[Lady Justice 07] - Lady Justice and the Vigilante Page 4

  Another officer raised his hand, “Anything from ballistics?”

  “Yes, and it certainly muddies the waters.

  “The slug that killed Grimes was from a 6.5 mm rifle, probably Italian or Japanese, dating back to World War Two.”

  “Geesh, who uses a gun like that and where would somebody get one?”

  “Deer hunters mostly. They can be picked up at used gun stores or somebody could have brought one home from the war as a souvenir.

  “Today, we hit the streets. We know that Grimes hung out on Independence Avenue. We’re going to canvass the Avenue from downtown to Prospect and for three blocks around the site of the shooting.

  “Find out what Grimes was up to, who he talked to and where he went. Somebody had to see something.

  “Your assignments are posted.

  “Good luck!”

  Ox and I picked up our assignments and on the way to the cruiser, I asked, “How’d it go with Blackie yesterday afternoon?

  “No problems. He was still in a world of hurt from DeMarco crushing his family jewels.”

  “Ah, yes, Miss DeMarco, or is it Mrs. DeMarco?”

  “It’s Miss.”

  “Really, and how do you know that?”

  “I asked around.”

  “How come we’ve never run into her before?”

  “She just transferred from the station north of the river. She’s just been here a few days.”

  “What else did you learn about her on the drive back to the station?”

  “I know she likes pizza.”

  “How did you discover that tidbit of information?”

  “We were driving down Main and passed the Pizza Shack. She said she heard that was a really good place to get pizza.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Ox, you’re a big doofus!”

  I saw the perplexed look on the big guy’s face.

  “That was an engraved invitation for you to ask her out. So what did you say?

  “I just said that I’d heard that too --- I messed it up, didn’t I?”

  “Let’s just say that you’re not off to a very good start.”

  That put Ox in a funk and he was quiet as we drove to our assignment.

  Our job that day was to canvass Independence Avenue and try to find someone who had seen or had contact with Grimes on the night of his death.

  We hit all the stores and watering holes along the Avenue, and as we expected, no one saw or heard a thing, or if they did, they weren’t telling.

  We were about to call it a day when we spotted three guys hanging in an alley by a liquor store.

  They watched us warily as we approached.

  “You guys know this fellow?” I asked holding up a picture of Grimes.

  “Sho, we know ‘em. Dat’s one crazy messed up dude.”

  “What’s your name?” Ox asked.

  “Tyrone, what’s yours?” he shot back as if he really cared.

  “What exactly do you mean by ‘messed up’?”

  “De fool was always doing some kind of crazy shit; dumb stuff dat would’a got us in trouble fo’ nuthin.”

  “Such as?”

  “One night we was jus’ cruising’ and we went out to Independence. Dere on de square dey got a statue of Harry Ass Truman, you know, de ole president, and he’s walkin’ with a cane or something’.

  “LeShawn jumps out o’ de car and rips the cane right out of the guy’s hand. Some ole lady saw him an’ started screamin’ bloody murder.”

  “Tell ‘em about Jennifer Lopez,” his friend said.

  “Oh yeah, dat was really messed up.

  “We was truckin’ down I-70 and about Prospect, dere’s a big billboard with Jennifer Lopez selling perfume or sum such shit.

  “LeShawn parks de car right on the freeway an’ gets a can o’ spray paint from the trunk.

  “Den he shinnys up de ladder and paints a big mustache right on Jennifer’s face.

  “JENNIFER LOPEZ, for chrissakes!”

  It was obvious that Tyrone was more concerned with the welfare of Ms. Lopez than our esteemed president.

  I tried to keep a straight face.

  “So when was the last time you saw Grimes?”

  “Saw ‘em de night he got whacked. He had been hangin’ at A J’s an’ I seen him leave and get in de car with Leon.”

  “Leon, who? What’s his last name?”

  “Hell, I don’ know. Jus’ Leon!”

  “Do you know what time it was?”

  “Bout one”

  Except for Leon and, of course, the shooter, these were the last guys to see LeShawn Grimes alive.

  We headed back to the station and filed our report.

  We had clocked out and were heading to the parking lot when I saw Judy DeMarco unlocking her car.

  I gigged Ox in the ribs and nodded my head in her direction.

  In the two years that I had known Ox, he had been fearless in the face of danger, but I could see the terror in his eyes as he watched the lovely Ms. DeMarco across the parking lot.

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Go on,” I urged.

  “But --- but!”

  “But nothing!” I said, giving him a shove.

  “Uhhhh --- Officer DeMarco. Do you have a minute?”

  She looked up and gave him a smile. “Hi Ox. What’s on your mind?”

  “Well --- Uhhh ---- do you remember yesterday when you said you had heard the Pizza Shack was a pretty good place?”

  “Ox, are you asking me for a date?”

  I thought my old friend was going to drop a load.

  “Well --- Uhhh --- yes! I guess I am.”

  “I wondered how long it would take you to grow a pair and ask me out.”

  She gave me a glance and a wink. “I suppose that grandpa here is coming along for moral support.”

  “Well, Walt and Maggie are my best friends. If you don’t mind ---”

  “Sure! The more the merrier.”

