Lady Justice and the Evil Twin Page 2

  Kevin couldn’t let it go. “More proof that it wasn’t you.”

  “Look,” I said, “I really need to find this guy.” I handed her my card. “How would you like to make a hundred bucks?”

  “Well, sure. What would I have to do?”

  “Just give me a call if he comes back in.”

  “That’s it?”

  I nodded. “That’s it.”

  “Okay. I might even throw in a dance.”

  “Right back where we started,” I said as we climbed into my car.

  “Well, the day wasn’t a total loss,” Kevin replied. “At least Friedman and Plotz are going back where they belong.”

  “Yes, but I’m no closer to finding my doppelganger.”

  “True, but there may be a lap dance in your future.”

  “Not a chance! I’m innocent and I’m staying that way!”

  CHAPTER 3

  Viktor Kozlov had been summoned from New York to Kansas City by Ivan Sokolov, but the Russian mob boss had been unexpectedly called to Las Vegas, leaving Viktor at loose ends until his return.

  Viktor paced the cheap hotel room, cursing this disappointing turn of events. He had blown his cash at the Shady Lady, expecting to get an advance from Sokolov on his upcoming job.

  “Gotta get me some walking around money,” he muttered.

  He remembered seeing a convenience store a few blocks from his hotel.

  “That should do it,” he said, tucking his automatic into his pants.

  Viktor watched the store from his car. It was a busy place with a steady stream of customers coming and going. Finally, there was a lull. As best he could tell, there was only one woman in the store. She wouldn’t be a problem.

  When he entered the store, the woman was in the back by the frozen food cooler. He approached the Asian man behind the counter and pulled the gun from his pants.

  “Just give me the money from the cash register and no one gets hurt.”

  “Okay, just take it easy,” the startled attendant replied. But instead of opening the register, he reached for a gun under the counter.

  “Damn!” Victor muttered, firing two shots into the attendant’s chest. “Why did you have to go and do that?”

  He leaped over the counter, pulled the attendant’s key card from around his neck and swiped open the cash drawer. He was stuffing bills in his pocket when he heard the screams of the woman shopper.

  He thought about taking care of her, but then he heard the sirens in the distance. Grabbing a bottle of Jack Daniels from the shelf, he sprinted back to his car.

  I had just polished off the last bite of chicken fried steak at Mel’s Diner when my cell phone buzzed. It was a text from Maggie asking me to pick up a gallon of milk on my way home.

  I paid my tab and headed to the Shop-N-Go a few blocks from the diner. When I pulled into the parking lot, I was surprised to see two black and whites with lights flashing.

  When I entered the store, two cops I didn’t know were talking to an obviously distraught woman. The moment she saw me, she grabbed one of the cops and pointed at me.

  “That’s him!” she screamed. “That’s the man who shot the attendant!”

  Before I could utter a word, the cops had me face down on the ground. One of them was cuffing my hands while the other had his foot on my neck.

  Then I heard a familiar voice. “Briscoe, what have we got here?” It was Detective Derek Blaylock.

  “Detective,” Briscoe replied, “this lady saw the whole thing and says this schmuck is the guy who shot the clerk and robbed the place.”

  I could barely speak with the officer’s boot on my neck. “Derek --- help me out here.”

  Blaylock took a closer look. “He’s a schmuck all right, but he’s not a killer. He’s one of us. Let him up.”

  “But ---,” Briscoe stammered.

  “I said let him up. That’s Walt Williams. He had five years on the job and two Distinguished Service Medals.”

  Reluctantly, the cops pulled me to my feet and freed my hands.

  The woman who fingered me was incensed. “Look! I know what I saw. He’s the guy!”

  Derek looked at me. “Walt, care to explain?”

  “First,” I replied, rubbing my wrists, “for the last hour, I’ve been at Mel’s Diner. Give him a call. He’ll tell you. Second, I think I know what’s going on. I’ve got a doppelganger and apparently he’s not a very nice guy.”

