[Lady Justice 15] - Lady Justice and the Vet Page 7

  It wasn’t an easy decision to make, but he had made it. There was no turning back now.

  “Ants!” Mary exclaimed, stomping furiously around the food table. “I hate ants!”

  The couple from Buckner had delivered foil trays filled with ribs, brisket, pulled pork and smoky baked beans. Much to Mary’s chagrin, the resident ants of Loose Park had wasted no time in finding their way to the mouth-watering barbeque.

  After making introductions all around, the guests had broken up into small conversational groups following the old ‘birds of a feather’ rule.

  Ox, Judy, Archie Langston, and Ben and Tracy Singleton were in one group; Mary and the residents of my building were in another, but the one that I was most interested in was our two lottery winners, Earl Lassiter and Morty Friedman and Mike Mastin from the hotel. All three were about the same age, a few years older than me.

  I moved closer to hear their conversation. They were comparing stories of their time in Vietnam.

  “Navy,” Earl said. “USS Merrick, an attack cargo ship. We were up and down the Mekong River, ’66 through ’68.”

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” Morty exclaimed. “I never knew that. I was 82nd Airborne. We started out in Chu Lai but wound up in the Mekong Delta. It might have been your ship that brought us those god-awful c-rations. Small world. How about you, Mike?”

  Mike hung his head. “My Lai --- the massacre. I was there, Company C, 1st Battalion, March 16th, 1968 --- a day I’ll never forget.”

  “Jesus!” Morty said. “That’s rough. I’ll bet it hasn’t been easy.”

  “You have no idea. It took a while to come to grips with it. I made some mistakes. That’s why I’m at the Three Trails.”

  “The Three Trails!” Earl said, shaking his head. “That roach motel that Walt owns over on Linwood?”

  Mary overheard Earl’s remark. “Hey! Maybe we ain’t fancy, but I don’t tolerate no roaches!” she said slapping an imaginary roach on the table. “Me and Willie are roach ass-kickers, aren’t we Willie?”

  Willie smiled and nodded. He knew better that to correct Mary.

  “That’s beside the point,” Earl said. “Surely you can find better accommodations than that.”

  “Oh, they’re out there,” Mike replied. “I just can’t afford them. I --- uhhh --- used to do drugs and spent some time in lock up. No one wants to hire somebody with a record like that.”

  “How long ago was that?” Morty asked.

  “Twenty years.”

  “You’ve been clean for twenty years and still can’t get a job? There’s something wrong with this picture.”

  Archie had overheard the conversation. “I’ll say. I’ve never done drugs and never been in prison and I can’t get a job either.”

  “I thought you had a computer thing lined up,” I said.

  “Me too, but it fell through. I think the owner of the company just didn’t want to make the handicapped modifications to the building.”

  “Holy crap!” Morty muttered. “I knew jobs were scarce but I never figured it was that bad for our veterans. Our guys and gals that have served should be able to get work.”

  That was the response that I was hoping for.

  “What a coincidence,” I said. “Construction is about to begin on the St. Michael’s Veterans Campus. It’s a 22 acre development close to the V.A Hospital.”

  “That’s right,” Judy said, joining the conversation. “I’ve heard that the first phase will have 58 one-bedroom affordable housing units. When everything’s complete they’re supposed to have a support services center offering counseling, job training, and a recreational building. The whole thing is supposed to cost around $34 million. Some of the funds are secured, but they need more to complete the project.”

  Suddenly, I saw the lights go on in Morty’s eyes. “Earl, I think we’ve been set up!”

  “How so?” Earl replied.

  “I think this is the work of our birthday boy. I don’t think for a minute that he invited us to his party for our good looks. Two rich old veterans coming together with three other veterans down on their luck. Pretty smooth, Walt!”

  “So did it work?” I asked, hoping I hadn’t offended my new friends.

  “What do you think, Earl? Do you suppose we could spare a million or two of that $240 million for a good cause?”

  “Can’t think of a better place,” he replied, then looking at Mike and Archie, “but there may be some strings attached to our gift. I know of a couple of veterans that deserve a fighting chance.”

  “Good! Now that that’s settled, can we eat?” Ox asked, eyeing the barbeque. “I’m dying over here!”

