[Lady Justice 03] - Lady Justice Gets Lei'd Page 3

  His story, visually augmented with slides from the beautiful islands of the Hawaiian chain, told of the voyages of the early Polynesians across three thousand miles of open ocean, over three hundred years before the birth of Christ. He told of the colonization of the islands and the social structure of the early Hawaiians with their alii, or chiefs, and their kahuna, or priests.

  Each phase of their early history was brought to life by the artifacts that were on display. We could visualize the pounding of the taro plant into poi with the stone mallet and bowl. The magnificent feathered capes, headgear, and kahili of the chiefs bore testimony of their royalty, and the war clubs of koa inset with razor sharp shark’s teeth were a grim reminder that men throughout the centuries have fought one another to the death.

  We sat spellbound as Uncle Ray shared the history of his early ancestors. It was more than just an old man telling a story; it was almost as if he were a vessel through which the chiefs and priests from generations past were speaking.

  He seemed to be almost in a trance as he spoke, but suddenly his countenance changed, and he looked around the room and stared into the eyes of each listener, one by one.

  Finally, his piercing gaze fell on Maggie, and as he stared into her eyes, we heard the words akua and mana.

  His gaze shifted to me, back to Maggie, and then to me again.

  It felt as if he had used my eyes to gain entry into my soul. It was a sensation I had never felt before or since.

  My eyes were locked with his, and he muttered, “Kane, kokua.”

  Just as abruptly as it had come, his countenance reverted back to good old Uncle Ray. He thanked everyone for their attendance and hoped they enjoyed the presentation. Then he pointed to Maggie and me.

  “You stay!”

  After everyone else had departed, he knelt down in front of us.

  “My homeland calls to you. It is not yours to understand now, but the day will come. You have been chosen.”

  We both sat there dumbfounded.

  He turned to Maggie. “You are to be called Hualani.”

  Then he turned to me. “And you are Kamamalu.”

  He reached into a pouch he carried around his waist and removed a small object carved from black obsidian.

  It was a lizard.

  “Take mo’o’ala. He is your aumakua. He will guide you.”

  He pressed the tiny lizard into the palm of my hand.

  “You go now, but remember my words, and listen in your hearts for the call of the aina.”

  He rose and left us alone.

  We sat there speechless, trying to make sense of what had just transpired. I could have almost believed it was a dream were it not for the obsidian lizard I clutched in my hand.

  Maggie spoke first. “Walt, what just happened?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  “Please don’t laugh when I tell you this. It sounds so stupid now.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “You know I’ve never been to any of the Hawaiian Islands.”

  “Right.”

  “While Uncle Ray was showing the slides, I had the distinct feeling I had been there before. It was like when I returned to my childhood home for the first time after many years. Everything had changed, but there was an instinctual recognition of places and events. I can’t describe it any other way.”

  “Are you as creeped out as I am?”

  “Probably more!”

  On the way home we did our best to recall every word that Uncle Ray had spoken to us and wrote it all down as best we could.

  We were on Main Street, just a few minutes from Maggie’s apartment on the Plaza, when she exclaimed, “Oh, rats! I almost forgot. I’m totally out of milk. Can we pull into a 7-Eleven? I’ll just be a minute.”

  I pulled into the first convenience store I could find and noticed that the gas gauge was leaning toward empty.

  “I’ll gas up while you’re shopping.”

  Maggie headed into the store, and I started pumping. I set the nozzle on automatic and leaned back against the side of the car, my mind still pondering our strange encounter with Uncle Ray.

  Suddenly, gas spewed from the tank and drenched my trousers. The automatic shut-off had failed to engage. By the time I manually shut down the pump, I was dripping with high octane.

  “Well, crap! I’m going to need a shower just to get home.”

  I headed for the men’s room on the side of the building.

  I thought I heard shouting from inside the store, but the walls were thick, and the water was running. I soaped up and de-gassed as best I could.

