Lady Justice and the Quirky Arlo Quimby Read online

  His path took him past Thornhill’s table. Timing it perfectly, Thornhill flipped his book table sending dozens of slick paper backs in the fleeing terrorist’s path. The terrorist took a header and was down long enough for the cops to cuff him.

  We struck up a friendship and Thornhill actually wrote a fictional novel about the Chemtrail Conspiracy from materials I supplied from my investigation.

  Every so often I would send him information about one of my cases, and a month or so later, it would appear in a new novel.

  Thornhill looked up in surprise when I ducked behind his table.

  “Walt! What the hell?”

  “Bad guys!” I replied, huffing, and pointing down the concourse.

  I could see flashing lights at the far door. The cops had sealed off the only exit in that direction. As soon as Fletcher and Kim spotted the cops, they turned and headed back our way.

  They were going to pass right in front of Thornhill’s table.

  I looked at Robert. “Raspberry Meadows?”

  He grinned. “I’m in!”

  Again, with perfect timing, we flipped the table loaded with slick paperbacks. Hitting the slick books, their feet flew into the air and they landed on their backs with a sickening thud.

  “Oooh, that’s gotta hurt!” Thornhill muttered.

  Minutes later, the two were in cuffs.

  “Nice work!” I said, as we gave each other a high-five.

  Then I looked at the dozens of books strewn across the concourse. “Good Lord. How many volumes in your series now?”

  “Thirty-four and counting,” he replied. “And there will be more as long as you keep sending me the details of your latest escapade.”

  Then I had a thought. “How would you like to write a book about the earth being flat?”

  He looked at me like I’d lost my mind.

  “Not a chance!”

  CHAPTER 10

  Two days later, I received a call from Mark.

  “Just thought you’d want to know that we found the names of the other conspirators in Fletcher and Kim’s briefcase. Our agents in those cities were successful in apprehending the perps and finding the hidden explosives.”

  “Congratulations. I figured as much since I hadn’t seen any headlines about a munitions plant going up in smoke. By the way, I hope you realize that the five arsenals were saved because of Arlo Quimby.”

  “That was the other reason I called. When my superior read my report, he immediately recognized Quimby’s contribution. He recommended that Quimby be awarded the National Intelligence Distinguished Service Medal, and his recommendation was approved.”

  “That’s fantastic! He certainly deserves it. I don’t suppose you mentioned in your report that Arlo is a flat-earther.”

  “Uhhh, no. I purposely omitted that little detail.”

  “Good. He’ll be so excited.”

  “One thing though,” Marc said, “it’s going to be a private service. No reporters, no publicity. It would raise too many questions. The government doesn’t want the public to know how close we came to a national disaster.”

  “I thought that might be the case,” I replied. “The story about the fracas at the airport was on page three of the Star, and just said that two men were arrested at the airport for creating a disturbance.”

  “Exactly, and I’m sure I don’t have to tell you and Kevin to keep quiet about the whole affair.”

  “Of course not.”

  “The ceremony will be held in a private room at the President Hotel tomorrow evening at six o’clock. You, Kevin, and your wives are invited to attend as long as all of you keep everything confidential.”

  “I’ll pass the word and you can count us in. Oh, yes, one more thing. Is it all right to talk to Detective Blaylock about the airport incident?”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem. The Kansas City cops helped us seal off the airport exits. We had to level with them to get their cooperation.”

  As soon as I hung up with Mark, I dialed Blaylock.

  “Derek, Walt here.”

  I heard him take a deep breath. “I suppose you’re calling to rub it in.”

  “Of course I am. If I remember correctly, Arlo Quimby brought you information that eventually helped prevent a national disaster, and you tossed him out of your office because you thought he was a kook. Now he’s getting a medal for it.”

  “My bad. I’m glad everything worked out, but I still think he’s a kook.”

  “Derek, surely you’ve heard the old saying, ‘you can’t tell a book by its cover.’”