  “A what?”

  “A doppelganger. Someone who looks just like me. Let me show you.”

  I had sent the incriminating strip club video to my phone because Maggie needed hers for work.

  “See,” I said, “that’s the guy.”

  “Sure looks like you,” he replied.

  “Some creep took this and sent it to Maggie.”

  “Ooooh, I bet that took some explaining.”

  “It did, but like today, I had an alibi.”

  At that moment, another officer called out. “Detective, I’ve got the surveillance video pulled up.”

  We crowded into the small office and the officer pushed ‘play.’ We all watched in hushed silence as the terrible scene played out.

  “Damn,” Blaylock muttered, “sure looks like you.”

  I was getting really tired of hearing that phrase. “True, but if you’ll notice, we’re wearing different clothing, so unless you think that I held up the place, ran to my car and changed clothes, then returned ---.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it,” he interrupted. “It’s not you. I’ll have the crime scene boys do their thing. Maybe we’ll get some prints.”

  An hour later I headed home, and just as I pulled up to the curb, it struck me. In all the excitement, I forgot to get the milk.

  It had been one of those days.

  The next morning, I received a call from Blaylock.

  “Walt, we were able to pull prints from the cash register. They belong to a guy by the name of Viktor Kozlov. His last known address was in New York. Here’s the kicker. The guy has ties to the Russian mob and has a reputation as a gun for hire.”

  Swell, I thought, my doppelganger is a crook!

  I had a sinking feeling that this was far from over, and I’d be hearing more about Mr. Kozlov.

  CHAPTER 4

  Ivan Sokolov was furious.

  “You’ve only been in town two days and already the cops are looking for you! A convenience store for chrissakes!”

  “How do you know about that?”

  “I have my sources. I have to tell you, Viktor, I’m disappointed. My people in New York said you were a pro. I’m not so sure.”

  “Okay, so I made a mistake. It won’t happen again. I can handle anything you throw my way.”

  “I certainly hope so. Our goal is to make a move on the Italian mob. They have a stranglehold on the entire city. That’s why I sent for you.”

  “I don’t get it. Surely you have people in your organization who could handle the work.”

  “That’s just it. I have the manpower, but Carmine Marchetti’s men know all my guys. I wanted a fresh face --- one they don’t know. Frankly, I’m surprised they sent an old guy like you.”

  “That’s part of my charm,” Viktor replied, smiling. “Nobody pays any attention to old farts. We’re invisible. Who would suspect an old guy like me was a hired gun?”

  “Maybe,” Ivan replied, skeptically. “We’ll see.”

  “So what’s my first job?”

  “We’re going to start by hitting them in the pocket book. Marchetti has a very lucrative protection racket. Once a month, he has one of his goons collect from all the retailers under his wing. Tomorrow is collection day. You’ll follow his man, and when he’s finished his route, relieve him of his booty.”

  “What about the guy?”

  “I wouldn’t be unhappy if there was one less Italian in Kansas City.”

  “I get your drift. I’ll take care of it.”

  The next day, Viktor shadowed the mobster as he made his
rounds. At the end of the day, he approached the man as he was getting into his car.

  “Hold on a minute, pal,” he said, palming the automatic he had hidden inside his jacket.

  The man looked up and smiled. “Hey, good to see you again.”

  That certainly wasn’t the response Viktor expected.

  Viktor peered into the car. “Quite a haul you got there.”

  “Yeah, Carmine will be happy. Everyone paid up. No hold outs.”

  “Too bad he won’t be seeing any of that cash. Hand it over.”

  “You got to be kidding me! Carmine will ---.”

  The man was cut off in mid-sentence as two shots rang out from Viktor’s gun. As the man crumpled to the ground, Viktor grabbed the satchel full of cash from the car.

  Ivan will be pleased, he thought. He will know that he hired the right man for the job.

