[Lady Justice 25] - Lady Justice and the Spy Read online

  They took a class picture, a curious mixture

  Of beehives, crew cuts and wide ties.

  Tall, short, or skinny, the style was the mini;

  You never saw so many thighs.

  “That’s the description of tonight’s event,” Jerry said. “Now let’s move ten years into the future for your thirtieth reunion.”

  At our next get-together, no one cared whether

  They impressed their classmates or not.

  The mood was informal, a whole lot more normal;

  By this time we'd all gone to pot.

  It was held out-of-doors, at the lake shores;

  We ate hamburgers, coleslaw, and beans.

  Then most of us lay around in the shade,

  In our comfortable T-shirts and jeans.

  “Now, for those of you who are lucky enough to make it to reunion number 40, here’s what you have to look forward to.”

  By the fortieth year, it was abundantly clear,

  We were definitely over the hill.

  Those who weren't dead had to crawl out of bed,

  And be home in time for their pill.

  And now I can't wait; they've set the date;

  Our fiftieth is coming, I'm told.

  It should be a ball, they've rented a hall

  At the Shady Rest Home for the old.

  Repairs have been made on my hearing aid;

  My pacemaker's been turned up on high.

  My wheelchair is oiled, and my teeth have been boiled;

  And I've bought a new wig and glass eye.

  I'm feeling quite hearty, and I'm ready to party

  I'm gonna dance 'til dawn's early light.

  It'll be lots of fun; but I just hope that there's one

  Other person who can make it that night.

  The room was filled with laughs and cheers.

  “Without further ado, I’d like to invite Fred Jenkins, one of your classmates who actually became a priest, to the mike to offer a word of thanks.”

  After Father Fred offered the opening prayer, Jerry announced, “Let’s eat!”

  Immediately, the servers appeared rolling carts loaded with plates of chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans.

  I spotted Judy pushing one cart. I knew she would be fine. It was Mary I was worried about. Having been the housemother at my Three Trails Hotel for many years, she had learned not to take any crap from anybody. The concept of ‘the customer is always right’ was unknown to her --- unless, of course, she was the customer.

  I remembered the TV commercial where the diner complained to the server that he didn’t want mayonnaise on his sandwich. The server promptly grabbed the sandwich, opened it up, wiped the mayonnaise on the edge of the table and handed the sandwich back to the astonished customer.

  My fear was that Mary was a lot like the server on TV.

  I wasn’t wrong.

  A woman at Mary’s table took a bite of green beans, wrinkled her nose, and grabbed Mary’s arm. “These beans are cold. Bring me some hot ones!”

  I saw Mary bristle and turn red. I arrived just as she was about to let the woman have it with both barrels. “Let me help,” I said, taking the woman’s plate with one hand and leading Mary away with the other.

  When we reached the kitchen, Mary exploded. “Who does that skanky ho thinks she is, ordering me around?”

  “Calm down, Mary. It’s part of the job. Some people are just rude. Tonight, we can’t let petty stuff like that distract us. There’s a bigger picture. Remember, we’re looking for a killer.”

  Mary took a deep breath. “You’re right, Mr. Walt. Sorry, I’ll be good.”

  “Thanks, I knew I could count on you.”

  “Is it OK if I spit on her green beans?”

  “No spitting!”

  Thankfully, there were no further incidents through the rest of the meal. As diners finished, Kevin, Ox and I cleared tables along with the other bus boys.

  Still no sign of Hobie Darling. Maybe we had been wrong.

  After the tables were cleared, Jerry took the stage again.

  “A lot can happen in twenty years,” he began. “If you don’t believe it, just look at your classmates.”

  Chuckles from the crowd and a few pointed fingers.

  “Anyway, I’ve put together a little montage of some of the highlights and unfortunately, low lights, of your graduation year, 1997.”

  A screen dropped and Jerry turned on a projector.

  “Let’s start with some of the highlights,” he said as movie posters flashed across the screen. “There were some pretty good movies. That was the year Leonardo DiCaprio slipped below the icy waves as the Titanic sank. James Bond reappeared in Tomorrow Never Dies, and dinosaurs were on the loose in The Lost World: Jurassic Park. Unfortunately, the Academy Award for Best Picture went to The English Patient. BORING!

