Lady Justice and the Mysterious Box Read online

  I dropped to my knees, closed my eyes, and awaited the inevitable.

  I heard two ‘pops’ and was surprised. I figured it would hurt just a little, but I didn’t feel a thing.

  I opened one eye and saw the two Russians sprawled on the pavement, bleeding. Then I opened the other eye and saw Vito, Carmine Marchetti’s right hand man, putting his gun away.

  Carmine was standing behind him.

  This was the second time in a month that Marchetti had saved my life at the last minute.

  “Carmine! How ---?”

  “Your little visit got me to thinking,” he replied. “The Russian mafia has been trying to weasel their way into my city for a long time. I just can’t let that happen. When you said two Russians offed poor Oliver, I had to do something. I figured since he was iced at your hotel and he was a relative of your friend, Bernice, the best way to find them was to follow you. I’ve had Vito on your tail since you left my office. Oliver was a friend and they killed him. I wasn’t about to let them kill another friend. Why do you suppose they were after you?”

  I had to think fast. Marchetti knew nothing about the box and I wasn’t about to get him involved.

  “Uhhh, you said when Oliver called, he had to get away because he had something the Russians wanted. They must not have found what they were looking for and figured I had it. Obviously I didn’t, but that didn’t matter to them.”

  “Well, they won’t be bothering you no more.” He pointed to the bodies. “Vito, clean up this mess.” Then he turned to me. “Let’s get you back to your car.”

  “One moment,” I replied, and retrieved the box from the back seat of the Russian’s car.

  “What’s in the box?” Carmine asked, obviously curious.

  Again, I had to think quickly. “Uhhh, I was meeting with some potential clients back there on Rockhill Road. They hired me for a job and this is the paperwork to get me started.”

  I hated to lie to the man who had just saved my life, but there was no way I wanted Carmine to know about the mysterious box. So far, everyone but me who had come in contact with the cursed box was dead.

  My explanation seemed to satisfy him. “Then let’s get going so you can get started on your new case. You’re a damn good gumshoe. I like that. I gotta keep you alive. Who knows? Someday I might need a guy like you. By the way, you owe me two.”

  While I was certainly grateful that Carmine had saved my bacon, I had to remember his motives were also self-serving. He thought the Russians were trying to move in on his territory and it was just a good business decision to eliminate the competition. He also figured it was in his best interests to keep me alive just in case I could be of assistance sometime in the future.

  While I wasn’t excited about being deeper in debt to the boss of the Kansas City mafia, under the circumstances, it was better than the alternative.

  I had just returned home when the phone rang.

  “Mr. Williams, that was a foolish mistake.”

  It was Ishmael.

  “How could you possibly ---?”

  “Do you realize that you put the lives of your friends, Arnie and Nick, in danger by showing them the contents of the box? Fortunately for you and them, the only people who knew of your transgression, the Russians, are dead, thanks to the intervention of your mobster friend. Your friends are safe, for now.”

  “Yes, but you know about my visit, and by the way, Carmine knows nothing about the box.”

  “Your friends are in no danger from me. My concern is the safety of that box. Your foolish action put that in jeopardy.”

  I was starting to get a bit peeved. “Sorry about that, but somehow I’ve gotten mixed up in something that was not my choosing, and frankly, you haven’t been exactly forthcoming in what the hell is going on. If I’m to be involved in this, I need answers. I thought maybe Arnie and Nick could give me some since you weren’t.”

  “And how did that work out for you?”

  “They had no idea what was in the box.”

  “And that’s as it should be. The fewer people who know, the better. I would tell you more, but I must remind you again, it is not in your best interests. Please trust me.”

  “So, what am I supposed to do?”

  “Put the box back in your safe, stay vigilant, and go about your normal routine. I will be in touch.”

  The line went dead.

  Somehow, Ishmael knew about my visit with Arnie and Nick and my close call with the Russians. I was almost reluctant to take a poop, wondering if this guy was watching.