  I exited the men’s room just in time to see a black

  Chevy minivan burn rubber out of the parking lot.

  People began pouring out of the store, some crying, some screaming.

  I grabbed a young kid by the arm. “What in the world’s going on?”

  “Robbery! And they took her!”

  “Took who?”

  “Some lady with red hair.”

  My heart leaped into my throat.

  “Maggie!”

  I ran into the store and found the manager, who had just called 911.

  I flashed my badge. “Quick! Tell me what happened!”

  “A black man with a gun came to the counter and demanded money. I gave him all that was in the register. A red-haired woman had just come to the counter with a gallon of milk. He took the money, grabbed the woman, and ran out of the store.”

  My heart sank.

  “What did he look like?”

  “He was a black dude.”

  “Yes, you said that. What else? Surely you can do better than that.”

  “He was tall. Oh yeah, he held the gun in his right hand, and I saw two sixes tattooed on his wrist.”

  No, not sixes; they were nines, and they were badges of honor earned for two previous abductions.

  I slumped to the floor and leaned against the counter. I felt like all the life had just been sucked out of me.

  I was still there when the first officer arrived on the scene. It was my friend and first recruit into the C.R.A.P. program.

  “Vince, they’ve got Maggie!”

  CHAPTER 3

  As soon as Vince reported that Maggie was the abductee, a dozen police cruisers converged on the convenience store. Even the captain came and personally took charge of the investigation.

  I was a total wreck.

  “Walt, go home,” the captain ordered.

  “But—”

  “You’re in no shape to help us right now. Let us do our job. I’ll have Vince call you the minute we know anything. Now go!”

  I stumbled into my car and headed toward Armour Boulevard.

  As I thought of Maggie in the hands of those bastards, I was overcome with grief, and another wave of uncontrollable sobbing wracked my body. I pulled to the side of the street and waited until the tears subsided.

  When the wave had passed, I just sat there. I was an emotional wreck, and I could think of nothing but the void in my life without Maggie.

  Eventually I became aware of an uncomfortable sensation. Something was poking me in the area of my groin.

  I fished around in my pocket and discovered the cause of my discomfort, a tiny black lizard.

  I clutched the amulet in my hand and reflected upon the events of the day. In just a few short hours, my life had transformed from a state of bliss and contentment to one of grief and regret.

  As I gazed at the lizard, I recalled Uncle Ray’s words, “Take mo’o’ala. He is your aumakua. He will guide you.”

  I almost laughed as I looked again at the tiny bauble in my hand.

  “Superstitious old fool,” I muttered bitterly.

  But then I also remembered the sensation I felt as Uncle Ray’s eyes peered into the depths of my soul. I clutched the amulet in my hand and pressed it against my chest.

  “I could use some help right now.”

  A feeling of calm spread through my body, and my mind, wh
ich had been clouded with grief and self-pity, suddenly cleared. It was almost like the sun breaking through the gloom after a summer storm.

  A verse from the old 1972 Johnny Nash song came to mind:

  I can see clearly now, the rain has gone.

  I can see all the obstacles in my way.

  I knew what I had to do.

  I pulled to the curb in front of my building, and as I’d hoped, my old friend Willie Duncan was sitting on the porch steps.

  Willie lives in the basement apartment and takes care of the maintenance of my two buildings. I met Willie years ago when he was a street hustler. We hit it off, and he has been with me ever since. While Willie has given up his life of petty larceny, he has maintained his relationship with his old friends on the seamier side of town. As a trusted friend from the old days, Willie is sometimes privy to information known only to the street people.

  Riding on Willie’s shirttail, I have developed a you-scratch-my-back-and-I’ll-scratch-yours relationship with various hookers and con men.

  More than once, these relationships have helped us bring down some really bad dudes, and more than once Willie and hiscohorts have saved my sorry ass.

  As I approached, I was greeted by Willie’s favorite salutation, “Hey, Mr. Walt. How’s it hanging?”