  “TV wasn’t too bad. Fox Mulder and Dana Scully were investigating alien abductions on The X-Files, promising that ‘the truth is out there.’ Unfortunately, twenty years later, we’re still wondering where it is.

  “Sadly, 1997 wasn’t a great year for music in my opinion. Top performers were The Spice Girls, Hanson and Puff Daddy. Sorry, but I’m a child of the fifties, when music was great. We’re still singing and humming songs by Elvis, Little Richard and Johnny Cash. Anybody out there care to hum a few bars of Can’t Nobody Hold Me Down by Puff Daddy?

  “As far as world events, 1997 was the year Joe Camel met his demise and was removed from the cigarette ads. Bill Clinton was inaugurated for his second term, setting the stage for his affair with Monica Lewinsky, and his infamous denial, ‘I did NOT have relations with that woman!’”

  “Enough of that,” Jerry declared, clicking off the screen showing a red-faced Bill Clinton. “It’s time to party! Now that your dinner has settled, I’ll bet you’re ready to cut a rug! I’m going to turn the mike over to our disc jockey, Chris, and TNT Entertainment. Hopefully, he can find at least a few tunes from 1997 that are danceable. Sorry, I had to get in one last gig. Here’s Chris!”

  Before the disc jockey could cue up the first tune, the room was filled with another familiar song. From a boom box out in the hall came the unmistakable voices of the Everly Brothers.

  Don’t want your love anymore,

  Don’t want your kisses, that’s for sure.

  I die each time I hear this sound,

  Here he comes, that’s Cathy’s clown

  I gotta stand tall

  You know a man can’t crawl.

  When he knows you’re tellin’ lies

  And he hears ‘em passing by,

  He’s not a man at all.

  When you see me shed a tear

  And you know that it's sincere

  Don't you think it's kinda sad that

  you're treating me so bad

  Or don't you even care?

  Don't want your love anymore

  Don't want your kisses, that's for sure

  I die each time I hear this sound

  Here he comes, that's Cathy's clown

  That's Cathy's clown

  That's Cathy's clown

  As the notes of the soulful tune died away, Cathy and Veronica came in from the hall pushing a cart with a three-tier cake inscribed with the words, “I’m not your clown anymore!”

  Before Jerry’s monologue, I had seen Cathy whisper to Veronica, and as they both left the room I could imagine their conversation. I had heard it dozens of times.

  “I’m going to powder my nose.”

  “Me, too. I’ll go with you.”

  I had been so absorbed in Jerry’s video presentation, I didn’t realize they hadn’t returned.

  As soon as I saw them come into the ballroom followed by a figure wearing a clown mask, I knew what had happened.

  After the reunion had gotten underway, Hobie had sneaked in with the cake. No one on the hotel staff would have questioned it. It was obviously going to be a surprise for the class. And what a surprise!

&n
bsp; Hobie had waited for his chance which the girls had provided with their trip to the ladies room.

  He was pushing the girls ahead of him with one hand, holding something in the other hand high above his head.

  The crowd gasped as once he and the girls reached the center of the room, he threw off his mask.

  The room was filled with whispers. “It’s Hobie! It’s Hobie Darling! What is he doing?”

  “Yes,” he said, waving his hand. “It’s Hobie, your class clown. Only tonight, you probably won’t think I’m so funny. Before any of you jocks try to be heroes, understand that what I’m holding in my hand is a detonator and there’s enough C-4 in this little cake to level a square block, so don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Hobie,” Cathy pleaded, “you don’t have to do this.”

  “Oh, really!” he replied. “You’re a good one to talk. Of all the girls who turned me down, you’re the one who hurt me most. I was good enough to do magic tricks for you and your friends, good enough to make you laugh, but not good enough to go to the prom with me. I couldn’t be Cathy’s date, just Cathy’s clown.”

  “Hobie, I’m so sorry. Really I am. Surely you understand ---.”