  “Yeah, looks like you’ve missed a lot of meals,” Dad said, sarcastically.

  We were just lining up at the food table when a black and white pulled into the parking lot.

  I was surprised to see Officer Dooley striding across the grass.

  “Congratulations, Birthday Boy,” he said grinning. “I never thought you’d live to see seventy.”

  “Did you come all the way out here just to harass me on my birthday?”

  “Definitely that, but there’s something else I thought you should know.”

  “What’s that?”

  “A bunch of creeps on Harleys have been hitting picnickers in parks all across the city. They ride in on their bikes, take wallets, purses, anything they can get, and are gone in minutes. By the time we get to the scene, they’re long gone.”

  “Thanks for the tip, Dooley. I appreciate your concern, but they’d be crazy to hit our little soiree. Three cops, four veterans --- they wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “I’d say that your best defense is right over there,” Dooley said, pointing to Mary who was stomping more ants and cussing like a sailor.

  “You’re probably right!”

  I gave Dooley a pulled pork sandwich for his trouble and we dug into the delicious barbeque.

  The meal went without a hitch unless you count the barbeque sauce that squirted out of Ox’s third sandwich and dribbled down the front of his shirt.

  After we had stuffed ourselves to the gill, Dad, the self-appointed master of ceremonies, called our little group together.

  “I just wanted to take this opportunity to say something about my boy. I know I wasn’t the best father. I was away a lot on the road and left his upbringing to his mom --- God rest her soul. Then when she passed, we kind of drifted apart. I --- I guess what I’m trying to say is that the past four years, since we’ve reconnected, have been the happiest of my life. I can’t tell you how proud I am of my son and what he grew up to be, not because of me, but in spite of me.”

  I brushed away a tear, happy I had finally found the dad I never had.

  The usually quiet Willie raised his hand. “I wanna say somethin’ too. When we firs’ met, I was just an old black con man livin’ out o’ my car, but Mr. Walt took me in and we been friends fo’ twenty years. I’se just glad he was willin’ to accept me fo’ who I was an’ not fo’ what I was.”

  Hearing Willie’s words made me think of the day I met the skinny little dude, selling ceiling fans out of the trunk of his car. I had no way of knowing at that moment how many times that man would save my life.

  “My turn,” Ox said, folding his arms across his chest to hide the sauce stains. “I’d been a cop for twenty years and had dozens of partners. Then one day this 65 year old rookie walks into my life and it hasn’t been the same since. Walt is the best partner a man could ask for and I trust him with my life.”

  The Professor was next and as expected, he waxed philosophical. “The feats that my protégé has accomplished at his advanced age are indeed remarkable and I believe that his life is typical of the adage that ‘age is not an accumulation of years, but a state of mind’. I think Satchel Page, who pitched until he was 59, said it best. ‘How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you are?’ It’s obvious to me that Walt has no idea how old he is.”

  Everyone rolled their eyes
when Jerry stood up. Undoubtedly Jerry must have been voted the class clown in school and he had spent his entire life trying to be the next Rodney Dangerfield or Steve Martin. Unfortunately, the most he had accomplished thus far was a regular gig on amateur night at the local comedy club. “I’ve written a little ditty in honor of the occasion,” he said, holding up a sheaf of papers.

  I had forgotten that he was also the poet laureate for our little group.

  “I call it, ‘Ode to an Aging Cop.’

  This is the story of a man among men

  Whose days on this earth number three score and ten.

  Though his body is hairless and really quite thin

  He’s proven to all that he knows how to win.

  When crooks are about and mean to cause trouble

  He springs into action and is there on the double.

  He’s a man of disguises and will always say ‘yes’

  To playing a dead guy or wearing a dress.

  At the captain’s request, he’ll go undercover

  Leaving his friends to wonder, ‘Oh where art thou, brother?’

  But he always returns with a wave and a smile

  Having captured the bad guys with his wit and his guile.

  He seems to be blessed with nine lives like a cat

  Which amazes his partner who’s getting quite fat.

  He’ll leap off of roofs all covered in red

  Hoping that somehow, he won’t wind up dead.