  “It’s hanging pretty low right now. Willie, I need your help. They’ve got Maggie.”

  “Who’s got Maggie?”

  “The Niners.”

  “Oh, Mr. Walt. Dat’s bad news. Dem guys is just plain crazy.”

  I told Willie about the gang’s initiation rites and about Maggie’s abduction. “So far, no one’s been able to put a finger on Jerome, the head guy. I have to talk to him.”

  “From what I hear, Jerome don’t talk to nobody. He jus’ hurts people.”

  “Surely someone on the street knows how to get in touch with Jerome. How about Louie the Lip?”

  “No, sir! Louie and guys like me don’t want nothin’ to do wit dem crazy dudes.”

  “I’m not saying he runs with them, but I’d bet he knows where they hang out. Please, will you talk to him?”

  Reluctantly, Willie agreed, and we headed for Louie’s corner on Independence Avenue.

  While Louie and I weren’t exactly on a first-name basis, he and Willie had helped subdue a mob hit man who had killed Doris, who was a hooker and mutual friend.

  Louie climbed into the car and gave me a nod.

  “Hey, bro.”

  For the third time that day, I told the story of Maggie’s abduction.

  Louie sat in silence. Finally he said, “I like you, man. But you dealing with some serious shit here.

  Since Jerome come to town, he got two things on his mind: hurtin’ white folks and findin’ de guy what shot his brudda. If Jerome find out I even talkin’ to you, I won’t last a day.”

  “I would think that Jerome would think kindly about the guy who brought his brother’s shooter to him. What do you think?”

  “Well sho. But what guy is gonna be stupid enough to walk up to Jerome and admit he shot his brother?”

  “I would.”

  “Shit, man! You de dude that shot Lil D?”

  “Yep, and I want to make a deal: me for Maggie.

  Can you get in touch with him?”

  “If Jerome finds out you de guy, you a dead man for sure. It’s crazy, man.”

  I turned to Willie. “If there was any way you could have saved Doris, what would you have done?”

  Willie looked at me and turned to Louie. “Make de call.”

  I knew he would understand.

  “Wait here,” Louie ordered. A few minutes later he returned with a slip of paper. “Here’s a number where you can contact Jerome. I didn’t say nothin’ except you had information on who shot his brudda. Good luck, man. You gonna need it.”

  I thanked him, and I headed back to the apartment to drop Willie off.

  “Okay, Mr. Walt. What we gonna do?”

  “We aren’t going to do anything. You’re done. You’re out of it. From here on, it’s all me.”

  “But you gonna call Ox and Vince, right?”

  “Nope. If Jerome finds out I brought the cops, Maggie won’t have a chance.”

  “But what you gonna do?”

  “What I’m going to do is get Maggie out of there, and what you’re going to do is go home and take care of things until I get back.”

  “Walt, you my bes’ friend. I couldn’t do nothin’ to help Doris. Please let me help you.”

  A plan began to form in my mind.

  “Okay, you can help, but you have to do exactly what I tell you, no questions asked.”

  “I promise.”

  I dropped Willie at the apartment and drove to an underground garage on Broadway. I parked, pulled out my cell phone, and dialed the number.

  “Yeah.”

  “I want to talk to Jerome.”

  “Who’s dis?”

  “Someone with information.”

  “Jerome don’ talk to nobody less he knows ‘em. Get lost.”

  “Don’t you think Jerome would like to talk to the guy who shot his brother?”

  Silence.

  “Dis Jerome. Who de hell is this?”

  “I’m the guy who shot the left nut off your pansyass brother.”

  “Den you a dead man.”

  “Not unless you can find me, and I promise that’s not going to happen unless I want it to.”

  “Why you callin’?”

  “Because I have something you want, and you have something I want.”

  “What I got that you want?”

  “The red-haired woman who was taken from the 7-Eleven today.”

  “She one fine bitch. We gonna have fun with her tonight.”