  “How about Saturday night? Pick me up at six. I live in one of those new loft apartments in the River Market District. Here’s my address,” she said, slipping him a piece of paper.

  Ox just stood there with his mouth open.

  “Oh, by the way, no more of this Officer DeMarco crap. My name is Judy.”

  Without another word, she climbed into her car and drove away.

  I clapped my partner on the back.

  “Nice work. I think you had her with ‘Uhhhh’.”

  Ed Jacobs had found exactly what he was looking for.

  He had searched the Internet and found an estate sale on a farm in a little town called Archie about an hour south of Kansas City.

  Listed in the items to be auctioned were several guns.

  Once Ed had decided to pursue his new venture, he was determined to take every precaution and not repeat the mistakes that Paul Kersey had made.

  His first kill had been with the 6.5 mm and he needed a new weapon.

  What he found was perfect, a Winchester 30.30 lever action with a scope.

  This rifle, like his own, had probably been in the farmer’s family for years and was untraceable.

  He was able to get the rifle, a box of ammo and an old .22 caliber revolver that the owner had most likely used to plunk rabbits and squirrels.

  He was ready to select his next target.

  After watching the ten o’clock news, the choice was obvious.

  A man armed with a knife had broken into the home of a seventy-one year old North Kansas City widow and raped her repeatedly over several hours.

  A neighbor, hearing her screams, had called 911 and the man was apprehended fleeing the apartment.

  Police reported that the suspect, Brian Larson, was also linked to the rape of a seventy-nine year old woman a week earlier.

  The scene shifted from the news anchor to the North Kansas City police station where Larson was currently being held.

  As the cuffed Larson was being ushered from the squa
d car to the jail, there was a moment when he looked directly into the camera.

  Ed Jacobs saw that same vacant remorseless stare that he had seen in the eyes of LeShawn Grimes.

  For Ed and probably anyone else, the very act of raping women of that age was utterly repulsive.

  Most likely, Larson would be convicted and sentenced to five years, and with good behavior and given the crowded conditions in our prisons, be out on the streets in three.

  Ed couldn’t let that happen.

  The news story ended by saying that on Saturday evening Larson would be transported downtown to be held in lock-up until his arraignment on Monday morning.

  Ed pulled the old Toyota out of the garage and headed downtown.

  He needed a plan.

  Multi-storied buildings surrounded the downtown jail at 1300 Cherry; some were occupied, some not.

  A half a block away, loud music blared from one of the old buildings and garish lights illuminated a queue of young people waiting their turn to enter.

  Ed had forgotten that Halloween was just a few days away, and as was the custom for the past few years, many of the old vacant buildings had been rented and turned into spook houses.

  Kids couldn’t wait to pay ten bucks a pop to get the bejeezus scared out of them.

  Ed watched the crowd and noted that about half of the revelers were in costume.

  He also noted that from the roof of the old building, there was a clear view of the jail.

  Ed found a parking spot a few blocks away and waited in line for his turn to enter.

  He paid his fee and asked the guy at the door if there was a bathroom.

  The guy said he thought there was one down the hall.

  Instead, Ed found the stairway that led, floor by floor to the roof.

  In the cool, crisp night air, Ed found the perfect spot for his ambush.

  On the way home he stopped by one of the costume shops that pop up at Halloween each year and bought a set of army fatigues and a helmet.

  On a night where hundreds of people would be in costume, he’d never be noticed.

  When I told Maggie that we were double dating with Ox, she was thrilled.

  Maggie is a romantic and the prospect of her giving cupid a helping hand set her all a twitter.

  She concluded that to put Ox in the best light, he should drive, pick us up first and then get Judy.

  We pulled up in front of her building and waited for Ox to make his move, but he just sat there frozen in time like the stone statues on Easter Island.

  “Well, aren’t you going to go get her?” Maggie asked.

  Ox just gave her that ‘deer in the headlights’ stare.

  “Oh for heaven’s sake. She’s not going to bite.”

  “I just don’t want to mess up again. I really like her.”

  Maggie replied with a much softer tone, “Ox, you’re a great guy. Just be yourself. Be the guy we know. That’s all you have to do.”

  With that encouragement, Ox went forth with the same trepidation he must have felt on his first trip to the dentist.

  Thank goodness Maggie and I were along.

  Ox reminded me of an old fifties song, I Got Tongue-Tied, by the Rock-A-Billy Queen, Wanda Jackson.

  When he walked up and said ‘hi sweetie pie’, Well, all I could say was a neenie-neenie-ny

  I got tongue-tied. Yeah, I got tongue-tied.

  To her credit, Judy seemed to understand the situation and did her darndest to put Ox at ease and bring him into the conversation.

  By the time the pizza hit the table, Ox seemed to have overcome his initial fear and was his usual lovable self.

  Judy shared that she had been an army brat, constantly moving from one base to another and at the tender age of eighteen, had enlisted in the service.

  After putting in her twenty as an MP, she came to Kansas City and joined the force.

  Judy DeMarco was a complex woman.

  She had the classic good looks of a Sophia Loren and a smile that would take your breath away, but underneath she was tough as nails.