  “True enough, but I’ve opened that cover more than once and there’s some weird stuff inside.”

  The next evening, Arlo met us in the hotel lobby and escorted us into a private room. Mark and another attractive young woman were already there.

  “I’d like you to meet my --- uhhh --- special friend, Miranda Lopez,” Arlo said, blushing.

  He told me he was dating a girl from housekeeping. He hadn’t mentioned she was a real looker.

  “Marc said it was okay to invite her if she would keep it a secret.”

  Miranda shook our hands. “So pleased to meet all of you. Arlo speaks very highly of you.”

  “I hate to rush this,” Mark said, looking at his watch, “but I have a plane to catch.”

  We all took our seats and Mark asked Arlo to stand.

  “The National Intelligence Distinguished Service Medal is a decoration awarded for service to the United States Intelligence Community. The decoration is awarded to a civilian contributor to the National Intelligence Community who distinguishes himself by meritorious actions to the betterment of national security in the United States of America, through selfless service of the highest order.

  “It is my honor to award this medal to Arlo Quimby for his exceptional service.”

  Arlo stood proudly at attention as Mark pinned the medal to his chest.

  “The United States of America thanks you for your service.”

  Marc shook Arlo’s hand and we all cheered.

  Mark looked at his watch again. “Sorry I have to leave so soon, but duty calls.”

  As he was leaving, he pulled me aside. “Hey bro, maybe you can call me sometime when it’s not a national emergency.”

  I smiled. “I might just do that.”

  I thought the evening was over, but Arlo had other plans.

  “This is a very special evening for me,” he said, somewhat embarrassed. “If you all don’t have any other plans, I’ve arranged a dinner for us. We have this room, and as you know, I work with the kitchen staff. While they don’t know exactly what went on in here, they know it’s important to me, so they put together something special. Can you stay?”

  We all nodded. “Absolutely!”

  Arlo left the room, and minutes later, four servers appeared carrying a huge plate of prime rib and all the fixens.

  During the meal we chatted, and I was pleased to note that Miranda was a delight. We learned that she and Arlo had been dating for about six months and things were starting to get serious. To his credit, not once during the entire meal did Arlo mention the flat earth thing.

  During dessert, he mentioned that his grandfather was in a nursing home.

  “This Sunday is Grandpa’s birthday. He’ll be ninety years old. I wanted to do something special for him, but I’ve been so tied up with this conspiracy thing, I haven’t had time. I don’t even know where to start.”

  An idea popped into my head. My dad had recently celebrated his ninety-fifth birthday, and as is customary in our little clique, my tenant, Jerry the Joker, was master of ceremonies. He loves doing stuff like that and he can put something together at the drop of a hat.

  “I might just have a solution for that,” I said.

  After explaining my idea, Arlo was all smiles.

  “You’d really do that? It’s perfect!”

  I couldn’t wait to get home and tell Jerry I had booked a gig for him.

  On the wa
y home, Maggie was strangely silent.

  Finally, she said, “That man we just spent the evening with. That man who just received a prestigious award. He seems so --- normal. It’s hard to believe he thinks the world is flat.”

  I smiled. “Just because someone has a differing opinion than you doesn’t make him some kind of freak.”

  I could tell she wasn’t convinced.

  Needless to say, Jerry was thrilled.

  “A nursing home gig! Cool! I’ll have to review my book of old fart jokes.”

  That remark made me wonder if I’d done the right thing.

  When Dad learned about the party, he insisted that he and Bernice should attend. He said that there were very few people who reached the ninety club, and since he and Bernice were charter members, they should be there to welcome him.

  It’s difficult to argue with that kind of logic.

  We arrived at the Misty Meadows Senior Living Facility a little before six o’clock. It was much like the Shady Rest nursing home where I had spent a week undercover, getting the goods on a shady doctor who was scamming Medicare.