  “Enough!” he shouted. “No more excuses. Jane, Marcia, Louise and Anita have already paid for humiliating me. Tonight, the rest of you will pay. What I’m going to do tonight will be for all the losers like me who spent their high school years as the butt of their classmate’s jokes.”

  It didn’t look like Hobie was interested in listening to reason. He was determined to go out with a bang and take the rest of the Westport High class of ’97 with him.

  Four of us in the room were armed, Kevin, Ox, Judy and myself. Any one of us could have taken the shot, but there was a problem. The shot had to be placed perfectly. A wound or an inch off one way or another and Hobie would be able to push the plunger and blow us all to smithereens.

  I knew I wasn’t comfortable taking the shot. I looked at Ox and Kevin and saw they were hesitating as well. Judy, having been an MP in the military, was the best shot among us, but she was also the farthest away.

  Hobie waved his arm again. “It’s time,” he declared, “and tonight I’m going to have the last laugh.”

  I saw Judy pull her pistol, but before she could take aim, I saw a red dot appear on Hobie’s forehead, and a moment later heard a soft ‘pop.’

  Hobie slumped to the floor. As the class of ’97 rushed for the exits, I sprung to his side and pried the detonator from his hand.

  We were all wondering who had taken the shot, when one of the servers came forward carrying a pistol with a laser sight.

  “Holy crap!” Kevin muttered. “I didn’t realize the hotel had sharpshooters on their staff. Nice shot!”

  “Thanks,” the woman replied, “but I’m not part of the hotel staff.”

  “Then who, exactly are you?” I asked.

  The woman turned to Veronica. “Veronica, I’m your mother.”

  We were all stunned, and Veronica’s mouth dropped open.

  “But --- but how? I don’t understand.”

  “Hold on a minute!” Mary said. “You’re Sarah. I didn’t recognize you in the uniform. Mr. Walt, this woman’s been stayin’ at the hotel.”

  “She sho is,” Willie added. “An’ I saw her squeeze Joey Burger’s nuts so hard his eyes was buggin’ out.”

  Just then we heard sirens. Undoubtedly one of the fleeing class had dialed 911.

  “I can’t stay and talk,” Sarah said. She handed the gun to Judy. “You be the heroine. The gun’s clean. You don’t have to worry. As far as any of you are concerned, I wasn’t here tonight. I’ll explain later. Understand?”

  Speechless, we all nodded.

  “After you finish up here, I’ll come by your apartment.”

  “OK,” I replied. “I live at ---.”

  “I know where you live, Walt. See you all later.”

  We watched as she turned and left through the kitchen.

  “Well, I’ll be damned!” Dad muttered.

  Undoubtedly, that was what we were all feeling.

  I was right. The Westport High class reunion was one that would never be forgotten.

  CHAPTER 12

  Shortly after the mysterious Sarah slipped away, the ballroom was teeming with cops.

  Patrolmen blocked the doors preventing the attendees from leaving before statements could be taken.

  The bomb squad removed the C-4 from the cake and carted it away.

  Cathy Carter, her husband, and my motley crew were all that remained in the ballroom with Hobie Darlings’ corpse.

  Knowing what was coming, we placed our guns on the floor and raised our hands for Stan Grossman, the detective in charge.

  He looked at the body bleeding out on the floor, five guns, and ten people with their hands in the air. “Somebody want to tell me what the hell happened here?”

  Then he spotted Ox and Judy. “Say, don’t I know you two?”

  Grossman was an Independence cop, but over time, cases had overlapped the two cities.

  “George Wilson,” Ox replied, holding out his badge. “This is my wife, Judy. She’s on the job, too.”

  Judy showed him her badge.

  “And who are the rest of these clowns?” Grossman asked.

  I thought it strange he would use that term.

  “Long story,” Ox replied. “I should start at the beginning.”

  “Please do.”

  After a lengthy explanation, Grossman pointed to Hobie. “So let me get this straight. This scumbag is pissed about how he was treated in high school, so he offs four gals who snubbed him, then shows up tonight to wipe out the rest of the class?”

