pawnshop in that block owned by Benny 'The Butt' Buttafusco. I'll bet that's the target. We'd better hurry!"

  Ox slammed the cruiser into gear and we sped to the pawnshop.

  Sure enough, the SUV was parked in front of the shop.

  Through the bars on the front windows, we could see a really big guy pointing a really big gun at another guy with a really big butt.

  It wasn't hard to tell which one was Benny. It looked like every ounce of pasta that he had ever eaten had gone right to his ass. It looked like he had a pair of saddlebags strapped to each hip.

  We slid to a stop and ran into the pawnshop with guns drawn.

  The big guy, seeing that he was outnumbered three to one, surrendered his weapon.

  We called for assistance and when everyone was gone but us, I whispered to Benny, "You can thank some of your 'bruddas' on the street for this."

  He nodded and he understood.

  The Russian's name was Vladimir Postnikoff.

  The three of us, as arresting officers, were required to be at the preliminary hearing.

  My heart sank when I saw Suzanne Romero at the defense table.

  "Not again!" I thought.

  She had made fools of us with the dog search and here she was again.

  I was on the hot seat last time. It was Ox's turn.

  The Prosecuting Attorney called him to the stand and asked him about the arrest.

  He told how we followed Postnikoff and arrived at the pawnshop just in time to see him pointing a gun at Benny.

  When it was Romero's turn, she wasted no time.

  "Officer Wilson, tell us again why you followed the defendant."

  "We received an anonymous tip."

  We had decided that was our story and we were sticking with it.

  "When did you first see Mr. Postnikoff?"

  "At the pawn shop."

  "So you didn't see him leave the Argosy Hotel?"

  "No, Ma'am."

  "If you didn't see him, then how could you have followed him?"

  "We had one of those GPS tracking things. We put it under his car."

  "And just where did you get the 'tracking thing'?"

  "An officer from the Organized Crime Unit gave it to us."

  "And did that officer obtain a warrant for the device?"

  Ox looked at the Prosecutor and you could see the color drain from his face.

  "I --- I don't know. I never saw one."

  "According to your testimony, you said that you saw my client in the pawn shop with a gun. Is that correct?"

  "Yes."

  "Doesn't Mr. Buttafusco take guns on pawn?"

  "I suppose so."

  "Then how did you know that he wasn't just trying to pawn his gun?"

  "Well, because of the tip."

  "From an anonymous source?"

  "Yes, Ma'am."

  Romero turned to the judge.

  "Your Honor, once again, the police department is running roughshod over our Fourth Amendment rights.

  "It protects a citizen's persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures.

  "A person's automobile is certainly part of a person's 'effects'.

  "For years now, a warrant has been required for tapping phone lines and searching the interior of cars. The placement of a tracking device on an automobile is no different.

  "Every person should have an expectation of privacy, subject to the issuance of a warrant.

  "And, once again, a warrant can only be issued with probable cause.

  "The officers involved did not know or even see who they were tracking and did so based on an anonymous tip.

  "Your Honor, would you have found probable cause and issued a warrant based on that information?"

  The judge didn't answer.

  "Your Honor, I move that the charges against my client be dismissed as any evidence provided by the prosecution was obtained in violation of his Fourth Amendment rights."

  The judge banged his gavel. "So ordered."

  As Romero was turning away from the defense table, the Prosecutor grabbed her by the arm.

  "If there's a gang war and a bloodbath in Northeast, it's on you!"

  She pulled her arm away. "No, if there's a bloodbath, it's because you guys can't get your shit together.

  "If Missouri ever turns into a police state because our constitutional rights have been taken away, then that's on me!"

  She turned and stalked out of the courtroom.

  Ed had been involved in the case from the beginning and, hard as he tried, he couldn't see how anyone could have done anything different than what was done.

  Romero was right. No judge would have given them a warrant, but their actions had prevented, or at leased postponed, a street war.

  He understood that our rights had to be protected, but he also knew that the protection sometimes lets criminals slip away.

  That's why they needed him.

  He dug through his disguises and found just what he was looking for.

  No one would suspect that the old street bum looking for a warm place to spend the night was actually a cop --- no --- the vigilante.

  He checked into the Argosy and hung out in the lobby until he saw the Russian park the SUV.

  He fol
lowed him up the steps and as the Russian pushed open his door, Ed was right behind him.

  Postnikoff was bigger, younger and stronger than Ed, so he wasted no time.

  Before the Russian could regain his footing, Ed fired his silenced revolver and the Russian slumped to the floor.

  This time it wasn't enough to just eliminate the threat. He needed to send a message as well.

  He took a can of aerosol spray paint from his coat and went to work.

  When he had finished, he looked at his handy work.

  Perfect!

  Quietly, he left the hotel by the back stairs and slipped out into the night.

  Ox and I had just started our shift when we received the call that all units in the area were to respond to the Argosy Hotel.

  A homicide detective had arrived just before us and was examining a body in an upstairs room.

  When the call came in, we knew that the Argosy was where the Russian was staying, and it came as no surprise when we saw that the dead guy was him.

  Ox pointed to the wall.

  There, in bold, red letters, were the words, "NOT IN KC!" and under them was the letter 'V'.

  "The vigilante!" Ox said. "He's sending a message to the Russians that it was him and not the Italians that had taken the guy out. How did he know?"

  We interrogated the manager of the hotel and, of course, he had heard nothing.

  We asked him if there had been any strangers hanging around the night before.

  "Just an old street bum. He had panhandled enough dough to get off the street last night. Checked in about seven."

  "I don't suppose you keep a record of who is here?"

  The clerk looked offended. "We make them sign in."

  "So did this guy sign in?"

  "Sure did. Had kind of a funny name too. Said his name was Vincent Justice. Here look," he said, handing us the logbook.

  We looked, but the log didn't say Vincent Justice. It said, "V. Justice".

  I looked at Ox. I'm guessing that stands for 'vigilante justice.'

  It was going to be another long day.

  When I returned home that evening, Willie met me at the door.