  In one wing were the small apartments for folks could still care for themselves, and in the other wing were the rooms for those who needed special care. In between were the dining hall and a large room where residents went for bingo and ice cream socials.

  Arlo met us at the door and led us to the bingo room. The residents were already there along with their wheelchairs, walkers and canes. Arlo had spared no expense. Every resident sported a pointy little party hat.

  Arlo led us to a man seated in one of the wheelchairs.

  “Grandpa, these are the friends I was telling you about.” Then to us, “This is my grandfather, Silas Quimby. He’s ninety-years-old today.”

  As I shook hands with the old gent, I could tell that even though his body was slowly failing, he was still sharp as a tack.

  “I’m Walt Williams, Mr. Quimby. I’d like to introduce you to my friend, Jerry Singer, and these two are my dad and his friend, Bernice. Jerry’s the master of ceremonies today.”

  Quimby shook our hands. “Call me Silas. Okay, young man. Let’s see what you’ve got!”

  Jerry went to the center of the room and surveyed his audience.

  “I’m a bit confused. I thought Walt told me we were going to a nursery for a nine-year-old’s birthday party, now I’m told it’s a nursing home for a ninety-year-old’s birthday.

  “I guess my hearing’s just not what it used to be. Looking around, I suspect we all can relate to that. Father time marches on, our bodies change, and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it. We can either mope around and feel sorry for ourselves, or we can laugh and make the best of it. Something tells me that those of us who can laugh are a lot better off.

  “I found a couple of poems online that kind of sums it all up.”

  Arthritis makes my fingers swell.

  My bathroom visits really smell.

  I’m in some room and it’s not clear,

  Why did I just venture here?

  My hair is thinning or could it be,

  That it’s relocating here on me?

  Down my back and out my nose,

  And even from my ears it grows.

  The teeth I had were pearly white.

  Now I keep them in a cup at night.

  “Can any of you relate to this?”

  Lots of giggles as hands went in the air.

  “And going to the doctor. Isn’t that a treat? Reminds me of another poem.”

  He’ll poke and prod in all my holes.

  He’ll close examine warts and moles.

  He’ll press my gut when I’m undressed.

  He’ll listen to my heart and chest.

  They’ll take some blood and take some pee.

  It’s mortifying can’t you see.

  “That reminds me of an old guy going to the doctor for a check-up. He was hard of hearing, so his wife went with him. In the exam room, the doc said, ‘I need a stool sample, a urine sample, and a sperm sample.’ The man turned to his wife. ‘What?’ ‘Just give him your underwear.’

  “A seventy-year-old woman went to the doctor. When she got home, she said to her husband, ‘He said I had the bone structure of a fifty-year-old and the skin of a forty-year-old.’ The husband laughed. ‘What did he say about your seventy-year-old ass?’ ‘Your name never came up,’ she replied.”

  These were oldies but goodies and I had heard Jerry use them before, but the Misty Meadows crowd was eating it up.

  “I’m sure a lot of you have grandkids. They have this code thing going on and they think us old-timers don’t understand. What they don’t know is that we have our own code. For instance, they have BYOB, bring your own booze. We have BYOT, bring your own teeth.

  “They have LMAO, laughing my ass off. We have LMDO, laughing my dentures out. They have LOL, laugh out loud. We have LOL, living on Lipitor. And finally, when they say, BFF, it means best friends forever. For us, BFF means my best friend farted!”

  The audience was roaring.

  “I’ll leave you with one more little ditty. People say how wonderful it must be to enjoy our golden years. They say they can’t wait for their golden years to come at last. Well, this about sums it up for me.”

  I cannot see, I cannot pee.

  I cannot chew, I cannot screw.

  My memory shrinks, my hearing stinks.

  No sense of smell, I look like hell.

  The Golden years have come at last.

  The Golden years can kiss my ass.

  “Happy Birthday, Silas!”

