Lady Justice in the Eye of the Storm Page 4

I couldn’t stop thinking about Cleavon Fowler’s answer when Suzanne asked him why Tyrell was stopped so many times by the police.

  “Why? Because he’s big an’ he’s black! Dat’s why! Anytime somethin’ bad goes down, we the first ones the cops go lookin’ for.”

  It made me think of Elvis’ poignant hit back in 1969, In the Ghetto.

  On a cold a grey Chicago mornin’, a poor little baby child is born in the ghetto.

  That could have been Tyrell Jackson and it could have been Kansas City.

  People don’t you understand, the child needs a helping hand or he’ll grow to be an angry young man someday.

  Tyrell didn’t get that helping hand and he did indeed grow into an angry young man. For reasons deeply ingrained in our society, his size and the color of his skin made him a person to be feared and avoided.

  Take a look at you and me. Are we too blind to see? Do we simply turn our heads and look the other way?

  As a middle-class white man, I can’t imagine what it must be like, being a minority, living in poverty and shunned by society. We live our own lives, struggle with our own problems and pretty much shut out the rest of the world ---until fate intervenes --- like the day Ox and I stopped two black boys walking down the street.

  And his hunger burns. He starts to roam the streets at night. He learns how to steal and he learns how to fight.

  That was Tyrell Jackson’s life. He learned to steal and fight to survive, but in doing so, it was just a matter of time before those skills got him in trouble with the law.

  Out of frustration and desperation, Tyrell had lashed out.

  As a crowd gathers ‘round an angry young man, face down in the street with a gun in his hand, his mother cries.

  It wasn’t a gun, but a knife. Tyrell was dead just the same, and I’ll never forget his mother weeping uncontrollably as her son’s body was carried away.

  Forty-five years have passed since Elvis sang those words.

  Forty-five years, and things are still pretty much the same.

  CHAPTER 5

  The captain breathed a sigh of relief as he handed us our badges and service weapons.

  “The way things were going, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be doing this.”

  “You probably wouldn’t have,” I replied, “if it weren’t for Vince. He saved our butts.”

  “I just want you to know,” the captain said apologetically, “that I never doubted your story for a minute, but we had no choice. We had to let the thing play out.”

  “We understand,” Ox replied. “We’re just glad it’s over.”

  “Unfortunately, it’s not really over just yet. Even though the two of you have been acquitted, Tyrell Jackson is still dead and there’s a lot of resentment and frustration in the black community. I’ve discussed the situation with the command staff and the general consensus is that it might be a good idea for the two of you to disappear for a few weeks until this thing dies down.”

  I couldn’t believe what the captain was saying. “So we’re being run out of town?”

  The captain raised his hands defensively. “Don’t think of it like that. Think of it as a well-deserved vacation. You and your wives have been through a terrible ordeal and you’ve both got plenty of vacation time built up. Get away, relax, enjoy yourselves for chrissakes!”

  I looked at Ox. “Looks like we’re leaving town whether we want to or not. Any ideas?”

  Ox shrugged. “Not a clue.”

  The captain shook his head in dismay. “I figured as much. You guys are really boring. I just might have a solution for you. How would you like to spend a couple of weeks in Cabo San Lucas? Sun, sand, margaritas --- the whole nine yards.”

  Ox, the world traveler, had no idea what the captain was talking about. “Cabo what?”

  “Cabo San Lucas. It’s a resort area at the tip of the Baja Peninsula. Golf, sport fishing, scuba diving --- it’s all there.”

  “But I don’t do any of that stuff,” Ox protested.

  “Well, it’s pretty obvious that you eat, drink and sleep and you might just enjoy doing it at a fancy resort.”

  Fancy resort? It suddenly occurred to me that the captain had a hidden agenda.

  “Okay, what’s the catch? You obviously have something in mind.”

  “Can’t put anything past you,” he replied, picking up the phone. “Send Winkler in.”