  “That’s pretty much it,” Ox replied.

  He looked around at the rest of us. “That the way the rest of you see it?”

  We all nodded.

  Bernice stepped forward carrying a plate. “Would the general care for a Snickerdoodle?”

  “Jesus!” he muttered, stalking off. “I’m too damned old for this. Franklin! Take these people’s statements and get this mess cleaned up.”

  It was after midnight by the time our statements had been taken and we were released to pop the remaining balloons, take down crepe paper, and clean up the mess.

  All-in-all, it had been a good evening. We had prevented the Hilton Inn from being blown to bits along with the class of ’97, and confirmed the identity of the man responsible for four senseless deaths.

  It had been a long, trying day, and we all should have been exhausted and ready to tuck in for the night, but quite the contrary, we couldn’t wait to get to my apartment to learn more about the sharpshooter who had saved our butts and claimed to be Veronica’s mother.

  We were all on edge, and I had just poured everyone a round of Arbor Mist when there was a knock on the door.

  As promised, the mysterious lady had arrived.

  Once inside, there was a moment of awkward silence.

  Kevin was the first to speak. “Lucy, you got a lot of ‘splainin’ to do!”

  Sarah smiled. “Ricky Ricardo! I love it!” She turned to Veronica. “You’ve got a good one here. Hang onto him.”

  “I plan too,” she replied defensively, “What I want to know is how you get off claiming to be my mother!”

  “I know you must be skeptical and confused,” she replied, sympathetically. “I have a lot to tell you and it’s a long story, so please be patient with me.

  “The first thing you should know, and I’ll put it as simply as I possibly can, I’m a spy. I’m an operative for an agency of the U.S. Government --- or at least, I was.”

  “Stop right there,” I said. “I appreciate you trying to dumb it down for us, but if you want us to buy your story, you’re going to have to be more specific.”

  “Very well then. My name is Sarah Savage, and for the past forty years I’ve been an agent in the Consular Ops division of the C.I.A.”

  I was dumbfounded. “That’s a rea
l thing? I thought it was just fiction. I remember reading about it in Robert Ludlum’s novels, The Matarese Circle, Matarese Countdown and The Jansen Directive.”

  “It’s real, all right. I’ve read those novels too, and while his stories are fiction, they’re a very realistic description of the agency. It’s a top secret, black ops program, strictly off the books. Our function is to locate and neutralize enemies of the United States, both foreign and domestic.”

  “Much like the B-613 agency on the TV show, Scandal,” I said.

  “I’m confused,” Kevin interjected. “You just said, ‘top secret,’ and ‘off the books.’ So how is it you’re telling us about it? It seems like that would be getting both you and all of us in deep doodoo.”

  “You’re exactly right,” she replied. “In forty years, I’ve never breathed a word about the program to anyone outside of the organization. And yes, if they knew, all our lives would be in danger.”

  “And yet, here you are!” I said.

  “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think it was safe for all of you. The last thing I want to do is endanger my daughter. I’ve been sequestered at the Three Trails for several weeks, making sure they hadn’t found me. I had a hunch the last place they’d look for me would be in a dump like that. No offense, Walt.”

  “None taken. I’m just proud and somewhat surprised to say that ‘runaway spy’ has been added to the Three Trails guest book.”

  “Ok,” Veronica said, somewhat irritated, “let’s quit beating around the bush and get to the point. What’s all this about you claiming to be my mother?”

  “Of course. I had to start by telling you about my career. Because of my proficiency in foreign languages, I was recruited by the agency right out of college and trained at Langley. I was sent out into the field immediately. After several successful operations, I was assigned to Consular Ops.

  “This is the part that’s difficult to explain. There are some really bad people out there. Sociopaths with no conscience whatsoever, who are motivated by greed and the lust for power. People so vile, the world would be a much better and safer place if they ceased to exist, but the government cannot openly condone murder. That’s why Con Ops is strictly off the books. These people must be dealt with quickly, silently and covertly, by agents that have no traceable ties to the United States. Every major power has a Con Ops to deal with enemies of the state on an unofficial level.