[Lady Justice 04] - Lady Justice And The Avenging Angels Read online

As luck would have it, the guy standing next to her was the poor chap she had doubled over with her carry-on. Mary snarled, and the guy backed away and headed for the far side of the carousel. Once burnt—twice shy!

  We loaded our luggage into Vince’s van, and during the hour-long trip from the airport to midtown Kansas City, Vince brought me up to date on the activities at the precinct.

  “So when are you scheduled back to work?” he asked.

  “Not until day after tomorrow. I know I’ll be so jet-lagged tomorrow I won’t be able to keep my eyes open.”

  “Great. You’ll be back just in time for the big parade.”

  I was about to nod off to sleep, but that got my attention.

  “What parade?”

  “The Gay Pride Parade. Don’t you remember it from last year? It starts at Eighteenth and Main and goes south to Penn Valley Park. The brass want all hands on deck. It’s usually pretty quiet, but you never know when protesters are going to muck things up.”

  I had been hoping I could quietly ease back into our daily routine, but apparently that wasn’t going to happen.

  “Swell, something to look forward to.”

  “Did the contractors finish the work in your apartment, or are you coming home to a mess?”

  “They were supposed to be finished. At least I hope so.”

  Before we were married, Maggie lived in a one-bedroom apartment on the Country Club Plaza, and I lived in my two-bedroom unit on the third floor of my Armour building. Both apartments had only one bath, and neither was big enough for the two of us.

  On more than one occasion, Maggie had spent the night at my place and vice-versa. Though we loved being together, it became painfully clear that if our marriage was to last, we were going to need more room and another toilet.

  Just before we left for Hawaii, fortune smiled upon us.

  One of my long-term tenants on the first floor relocated to an extended care facility, so I asked Jerry, who occupied the other apartment on the third floor, to move down. I hired a contractor to remodel the two two-bedroom, one-bath units into a roomy three-bedroom, two-bath with new fixtures, a huge walk-in closet, and an office.

  Unfortunately, when tearing out walls, the contractor had found a dismembered body tucked between the studs. As you could imagine, the work came to a screeching halt until the mess was sorted out.

  Dad had called and said the contractors were finished, but I had no idea in what condition they had left it.

  My eighty-six-year-old father lives in one of the units on the first floor. I hadn’t seen him in years until a few months ago when I received a call that he was being thrown out of the Shady Glen Extended Care Facility for fostering lewd and lascivious behavior among the senior residents. I happened to have a vacancy at the time, so now my father is one of my tenants.

  The horny old goat didn’t waste any time staking his claim on another of my longtime residents, eighty-seven-year-old Bernice Crenshaw.

  The two of them hit it off right away and have become quite an item. I’m sure that Wally Crumpet, the local pharmacist, is thrilled. I imagine his Viagra sales have skyrocketed since Dad moved in.

  Jerry, or, Jerry the Joker, as we call him, now lives on the first floor.

  Seventy-two-year-old Jerry fancies himself as the second coming of Rodney Dangerfield and is constantly cracking jokes. He was driving us all nuts until we turned him on to amateur night at the local comedy club. He goes over to the Three Trails and practices his shtick on the old retired guys who rock on the front porch.

  He still feels compelled to regale us with his merriment on occasion, but now it’s mostly tolerable.

  Fortunately, my last tenant adds some class to our forlorn little group. Eighty-eight-year-old Professor Leopold Skinner, my psychology professor when I attended the University of Missouri, Kansas City, moved into my building when he retired. His wit and wisdom have been invaluable over the years, and his knowledge of the workings of the human mind has, in more than one instance, helped us bring wrongdoers to justice.

  We dropped Mary off at the Three Trails and headed to Armour Boulevard.

  When we pulled to the curb, our welcoming party was waiting for us. Two old octogenarians were smooching on the swing that hung from the ceiling of the big stone porch; an old guy looking a lot like Colonel Sanders was deep in conversation with a skinny fellow who had an eerie resemblance to Pinky Lee.

  A tear welled up in my eye. We had been gone two weeks, and I just realized how much I had missed them.

  Dad, Bernice, Jerry, and the professor rushed the car, pulled us to the sidewalk, and smothered us with hugs and kisses.

  “Welcome home, son. We all missed you.”

  “We missed you too, Dad. Is everyone okay?”

  “We’re fit as fiddles, but I imagine the three of you are ready to drop after your long trip home.”

  “Yeah, we’re pretty pooped, all right. Are you sure the apartment is ready for us?”

  “Absolutely! After the cops tore everything up looking for body parts and the contractor left his construction mess, all four of us pitched in and straightened the place up. We worked for two days so that it would be perfect for our newlyweds. Think of it as a wedding gift from us.”

  Maggie had been unusually quiet on the ride home. Neither of us had been married before. We had both lived alone for years in our respective apartments, and I think she realized that her life in her cozy little unit on the plaza was coming to an end.

  Maggie looked at the four friends surrounding us. “Thank you all so much. This is going to be a big change for both Walt and me. I’m so glad that we have friends like you to help us with the transition.”

  I think I saw a tear glisten in Bernice’s eye.