  Carmine Marchetti heard a knock on his office door. It was Vito, his most trusted lieutenant.

  “Bad news, boss.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “Today was Vinnie’s day to make collections. Lou’s Liquors was his last stop. Lou gave me a call and said as soon as Vinnie left the store, he saw some dude shoot Vinnie and make off with the cash.”

  “Jesus! Did Lou get a good look at the guy?”

  “He says he did, but here’s the kicker. I got to Vinnie just before he bled out. I asked him who did this. You ain’t gonna like the answer.”

  “Spit it out!”

  “Vinnie said it was that old P.I. you hang around with. The one who used to be a cop.”

  Marchetti’s mouth dropped open. “Walt Williams! That can’t be. We have an understanding.”

  “I’m just tellin’ you what Vinnie said with his dying breath.”

  Marchetti thought for a moment. “Okay, here’s what I want you to do. Go pick up Lou, then get Williams. Bring ‘em here. I’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  I had just spent another grueling afternoon watching Henrietta McDougall’s mailbox with no luck. I was beginning to suspect Henrietta was making the whole thing up, but as long as she was willing to foot the bill, we’d continue the stakeout.

  I was tired, cranky, and ready to hit my recliner with a frosty glass of Arbor Mist. Just as I climbed out of my car, a big black Caddy pulled to the curb.

  I was surprised to see Vito, one of Carmine Marchetti’s henchmen, step out of the car.

  “Hey Vito, what’s up?”

  “Mr. Marchetti would like a word with you. Get in the car.”

  “Look, I’m beat. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

  Vito opened his jacket, exposing the huge gun in his shoulder holster.

  “It wasn’t a request. Now get in the car.”

  “Okay, okay, don’t get testy.”

  I climbed into the back seat with another guy I’d never seen before.

  “What’s this all about?” I asked, obviously perplexed.

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” Vito replied.

  On the way downtown, I reflected on my history with Kansas City’s mafia boss. Under normal circumstances, I don’t associate with underworld thugs, but for some inexplicable reason, fate had thrown us together on several occasions. I had actually saved his life more than once, and he had done the same for me.

  While we weren’t exactly buddies, we had reached an understanding and developed a mutual respect for one another. Although Marchetti was a crime boss, there were certain moral boundaries he would not cross.

  Nevertheless, I was more than a little concerned about my current situation. I knew for a fact that others who earned Carmine’s displeasure were wearing concrete shoes somewhere in the depths of the Missouri River.

  Vito parked and escorted me and the other passenger to Marchetti’s office.

  Once inside, Carmine gave me a withering look, then turned to the other man.

  “Lou, is this the guy?”

  “Yes, Mr. Marchetti. That’s him. That’s the guy who whacked Vinnie.”

  “Thanks, Lou. You can go.”

  Then he turned to me. “Walt, you were my favorite gumshoe. I’m really disappointed.”

  I was starting to get a very bad feeling.

  “Carmine! I don’t know what you think I did, but I promise you, I didn’t do whatever it was.”

  “So, are you gonna stand there and tell me you didn’t whack Vinnie and take my collection proceeds?”

  “Absolutely not! I’m smart enough to never do anything like that.”

  “Then how come Vinnie fingered you with his dying breath, and Lou there saw the whole thing and said it was you?”

  Then it dawned on me. It had to have been Viktor Kozlov.

  “Carmine! I can explain.”

  “I certainly hope so, for your sake.”

  “It wasn’t me. It was my doppelganger.”

  “Your what?”

  I turned to Vito. “I’m going to reach into my jacket for my phone.” He nodded. One time I reached without his permission and he almost broke my arm.

  “There’s a guy in town who looks just like me. Let me show you.”

  I handed him the Shady Lady video.

  “See, that guy looks like me, but it’s not.”

  He took a close look. “Sure looks like you.”

  “I know. By any chance did you hear about the clerk that got shot at the Shop-N-Go?”