  CHAPTER 7

  The next day, Bernice received a call from Detective Blaylock telling her that they were through processing Oliver’s body and asked her how she wanted to proceed.

  Bernice and Dad came to our apartment to discuss her options.

  “The first question I asked,” Dad said, “was what happens if no one claims the body? After all, the guy was a total stranger. Bernice hadn’t heard from him in twenty years.

  “Blaylock said that, by law, they have to offer the corpse to approved medical teaching facilities. They use the cadavers to train new medics and surgeons. If, for some reason, the medical facilities aren’t interested, they ship the remains to a crematorium where the body is cremated and paid for by the state. Of course, Bernice, the old softy, wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “I may not have known him,” Bernice said, sniffing, “but he was my kin. He was family. I just couldn’t think of his body being dissected in a classroom. It’s just not right.”

  “So, what are you thinking?” I asked.

  Bernice wiped a tear away. “I have a burial plot in Mount Washington Cemetery in Independence. It’s right next to Mom and Dad’s. They wanted the three of us to be buried together. Oliver was out of the picture and none of us knew if we’d ever see him again.

  “Anyway, I won’t be needing that plot anymore. Your dad and I have other plans, so I thought it would be fitting to have Oliver laid to rest beside his mom and dad.”

  “That’s very thoughtful,” I replied. “I’m curious about your plans with Dad. You’ve never said anything.”

  “We didn’t think it was anybody’s business until one of us kicked,” Dad replied, “but I figured you’d ask.”

  He pulled a brochure out of his pocket. It was from a place called Spirit Pieces.

  “What they do,” he said, proudly, “is take a person’s ashes and make an art sculpture out of it. If I go first, Bernice will have me made into one of these.” He opened the brochure and pointed to a picture. “It’s a lightning bolt!”

  “If Bernice goes first, I’ll have her made into this beautiful heart.”

  “That way, one of us will always have the other close by. Now that you know what we want, when the last of us kicks, you’ll know what to do with our ashes. What do you think?”

  Needless to say, I was somewhat surprised. “Well --- uhhh --- I guess if that’s what you want.”

  Maggie was a bit more enthusiastic. “I think that’s adorable. Those sculptures are absolutely beautiful. A perfect way to preserve the one you love.”

  “Back to the matter at hand,” I said. “What about Oliver?”

  “We’re having a small graveside service,” Bernice replied. “Nothing fancy, just John and me and anybody else who wants to come.”

  “I have a buddy,” Dad said, “a retired trucker. He got a preacher’s license online. He’s gonna do the service for us free.”

  “I’m sure he’ll do a fine job,” I replied. I didn’t mean it, but I had to say it.

  “And we’ll be there, of course,” Maggie said. “Won’t we, Walt?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

  I don’t know why, but I think it’s rained at every funeral I have ever attended. The funeral for Oliver McDermont was no exception. It was a grey day with a constant drizzle.

  Even though none of us knew the dearly departed, the whole gang showed up to support our dear friend, Bernice.

  We
parked and sloshed through the wet grass to the gravesite.

  True to his word, Dad had talked his old buddy, Rocky, trucker-turned-preacher, into officiating the service. Rocky was the spitting image of Buddy Ebsen, aka Jed Clampet of the old TV show, Beverly Hillbillies. I halfway expected to hear someone singing, “Come and listen to my story ‘bout a man named Jed, a poor mountaineer barely kept his family fed.”

  Once we were all gathered around the casket, Rocky cleared his throat and opened a spiral notebook. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God and these witnesses to join --- Oops! Hold on. That’s my wedding sermon.” He flipped a few pages and started again. “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.”

  Rocky was doing the service for free and Dad was certainly getting his money’s worth.

  At the conclusion of Rocky’s monologue, he asked if anyone wanted to say a few words.

  Bernice raised her hand. “I never really knew my brother and I guess he did some bad stuff during his life, but he didn’t deserve to die like this. I hope he rests in peace.”