  Rocky Winkler was in charge of the Drug Enforcement Unit. We had worked with him on two previous cases, both of which involved drugs being smuggled into the city by Mexican cartels. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to see that the captain’s offer wasn’t totally altruistic.

  “I’m really glad that things worked out for you,” Winkler said, taking a seat. “I’ll bet after that ordeal, a couple of weeks in a tropical paradise would feel pretty good. Sun, sand ---.”

  “Okay, cut the crap, Rocky,” I interrupted. “We’ve already heard the commercial. What’s the bottom line here?”

  Winkler smiled. “It’s a sweetheart deal. The brother of a friend of mine on the Mexican Police Force is the general manager of the Bel Air Resort in San Jose Del Cabo. It’s a real class resort and Armando runs a tight ship, but someone at the resort, either a resident or someone on the staff, is peddling drugs to the guests.

  “Some dude flies in from the U.S. or anywhere outside of Mexico, and wants a little action, grass, meth, heroin, this person can fill the bill.”

  “So how do we fit in?” Ox asked.

  “All we’re asking is that you and your wives check into the resort and keep your eyes and ears open. Three of you are cops. You know what to look for. If you see anything suspicious or if you’re approached with an offer to buy, just let Armando know and he’ll take it from there.

  “Your stay at the resort and your airfare are all covered. All it will cost you is your meals and incidental expenses. Like I said, a sweetheart deal.”

  “You must want us out of the city pretty bad,” I observed.

  “It’s a win-win for everyone,” the captain replied. “I don’t have to worry about the two of you getting blown away because of this Jackson thing, Winkler gets to help his friend and the four of you get a great tropical vacation.”

  I looked at Ox. He shrugged and said, “I’m in if you are. I like tacos.”

  “One more thing,” Winkler added, “No one but Armando will know that you’re cops. Walt, you and Maggie are retired Realtors. You’re both seventy, so that shouldn’t be hard to pull off. Ox, you and Judy have a private security firm, supplying guards for warehouses and shopping malls. Enjoy!”

  The four of us met at our apartment to plan the trip.

  Two years earlier we had taken an Alaskan cruise together to celebrate Ox and Judy’s honeymoon, so traveling together wasn’t a first-time experience.

  Ox and I had learned our lesson on the previous vacation --- when it comes to planning, stay out of the girls’ way and keep our mouths shut.

  Packing for guys is simple. Calculate the number of days away and throw that many pairs of socks, jockeys and shirts into the suitcase and we’re ready to go.

  Women, on the other hand, must prepare for any and every contingency. It’s supposed to be warm, but what if it’s cool? Shorts, slacks or capris? Will there be a hair dryer? Creams, ointments, cleansers and enough drugs to open a small pharmacy.

  Knowing nothing about the area, I looked it up on the Internet. I was pleasantly surprised to read, This is one of the very few ‘Tropical Deserts’ in the world - only 7 inches of rain a year, and no rainy season, virtually a sun-guarantee, with relatively low humidity compared with other tropical areas due to the absence of rain, and the influence of cooler Pacific breezes. This and close proximity, more than anything else, has been the reason for Cabo's popularity.

  It sounded like the perfect place to kick back and relax.

  Ox and I were well into the fourth quarter of Monday Night Football by the time the girls had their preliminary list ready.

  I
spent the next two days fetching all the items on Maggie’s list and when finally everything was assembled on our bed, it looked like we were planning to relocate to Cabo instead of just spending a couple of weeks.

  We had decided to drive to the airport the day before our flight and stay at one of the ‘park and fly’ hotels. We were scheduled to fly out at seven a.m., and since it was an international flight, we had to be at the airport at least two hours before boarding. If we had elected to drive from home, that would have meant getting up in the wee hours of the morning and I just don’t do ‘wee’ anymore.

  Naturally, when our friends and family learned of our trip, they insisted on a going-away party.

  On the afternoon of Friday, September 12th, everyone had gathered to see us off. Dad had made a run to Taco Bell to make sure our inner plumbing was properly primed and Jerry had blended a pitcher of margaritas.