  Jerry spoke up. I knew he had been busting his buttons to get his two cents in. “Maggie, I’ve been really concerned about you and Walt.”

  “Really? What are you concerned about?”

  Obviously in Maggie’s jet-lagged condition, she hadn’t realized that she had fallen into Jerry’s trap.

  “Well, I know that you have always been a career girl, and judging from last year’s Thanksgiving dinner, cooking isn’t exactly your forte.”

  Maggie rolled her eyes. She knew she had been sucked in.

  “I heard of another newlywed couple with the same problem.”

  “Okay, let’s hear it.”

  “Well, a young couple married just a few weeks returns from their honeymoon to face the beginning of their new lives. The next morning the husband wakes up, showers, dresses, and makes his way to the kitchen, where he sees his new wife crying. So the husband inquires, ‘What’s wrong, honey?’

  “‘Well, I came down here this morning to surprise you with a big breakfast, but I can’t cook or clean.’

  “The husband smiles his biggest smile and says, ‘There, there, sweetie! I don’t care that you can’t cook or clean. Come on up to the bedroom, and I’ll show you what I’d like for breakfast.’ So off they went to the bedroom.

  “That afternoon the husband comes home for lunch to find his new wife crying again in the kitchen. ‘What’s wrong now, sweetie?’

  “‘Well, the same thing as this morning. I came in here to make you something for lunch, and I just can’t cook.’

  “Again the husband smiles and says, ‘Why don’t you come back up to the bedroom, and I’ll have lunch there.’ So off they went to the bedroom again.

  “That evening the new husband comes home, walks in the house, and sees his new bride naked with a heating pad between her legs. Bewildered, he asks, ‘What are you doing, honey?’

  “‘Warming up your supper!’”

  I put my arm around Maggie’s shoulder. “Great to be home, isn’t it, dear?”

  She just shook her head.

 
Dad, of course, doubled over laughing. When at last he came up for air, he patted Bernice on the butt. “You know, sweetie, I’m feeling kind of hungry all of a sudden. How about we go upstairs and you warm me up an afternoon snack?”

  Bernice grinned and punched the old man on the shoulder.

  “Well, Dad, since you seem to have something to occupy your afternoon, I think it’s time Maggie and I took a look at our new home.”

  “Of course, son. We’ll come along and help you with your bags. We’re anxious for you to see what we’ve done with the place.”

  We all trudged up to the third floor.

  When I left three weeks ago, the third floor had a wide hallway with entrance doors on either side into the respective apartments. Now there was a new wall at the top of the stairs with a solitary door in the middle.

  Dad handed me the key to the new lock, and our four friends held their collective breaths as we opened the door and stepped into our new home.

  I felt Maggie tense as we entered the room. Fortunately, our backs were to the door, and our faces were hidden from our friends.

  While we weren’t expecting a page from House Beautiful or Better Homes And Gardens, the scene before us looked more like an article from Skid Row Monthly.

  My old furniture, which had been in the building when I purchased it thirty years ago, had fit nicely in the small, cramped apartment. But in the context of the now spacious, freshly painted walls, it looked like the place had been decorated by a bag lady shopping at the Salvation Army thrift store.

  There were no piles of construction rubbish on the floor, but a thick coat of white dust covered everything in sight. I was sure that the clean-up job done by the three octogenarians and the clown behind us was done with love and good intentions, but the final result left something to be desired.

  I knew the four of them were waiting for our reaction. Finally, I said, “Wow! I certainly wasn’t expecting this!”

  Taking that as a compliment, they all smiled and slapped one another on the back.

  Dad obviously had plans for himself and Bernice. He took her by the arm and shooed Jerry and the professor out the door. “Well, I know you two want to settle in, so we’ll leave you alone.”

  “Thanks again,” I muttered, and they left, closing the doors behind them.

  Maggie hadn’t moved a muscle. I think she was in shock. I felt her body shudder, and she burst into tears, burying her face in her hands. I didn’t say a word. I just held her and let her cry.

  When the waterworks finally subsided, Maggie wiped her nose on my sleeve. “I’m sorry, Walt. I guess the shock of this mess on top of the twenty-two-hour trip was just too much.” Then the Maggie I knew and loved reappeared. She looked around the room. “It is quite spacious, and I love the eggshell color you picked for the walls.”

  We moved into the new master bedroom.

  “Plenty of room for a king-size bed and—oh, Walt! I love this big walk-in closet. And the bath—a double sink and a new shower! It’s going to be perfect—after I make a few adjustments.”

  “Uh, exactly what kind of adjustments?”

  We had moved back to the living room.

  “First, we’ll call Goodwill and get rid of all this old furniture.”

  I looked around the room filled with the furnishings that had been part of my life for the past thirty years.

  “All of it?”

  “All of it!”

  Then I saw my old recliner. We had some fine times together, watching ballgames and movies with a glass of Arbor Mist. It was like an old friend.

  “But what about my recliner? It’s my favorite chair!”

  “Walt, the headrest is greasy, and the arms are threadbare.”

  “Isn’t that what doilies are for?”

  “I’m sorry, but that old thing is way beyond doilies.” She moved to the windows. “And the curtains; we’ll need new curtains at every window.”