  I desperately wanted to tell her that the men who killed her brother were probably at the bottom of the Missouri River thanks to Carmine Marchetti, but I couldn’t open that can of worms and answer the questions it would raise.

  On the way back to our cars, Jerry said, “Wow, it’s really raining cats and dogs. You know how I know that?”

  “No, Jerry, tell us.”

  “Because I just stepped in a poodle.”

  Normally I cringe at Jerry’s corny jokes, but after a morbid service on a grim day, it was just what I needed to cut through the gloom.

  Jiao Chen and Fan Li were watching the little procession file from the gravesite to their cars.

  “Our handler says the Russians killed McDermont but didn’t get the box,” Jiao said. “Where do you think it might be?”

  “McDermont was coming to Kansas City to connect with a relative,” Fan replied. “When the police processed the crime scene, they would have collected everything in the room. They might have picked up the box. Even if they looked inside, they would have had no idea what they were looking at. When they released the body, it would have been common to release McDermont’s personal possessions to the next of kin. It’s possible the old woman has the box.”

  “Then I suppose our next move is to pay a visit to the old woman.”

  “Yes, but we must be very careful. She and the old man are inseparable. We may have to confront them both.”

  Jiao and Fan were parked across the street, a half-block away from the apartment building on Armour Boulevard.

  “If we can get in the apartment and take a look around,” Jiao said, “we may not have to confront the old people. It would be better to just take the box than to leave more bodies to attract attention.”

  “Then this may be our chance,” Fan replied, pointing.

  The old couple had just left the building and were walking hand-in-hand toward Broadway.

  When they were out of sight, Jiao said, “Let’s get this done before they return.”

  They entered the foyer and looked at the mailboxes. “Second floor,” Fan said.

  They climbed the stairs, and seeing no one, Jiao pulled out his lock pics and they were quickly inside.

  “You take the bedroom,” Jiao said. “I’ll look around out here.”

  A few minutes later, Jiao heard Fan mutter, “Holy crap!”

  “Did you find the box?” Jiao said, joining Fan in the bedroom.

  “No,” Fan replied, “but take a look at this.” He started pulling things out of a dresser drawer. “Two thongs, one leopard, one leather. Strawberry massage jell, crotchless panties, and look! Titty tassels and a feather boa! The old woman must be at least ninety!”

  Jiao shook his head. “It’s a new world, Fan. That little blue pill has given old guys something to live for.”

  They continued their search, but the box wasn’t there.

  “Let’s get out of here before they return,” Jiao said.

  They had just slipped out the door when a man came out of the apartment on the first floor.

  “Quickly!” Jiao whispered, “pull the door closed.”

  Fan quietly shut the door and they headed down the stairs.

  “Good morning,” the man said. “I’m Jerry. Who are you guys?”

  Jiao had to think quickly. “Uhhh, we’re Jehovah’s Witnesses, out spreading the Word. Do you read from the Good Book?”

  “I read lots of good books,” Jerry replied. Then, seeing they were Asian, he couldn’t help sharing a couple of jokes.

  “Are you guys Chinese? I recently read a book by a Chinese author. It was called The Ruptured Chinaman by One Hung Lo. I enjoyed it so much I read another, The Constipated Chinaman by Hung Chow.”

  Jiao and Fan looked at one another in disbelief. Then Fan spotted the two old people returning.

  “Uhhh, we must be on our way. Lots of lost souls out there needing guidance. Have a blessed day.”

  They passed the two old folks on the sidewalk.

  “Who were those guys?” John asked, seeing Jerry on the front stoop.

  “Jehovah’s Witnesses, spreading the Word,” Jerry replied.

  “Huh!” John said, scratching his chin. “Chinese Jehovah’s Witnesses. That’s a new one.”

  Then he patted Bernice on the fanny. “Wanna go upstairs and fool around?”

  Bernice winked. “Sure, why not?”