  She certainly wasn’t someone I’d want to tangle with.

  Just ask Blackie.

  With her military training, she was quite knowledgeable about guns and that impressed the heck out of Ox.

  They became engrossed in a conversation comparing the attributes of various weaponry, most of which I had never heard.

  As we sat listening to this exchange, I detected a smile on Maggie’s lips.

  Apparently she and cupid were pleased with the way the evening was progressing.

  After the last pizza crumbs had been consumed, Judy’s eyes lit up.

  “It’s still early. You guys up for a little fun?”

  “What did you have in mind?” I replied.

  “Let’s do a spook house!”

  Maggie and I exchanged skeptical looks.

  The last time we had been in one of those places, we had found a real dead body.

  “Sounds like fun to me,” Ox said. “There’s one a half a block from the station. I’m in!”

  Not wanting to be party poopers, we reluctantly agreed.

  The line into the spook house stretched for a block down the street.

  I hate waiting in lines --- always have.

  I hate theme parks.

  You stand in line for an hour to get a three-minute ride. It makes no sense.

  No matter which line I pick at the grocery store, it’s always the wrong one.

  Every check out can have three people deep except the one I choose which has only one person ahead of me.

  I unload my cart and inevitably I hear, ‘price check on three’ or ‘I’m sorry ma’am, your credit card was denied’.

  I’m the poster boy for Murphy’s Law as it applies to waiting lines.

  At least in this line, there was something to look at.

  Maggie and I were probably forty years older than most of the other people in line.

  About half were in costume and the other half might as well have been with all their piercing, studs and tattoos.

  We saw likenesses of everyone from Lady Gaga to President Obama.

  One young guy with glasses walked up to Judy and said “Good evening madam. My name is Potter, Harry Potter.”

  Judy’s “Get lost, creep!” was enough to send the guy packing.

  We were close to the ticket booth when I spotted a guy in army fatigues and helmet with a rifle slung over his shoulder.

  I pointed him out to Ox and Judy.

  “That looks like a real gun.” I said.

  Right behind him was a guy dressed as a buccaneer carrying a broadsword at his side. He was trying to mimic Johnny Depp playing Jack Sparrow in Pirates of the Caribbean.

  “So what are you?” Ox asked. “The costume police?”

  At that moment a voice said, “You guys want a ticket, or not!”

  I cringed as we shelled out forty bucks and headed to the inner sanctum.

  There was the usual blood and gore and of course, all of the villains from zombies and vampires to Jason in his hockey mask.

  Naturally, the air was filled with the screams of teenage girls clutching the arms of their boyfriends in mock terror.

  Then, out of the blue, there was a sound that we hadn’t heard before.

  “CRAAAAACK!”

  Judy stiffened.

  “That was a rifle --- a real rifle.”

  She grabbed Ox’s arm.

  “Let’s go!”

  We fought the stream of revelers back to the entrance and peered down the hallway that led to the other parts of the big building.

  At the far end of the hall, we saw a figure emerge from the stairwell.

  “It’s that army guy,” I whispered. “The one with the rifle.”

  “Stop right there! “Ox bellowed. “Kansas City police!”

  Naturally, the guy took off at a run. They always do.

  As he turned the corner, we saw him pause and reach for the wall.

 
; Instantly, a siren began to blast and overhead sprinklers came to life flooding everything.

  I had seen newsreels of panicked partygoers fleeing burning nightclubs, but unless you’ve lived it, you couldn’t understand the fear and chaos that ensued.

  Mock screams of terror became real screams as everyone rushed for the door.

  People fell, but no one stopped to help them up.

  We were trapped in the human tide scrambling to escape, but knowing that there was no fire, we pushed through to the dark hallway.

  We ran to the spot we had last seen the shooter, but around the corner an exit door stood open.

  We looked in every direction, but he was long gone.

  I looked at the four of us standing there panting and dripping wet.

  It occurred to me at that moment that I was glad Ox’s date was Judy DeMarco and not the gal from Denny’s.

  Ox’s nights on the town are definitely intense.

  CHAPTER 5

  It was after midnight by the time order had been restored to the spook house and we had given our statements to the investigating officers.

  We learned that the shot that we had heard had shattered the skull of Brian Larson, a perp that was being transported to lock-up for arraignment on Monday morning.

  Larson had been accused of the rape of two elderly women.

  It took every ounce of willpower to drag my butt out of bed the next morning.

  Maggie and I usually hit the sack by ten o’clock and rarely make it to the sports report on TV before drifting off to sleep.

  When I opened the Kansas City Star, I was shocked to read the headline, “POLICE BAFFLED BY VIGILANTE MURDERS!”

  This was the first time I had seen the ‘V’ word mentioned.

  The killing of LeShawn Grimes could have been viewed as an isolated incident, and given his shady background, any number of people could have been suspects.

  But now, the extermination of two seemingly unrelated low-lifes in less than ten days, gave credence to the possibility that a vigilante was indeed roaming the streets of Kansas City.

  I was dreading squad meeting.

  Captain Short had already been under pressure from everyone up the chain of command, and as everyone knows, ‘poop runs downhill’.