  The crowd applauded, and right on cue, Arlo wheeled out an enormous cake with ninety candles. Everyone sang Happy Birthday as Silas tried in vein to extinguish the inferno. An old guy accompanied the singing on his kazoo which made the event even more memorable.

  I saw Dad approach Silas, so I wandered over so I could hear.

  “Silas,” Dad said, “I understand there are a lot of willing lasses in these retirement homes.”

  Silas grinned and nodded. “And the women outnumber the men two to one. Pretty good odds wouldn’t you say?”

  “Listen, “Dad said, conspiratorially, “if you ever need any of those little blue pills, I’ve heard of a new pharmacy just north of the border. It’s called Viagra Falls!”

  They both got a good laugh. Old age humor.

  After cake and ice cream and another ‘happy birthday’ to Silas, we were ready to leave. Arlo pulled me aside.

  “Walt, I wanted to thank you for everything you have done for me and my family. You’re a good friend. Also, I just wanted you to know that we’re having another Flat Earth meeting at Pastor Bob’s church on Tuesday evening. I’d really like you to come.”

  I had been dreading this. While I was initially intrigued by Arlo’s facts and figures, I just wasn’t interested in pursuing the matter any further.

  “Thanks, Arlo, but I think I’ll pass.”

  He nodded. “I understand. It’s a lot to get your head around. It’s not for everyone. But just in case you change your mind, we’re having a guest speaker. Dr. Julian Speers will be presenting evidence that the NASA Space Program is one of the biggest lies our government has perpetrated on the American people.

  Arlo was smart. He knew just which of my buttons to push.

  CHAPTER 11

  When I told Kevin about the upcoming flat earth meeting, he groaned, “Nooo, I thought we were through with all that nonsense.”

  “I thought so too, but aren’t you just a little bit interested in what this guy has to say about a faked moon landing?”

  He sighed. “Yeah, I guess I am --- a little.”

  When I told Maggie where I was going, I got ‘the look.’

  “Oh Walt! Don’t you remember what happened last time? Five-hundred dollars damage to your car.”

  “Yes, but Kevin’s driving this time.”

  “That’s not the point!”

  “I know, it’s probably stupid and
all a bunch of hooey, but there’s just enough truth in what they say to make me curious. Think of it like this: Someone sees a movie and says it’s great. Then you go and see for yourself. It’s like that.”

  Maggie rolled her eyes. “Okay, go, but please don’t tell anyone we know that you’re going to a flat earth meeting. Our friends already think you’re weird.”

  Kevin pulled to the curb two blocks from the church.

  “What’s the deal?” I asked.

  “I saw your car after the last meeting. I’m not taking any chances.”

  Arlo met us in the foyer.

  “Walt, Kevin,” he said smiling. “Something told me you might show up. Come, I’ll introduce you to our speaker.”

  Dr. Julian Speers appeared to be in his late fifties or early sixties. His shock of grey hair, beard, and moustache, gave him the appearance of a learned university professor.

  “Dr. Speers,” Arlo said, “I’d like you to meet my friends Walt and Kevin. They’re newbies, so of course, they’re somewhat skeptical.”

  “I was too, once upon a time. Welcome,” he said, shaking our hands. “All I ask is that you keep an open mind. Let the facts speak for themselves. For seventy years, our government has been telling us one thing, but as you will see before the evening is over, it’s all a fabrication.”

  At that moment, Oliver Prentis called the meeting to order. We found our seats and Prentis introduced Dr. Speers.

  “Thank you all for coming. Let’s start by asking the question, why would the United States create a fake space program costing billions of dollars? To answer that question, we need to go back to the year 1958.

  “The purpose of NASA was to fake the concept of space travel to further America's militaristic dominance of space. That was the purpose of NASA's creation from the very start: To put ICBMs and other weapons into space, or at least appear to. The motto ‘Scientific exploration of new frontiers for all mankind’ was nothing more than a front.