  “Later, Jerry,” John said as they headed up the stairs.

  “Hey, Bernice,” John said, “you left your door unlocked again.”

  “Did not! I may be old, but I’m not stupid. I distinctly remember locking it,” she replied, holding up her keys.

  “Oh, well,” John replied, “let’s not fuss about it. We’ve got more important things to do.”

  Bernice grinned. “I’ll go put on something special for you.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  A few minutes later, John heard Bernice. “Somebody’s been in my stuff!”

  “How do you know?” John asked, joining her in the bedroom.

  She pointed to the feather boa. “I take special care of that. I don’t want the feathers crushed --- and look at it! Somebody just wadded it up!”

  John thought for a moment. “The Chinese guys! I thought something was fishy about them.”

  They headed out the door and down the stairs.

  “Jerry! Those guys weren’t Jehovah’s Witnesses! Did you see where they went?”

  Jerry pointed. “They’re in that van down the street.”

  Bernice pulled the little .32 from her ankle holster. “Come on John. Let’s get ‘em.”

  “That was a close one,” Fan said, once they were inside the van, “but what was all that stuff the little guy was saying about Chinese authors?”

  Before he could reply, Jiao looked in the rear-view mirror. “Jesus! It’s the old woman! She has a gun! Let’s get out of here!”

  Jiao put the van in gear and stepped on the gas. He heard two shots and felt the impact as the .32 slugs bit into the back-door panel.

  Safely away, Fan let out a deep breath. “That old woman is something else! Any idea what we should do now?”

  Jiao thought for a moment. “The sister doesn’t have the box. He may not have even made contact with her before the Russians iced him. They got him in that rat-trap hotel over on Linwood. Maybe the box is still there.”

  “But surely the cops would have found it,” Fan said. “Undoubtedly they cleaned the place out.”

  “But the cops didn’t know Oliver had the box in his possession. I doubt he would have just left it in plain sight. I think it’s worth another look.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  They pulled up in front of the Three Trails Hotel, then knocked on the door marked, ‘Manager.’

  A hefty older woman opened the door.

  “Good morning, Ma’am,” Jiao said, quickly flashing his open wallet. “We’re from hom
icide, following up on the murder of Oliver McDermont. We need to take another look inside his room.”

  “Don’t know why,” the woman said. “The cops cleaned it out, then our custodian cleaned up what was left.”

  “Just the same, we need to take another look.”

  “Whatever,” she said, returning with a key. “Number 9, upstairs and to the right.”

  They climbed the stairs, unlocked the room, and took a quick look around.

  “The old woman was right,” Fan said. “There’s nothing left here and no place to hide anything.”

  “Yeah,” Jiao replied, “but look at this old dump. There must be a dozen little cubbyholes throughout the building where he could have hidden it.”

  “Could be, but where would we start? If we go poking around, we’ll draw suspicion.”

  At that moment, an old man stepped into the hall. “Mornin’ gents.”

  “We’re from the police,” Jiao said. “Did you know the man who was recently murdered in this room?”

  “Met him. Didn’t really know him. He was only here one day.”

  “By any chance did you ever see him with a cardboard box?”

  The question caught Mr. Feeney by surprise, but then he remembered Walt’s admonition. “Uhhh, no. Never saw him with nothin’ but the travel bag he came in with.”

  “Hmmm, too bad. The manager said that the custodian cleaned out the room. Is he in the building?”

  “No, that’s Willie. He lives over on Armour Boulevard.”

  “Okay, thanks. We’ll be on our way.”

  Mr. Feeney waited until the two men were out of sight, then headed downstairs and knocked on Mary’s door.

  “What!”

  “I need to borrow your phone and call Mr. Walt.”

  “Why?”

  “Those two men who were just here. They said they were cops, but they weren’t. I think they had something to do with poor Roger.”

  “Damn!” Mary said, grabbing her bat. “I’m tired of people taking advantage of my good nature.”