  “If you touch her, I promise you’ll never have your revenge on the guy who put your punk brother in prison to rot.”

  “What you got in mind?”

  “Me for the redhead, even exchange.”

  “You think I’m stupid. You a damn cop.”

  “No cops, I promise.”

  “Here’s de deal. You come alone to de warehouse on—”

  “No, here’s the deal. There’s a Starbucks on the corner of Armour and Broadway. We’ll meet there. You bring the redhead and anybody else you want. I’ll be there with a friend. He’s not a cop. I promise, no cops. I’ll be unarmed, and I won’t be wearing a wire. You can check me out before the exchange. When you’re satisfied, my friend takes the redhead and leaves, and when they’re gone, I’m all yours.”

  “Listen, punk, you don’t make de rules.”

  “I do this time. It’s my way or the highway. Oh, and I’ll be sure to get the word on the street that you’re as big a coward as your chicken-shit brother.”

  I could almost feel the heat through the phone.

  “Eight o’clock, and if anything goes wrong, the bitch is dead.”

  I picked Willie up at seven thirty, and we headed toward Broadway.

  “Now remember what I told you. They’re going to check me for wires and guns. When they’re satisfied, they will produce Maggie for the exchange. As soon as she is in your hands, get her out of there as fast as you can. If she’s been hurt, take her to the hospital; if not, take her straight to the precinct. She’s going to protest and not want to leave me there, but I’m counting on you to get her out of harm’s way. No heroics. Can you do that for me?”

  “Sho, but what you gonna do?”

  “Don’t worry. I have a plan.”

  Actually, I didn’t. My only goal was to get Maggie back. I didn’t have a clue what I would do after that.

  I found a parking spot on Broadway about a block from Starbucks. I handed Willie the keys, and we embraced.

  “Take care of my girl.”

  At eight fifteen, no one had showed. I wasn’t surprised.

  Jerome was no dummy. I’m sure he had been watching the coffee shop for hours before our appointed time, and he was still watching to be sure we were
n’t tailed.

  At eight thirty we saw a black guy heading our direction. “Follow me,” he ordered.

  “I’m not going anywhere. That wasn’t the deal. Pat me down, check me out any way you want, but we’re doing it right here.”

  The guy glanced over his shoulder and apparently got the go-ahead. As unobtrusively as possible, he patted and poked until he was satisfied and gave another nod over his shoulder.

  A tall black man emerged from the parking lot at the rear of the coffee shop. It was Jerome, and he had Maggie.

  Our eyes met, and I saw her fear when she realized what was about to transpire.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but I shook my head. She fell silent.

  I looked Jerome in the eye. His face was contorted into a malevolent grin. I could only imagine the pleasure he had felt as he conjured ways to exact his revenge.

  “You ready to do this?”

  “Let’s do it, man. I got some big plans for you.”

  He pushed Maggie in my direction. I took her hand and whisked her back and into Willie’s waiting arms. I whispered, “I love you,” in her ear and turned to Willie.

  “Go! Now!”

  Maggie resisted, as I knew she would, but Willie was a man of his word and pushed her forcefully into the waiting car. I saw the taillights disappear around the corner and turned to Jerome. “I’m all yours.”

  I was led to the parking lot at the rear of the coffee shop and shoved into the same Chevy van that had taken Maggie.

  I noted that they didn’t bother to blindfold me as we traveled the streets of Kansas City to their gang hangout. I took that as a bad omen; they knew I would never be leaving.

  We drove in circles for about an hour. I figured they were checking for tails.

  Finally satisfied, they headed for St. John Avenue, and we pulled into the driveway of an old brick building that had once housed a Wonder Bread Thrift Store.

  The big metal door rolled up, and we parked next to the old loading dock.

  I was led through a set of swinging doors into a large, open room. I wasn’t prepared for the spectacle that met my eyes.

  An empty chair sat at one end of the room, and at least thirty more chairs were set in a semi-circle, each one occupied by a member of the gang.