  I looked at the sheers that had been hanging there as long as I could remember. “So I guess you don’t like brown?”

  “Walt, they used to be white.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’ll have this place ready to go in no time. You call Goodwill, and I know a woman who cleans houses for one of my clients. She’ll have this place sparkling before the new furniture is delivered.”

  I took another look at the forlorn old recliner and choked back the lump in my throat. My first thought was to protest, but since I preferred Maggie bossy to weepy, I figured it was best to just go with the flow.

  “Sounds like a plan. Shall we get unpacked?”

  “Not a chance. I’m not spending a night in this dump until it’s ready to go. We’ll stay at my place.”

  “But what about Jerry and Dad and—”

  “We’ll sneak down the back stairs. They’ll never know we’re gone. Anyway, I’m guessing your dad and Bernice are—umm—occupied at the moment.”

  She was probably right.

  Chapter 2

  I had mixed feelings as I drove to the precinct on my first day back to work.

  I had just spent three weeks in the beautiful Hawaiian Islands, but as with most Walt Williams endeavors, my vacation and honeymoon had been interrupted by murder, mayhem, kidnapping, and another near-death experience.

  I love my job, and I love the guys I work with, but I just didn’t quite get my fill of sandy beaches, fruity little drinks with umbrellas, and nothing better to do than spend time with my sweetie. It was hard to get my nose back to the grindstone.

  I walked into the squad room, and the ambivalent feelings vanished when I saw that the room had been decorated like a Hawaiian luau.

  The room filled with hoots and hollers as my partner, Ox, stepped up and placed a flower lei around my neck.

  “I missed you, buddy. Welcome back.”

  Another round of cheers went up. When quiet was restored, Dooley, a young officer, quipped, “After three weeks in paradise with your new bride, we didn’t know if you’d have the strength to come back to work.”

  I figured I was in for another round of ribbing, but at that moment Captain Short entered the room. The hooting came to a screeching halt.

  The captain frowned as he surveyed the posters and decorations. Then he turned to me. “Williams! I see you’re disrupting my squad meeting again.”

  The room grew still.

  A smile broke on the captain’s lips. “Welcome back, Walt.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The captain directed his attention to the assembled squad. “Okay, guys, it’s going to be a busy day. As you know, the Gay Pride Parade starts at 11:00 a.m. There are going to be around thirty thousand people in town for this event.

  “The first few years that the event was held, there were lots of angry protestors, and violent clashes between the gays and the straights were common. With all of the positive publicity and the strides the gay community has made, the last couple of years have been pretty calm. I want it to stay that way.

  “The parade draws a big crowd. Besides the ordinary-looking folks, there will be trannys dressed to the hilt and lots of leather marching down Main Street. It will be a mixed bag along the parade route. Gays and lesbians will be there to cheer on their friends, straight guys and gals will be there out of curiosity, and protestors will be there with their anti-gay placards.

  “The tough part of our job is that all of them have the right to be there. The gays have the right to march, the protestors have the right to picket, and everyone else has the right to gawk. Our job is to keep them all safe.

  “We are committing every available officer to patrol the parade route. Your assignments have been posted since Monday, so you all know where you’re supposed to be.

  “Oh, don’t forget that helmets and flak jackets are the
dress of the day. We’re not expecting trouble, but if it comes, we need to be ready. Let’s go serve and protect.”

  I turned to Ox. “So where do we fit in, big guy?”

  “We’re at Main and Pershing. Right across from Union Station.”

  “That would be about the halfway point in the parade. There should be lots of people there.”

  As we drove our old beat-up Crown Vic from the motor pool to our assigned area, Ox was unusually quiet. Finally, he spoke. “I really did miss you, Walt. I didn’t realize how great it was to have you for a partner until they put me with all those other goobers while you were gone. It got me thinking. You’re sixty-seven, and I still have another six years until I can bail out with my thirty. Do you think you can hack it another six years? I mean, you would be seventy-three.”

  I smiled. My friend, standing six feet, two inches and weighing two hundred and twenty pounds, was a big man with a big heart.

  “I can’t promise you that, Ox. You know as well as I do that either one of us could get our tickets punched any day of the week. But I will promise that I’ll be here as long as I possibly can.”

  “That’s good enough for me.”

  We parked the old Crown Vic and pushed our way through the crowd to our designated corner. I looked around.

  The captain was right on. The streets were lined six deep from street curb to building wall with the most diverse array of human beings I had ever seen.

  We arrived just in time to see a shoving match between a guy in black leather and a guy in a suit and tie carrying a sign that read, “Go home, faggots!”

  Ox grabbed the leather guy, I grabbed the suit, and we pulled them apart.

  “He called me a faggot!”

  “He pushed me!”

  “Shut up! Both of you!” Ox bellowed. “Here’s the deal. You both have the right to be here and to believe whatever you want to believe. You don’t have the right to offend, abuse, or incite violence of any kind. Now I can press this little button on my mike and have a paddy wagon here in about five minutes to take you to jail, or you can behave like adults. Which will it be? I don’t give a damn one way or the other.”