  “Yeah, I heard about it. Too bad. Yin Ling was a good guy.”

  “Well, the guy in the video did that job, and I’m positive it was him who shot Vinnie and took your money.”

  “Does this guy have a name?”

  “Yes, the cops got fingerprints at the convenience store. He’s Russian. His name is Viktor Kozlov.”

  Carmine’s face turned red and he slammed his fist on the desk. I nearly wet my pants.

  “Damn! I should have known. The Russians! They’ve been trying to muscle into my territory for months now.”

  Then he looked at me and smiled. “I’m glad it wasn’t you. I would have hated to make your sweet wife, Maggie, a widow.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. “Yeah, me too.”

  “Okay, gumshoe, here’s what I want you to do. I know you have connections with the cops. If you hear anything about this Kozlov creep, you give me a call. Capisce?”

  “Not a problem. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”

  “Good! Now get out of here. Vito will drive you home.”

  On the way home, Vito said, “Good thing that wasn’t you. There’s a bag of cement mix in the trunk with your name on it. Guess I’ll be saving it for the Russian.”

  So far, Viktor Kozlov had gotten me in trouble with my wife, then the cops, and most recently, the don of the Kansas City mafia.

  If I found him first, Vito wouldn’t be needing the cement.

  CHAPTER 5

  Viktor was right. Ivan was very pleased when he opened the satchel full of cash.

  “You did well,” Ivan said, smiling. “Now the Italian will know that we mean business. What about the collector?”

  “Let’s just say there’s one less Italian in Kansas City,” Viktor replied.

  “Excellent!” Ivan said, handing Viktor a wad of twenties’ off the huge stack of cash. “For now, just lay low. No more convenience stores. Understand?”

  Viktor nodded.

  “Good, I will contact you for your next assignment.”

  After stopping by a liquor store for a quart of Vodka, Viktor settled into his hotel room and switched on the TV.

  A news anchor filled the screen. He was talking about President Trump’s latest round of tweets. Quickly losing interest, Viktor was about to change channels when the screen switched to a reporter on the street outside of a Shop-N-Go.

  “Police are still baffled by the latest Kanas City homicide,” she said, pointing to the convenience store. “An armed gunman entered the store and demanded money. When the clerk reached for a weapon, the gunman fired, killing
the clerk. Police arrived and moments later, a man eventually identified as Walter Williams entered the store and was identified by an eyewitness as the assailant.”

  Viktor stared bewildered as a photo of the man they arrested filled the screen.

  “Police soon discovered it was a case of mistaken identity. The actual gunman was later identified by fingerprints left at the scene, as Viktor Kozlov.”

  A photo of Viktor then filled the screen.

  “If you have seen this man, please call the Tips Hotline. Do not approach. The police say Kozlov is armed and dangerous.”

  Viktor switched off the TV and took another shot of Vodka.

  “How can this be?” he muttered. “This Walter Williams could be my brother. No, this Walter Williams could be me!”

  The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he might be able to take advantage of this quirk of fate.

  He booted up an old lap top computer he had brought with him from New York, and Googled Walter Williams.

  His eyes lit up as he read that his look-alike had been a cop and was now a private investigator. He went to the People Finder website, paid the fee, and found Williams’ home address which was just a few blocks from his hotel.

  As he was contemplating how best to use this new information, he realized that he hadn’t eaten all day. He remembered seeing a diner on Broadway. It would do.

  As he entered the diner, the man behind the counter waved. “Hi, Walt. The usual?”

  Viktor was caught off guard, but quickly responded. “Sure, the usual would be great.” Apparently, Walt Williams was a regular customer.

  A few minutes later, the man appeared with a huge plate of chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes, all smothered in gravy. He had just finished wiping up the last drop of gravy, when the man appeared again with a huge piece of chocolate cream pie.

  “Walt,” the man said, “do you have time to talk to a potential client?”

  “Uhhhh, sure.”