  As I expected, each of them felt compelled to offer their advice and suggestions for our trip.

  The Professor thought it was important for us to know the area was largely undeveloped until the late 1940’s when the likes of Bing Crosby, Phil Harris, Desi Arnaz and John Wayne built one of the first hotels.

  Dad was a horny over-the-road trucker for years, which probably accounted for his sight-seeing tip.

  “I used to make a lot of runs to Southern California. I’d sneak across the border to Tijuana. There’s this little club there where the girls do amazing things with donkeys. I’ll give you directions if you’re interested.”

  “Thanks, Pop. I think we’ll pass.”

  Bernice, close to ninety and well into her dotage, seemed quite interested. “Ooooh, I love donkeys. They’re so cute. Maybe you can show me sometime.”

  Dad just grinned.

  Jerry, our resident comedian couldn’t hold back.

  “You can’t go to Mexico without hearing Poncho’s Refrain.”

  My name is Poncho

  I live on a rancho.

  I make five pesos a day.

  Then I go see Lucy

  She shows me her koochie

  And takes my five pesos away.

  “You one sick puppy!” Willie muttered.

  Mary, having had more than her share of margaritas, raised a wobbly hand. “A serape. I always wanted one of them fancy colored shawls. I got me a coconut bra and a muu muu from Hawaii. Think you could get me one?”

  “That’ll be at the top of my ‘to-do’ list. It would be an honor to complete your international wardrobe.”

  She smiled and emptied the pitcher into her cup.

  Mercifully, our bon voyage party came to an end.

  We threw our luggage in Ox’s SUV, and as we drove away, our friends and family were waving and blowing kisses.

  We were finally off to a well-deserved and much-needed respite from the stress and strain of our recent ordeal.

  Visions of us reclining on a sun-drenched beach with a cool fruity drink filled my head. I just knew this was going to be a vacation we would never forget.

  CHAPTER 6

  Friday evening went just as we had planned.

  Checking into the airport hotel, we stowed our bags, met at the hotel restaurant for a quiet evening meal and returned to our room to watch a little TV before turning in.

  We needed to be at the airport no later than five-thirty, so we made arrangements with the front desk for a five o’clock wake-up call.

  We showered and I shaved before hitting the sack so we’d be ready to roll the next morning.

  I drifted off to sleep, assured that we had done everything we could to make our trip as hassle-free as possible.

  But it wasn’t to be.

  I rolled over and squinted at the red numbers on the digital clock. 5:30!

  There had been no wake-up call.

  I woke Maggie and called Ox. His groggy greeting told me that he hadn’t received one either.

  I took a leak, splashed some water on my face, threw on my clothes and was ready to go in five minutes.

  Maggie was a different story altogether.

  When it comes to grooming, women just can’t hurry.

  When Maggie saw my reflection in the mirror staring at the back of her head, she informed me in no uncertain terms that breathing down her back wasn’t going to speed the process up even one little bit.

  A prudent husband knows when to back away and that’s just what I did.

  By the time I had secured the luggage cart from the hotel lobby, Maggie, Ox and Judy were standing in the hall with our bags.

  We got to the front desk just in time to catch the next shuttle to the airport. The driver threw in our bags and we were off. Several other travelers were already on board.

  Our flight was to leave from Terminal B, so we were the first ones off. The driver unloaded our bags, I gave him a tip, and he was just pulling away when I noticed that one of the bags was not ours.

  I pounded on the van just as he was about to pull out into traffic. He stopped and we discovered that the folks going to Terminal C had bags identical to ours.

  When everything was sorted out, it occurred to me that we had experienced two near disasters and we hadn’t been awake an hour yet.

  I was beginning to wonder if some cosmic force was trying to send us a message.

  We made our way to the airline ticket counter.

  We had been told our airfare to Cabo would be furnished. Naturally, instead of booking us on American, United or Delta, the city had bought the cheapest seats possible on Air Tran, one of the ‘economy’ airlines.

  I discovered that seating on our flight was on a ‘first-come-first-serve’ basis, but we could pay twenty bucks a person to have ‘priority seating.’ I had paid for that on-line several days before our flight, but when we checked in at the ticket counter, the man said there was no record of my purchase. We were back to ‘free-for-all’ seating and I was out forty bucks.

  Three things gone awry. Is there a message here?

  The goober behind the ticket counter had put tags on our luggage and was printing our boarding passes when I noticed that the baggage tags read ‘Washington.’ We were going to Denver and then on to Cabo.

  “Uhhh, Sir, I’m just wondering why our luggage tags say Washington.”

  He looked at the tags and then back to our boarding passes. “Oh, sorry. I was just seeing if you were paying attention.”

  Holy Crap! We could have arrived in Cabo and our bags would have been a continent away. That’s four!

  We arrived at the gate just as the plane was boarding. The gate attendant announced that since this was an international flight, there was supposed to be a red stamp on our boarding passes. We looked and, of course, there was no red stamp, so we had to stand in line to talk to the attendant. The jerk at the ticket counter didn’t get us with the misdirected bags, but he got us good with the boarding passes. By the time the lady at the desk had corrected his error, we were the last four boarding the plane.

  That’s five! I thought as we hurried down the walkway. I couldn’t help wondering again if something out there in the cosmos was telling us not to board that plane.

  Being the last four on the plane, there were, of course, no two seats together. Maggie and Judy found their seats first. There were only two seats remaining. One was between two portly folks that must have weighed a good two-eighty each. Ox tips the scale at two-thirty himself, so there was no way he was fitting into that seat. He took a seat across the aisle behind a feisty four-year old.

  Pointing to the middle seat, Mr. Chubby gave me a sour look then got up to let me in.

  I had read about the airlines reducing space to cram more seats into each flight, but this was my first experience.

  As I was sitting down, I calculated that each seat was probably about eighteen inches wide, which would accommodate my 145 pound body nicely. Then I noticed that the folks on either side of me had to be at least twenty-four inches wide which meant that each of them would be taking up six inches of my space. The math wasn�
�t pretty.

  When I scrunched in and fastened my seat belt, I realized my knees were touching the seat in front of me and I’m only five-nine.

  I looked over at Ox and at six-two, his knees were drawn halfway to his chest.

  To add insult to injury, the kid in front of him, maybe twelve inches away, was looking back at him. He stuck out his tongue, gave Ox a raspberry, phltttt, and giggled.

  It was going to be a looooong flight!

  We finally lifted off the runway and when the plane leveled off, I was relieved to hear that the flight attendants would be serving beverages.

  I’m a coffee guy, and with the chaos we had encountered thus far, I was in dire need of a cup.

  I had just set the steaming cup in the little indention in my tray table and was opening a packet of sugar, when the guy in front of me decided it was nap time.

  With no warning whatsoever, his seat back, which held my tray table, came crashing back, sloshing hot coffee over the edge and into my lap.

  That got the attention of Mr. Winkie and the boys right away.

  I was busy dabbing and fanning my crotch with the little napkin that came with my bag of nuts, when the flight attendant reappeared.

  I had read about recent incidents where fights had actually broken out between travelers, requiring emergency landings over incidents exactly like this. When I read those stories, I couldn’t understand how people could let little things like that erupt into violence.

  Suddenly, I understood.

  When at last order had been restored, I found myself squeezed from either side by my portly neighbors and the seat from the guy in front of me mere inches from my face. My soggy crotch had gone from piping hot to icy cold. I still hadn’t had my cup of coffee and my little bag of nuts had fallen on the floor.

  A fantastic start to my stress-free vacation!

  The flight from Denver to Cabo was much better. We actually had assigned seats and I was able to sit by my sweetie. It was a lot more fun cuddling up with her than with Ralph, the chubby guy on the previous flight.