  Then a miracle happens --- a miraculous catch

  And the fool walks away with nary a scratch.

  There are some that might say that the fool’s tempting fate

  And one day he’ll wind up at God’s pearly gate.

  But please do not worry and please do not fret

  I’ve heard it from God. He’s not through with him yet.

  Much more lies ahead in this remarkable tale

  Lady Justice needs Walt if right shall prevail.

  I’ve always wondered, if God is so smart

  Why He puts so much trust in this randy old fart!

  When he was finished, everyone roared. He should have quit while he was ahead, but Jerry just couldn’t pass up the chance to tell one last joke.

  “Maggie went to the doctor the other day. When she got home, Walt asked her what the doctor said. ‘I got a good report. He said that I have the heart of a fifty-year old, the lungs of a forty-year old and the blood pressure of a person twenty-five.’ Walt was surprised. ‘What did he say about your seventy-year-old ass?’ Maggie just smiled. ‘Actually, your name never came up.’”

  Maggie was about to take the floor when we felt the ground shake and the roar of half dozen Harleys rattled the plates and silverware.

  Before anyone could move, the Harleys had circled our shelter house. The riders were every citizen’s nightmare --- a gang of thugs sporting tattoos and chains and every visible piece of skin was pierced with a stud or ring of some kind.

  “Well, well,” one of the thugs said, brandishing a pistol. “Looks like we’ve got us a birthday party, but the thing is, we’re the ones getting the presents. Now hand over your wallets, purses and rings and no one gets hurt. Benny will be around with a bag.”

  “Hold on a minute, Rocky,” another thug said. “Those two old guys over there --- I recognize them --- saw ‘em on TV. Those are the old coots that won the lottery!”

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” Rocky said with a snarl. “I guess this is our lucky day. I hope you old geezers can ride bitch because you’re coming with us.”

  Morty jumped to his feet to protest and Rocky slapped him across the mouth, knocking him to the ground. “That’s just a taste of what you’ll get if you give us any trouble.”

  Morty was laying on the ground writhing in pain. I saw Mary stiffen and I saw a look in her eye that I had seen before.

  Oh crap! I thought. They’ve pushed her too far!

  She was seated at the food table. Without a moment’s hesitation, she grabbed a fork from a jar of sweet gherkins and buried it into the leg of the closest thug.

  “ARRRRRRAGH!” he bellowed. When he bent over to grab his leg, Mary grabbed his earring and nose ring and gave a yank. “ARRRRRAGH!” he bellowed again. Then she planted a foot squarely in his groin and he crumpled to the ground.

  With the first anguished cry, all hell broke loose.

  Ox hit the one closest to him like a Chief’s linebacker.

  I saw Dad fall to his hands and knees behind another one while Willie gave him the old chop block.

  Archie barreled into a third one, the metal footrests of his wheelchair biting into the calves of the perp. He dropped his gun and Ben was on him in a flash, pinning him to the ground.

  Judy had sprung into action and kicked the gun from the hand of the goon closest to her. The poor guy probably thought that he was the lucky one, facing off with a woman. He didn’t know, of course, that Judy was a black belt.

  He lunged for her. Judy ducked and landed a knee in his mid-section followed by another knee to the chin. One more chop to the back of his neck finished him off.

  Rocky had watched in horror as his men fell one by one.

  He was furious as he turned to face me. His eyes were filled with rage and spittle frothed around his mouth.

  “Looks like you’re the one that’s going to pay, old man,” he said pointing his pistol at my chest.

  “I don’t think so,” Jerry said, coming up from behind. He swung a bag of ice from the cooler and landed a solid blow to the side of Rocky’s head.

  As Rocky fell in a heap, Jerry smiled. “Told you that God wasn’t through with you yet.”

  Just then, I heard the sound of sirens.

  A few moments later, Dooley and a handful of officers had Rocky and his gang in cuffs.

  “How’d you do it?” he asked in amazement.

  “It was Mary. She forked him.”

  “Forked him? Really? Right here in the park?”

  “Pickle fork.”

  “Is there any other kind?”

  “That wasn’t a metaphor.”

  “I know,” he said laughing as he walked away. “Unbelievable!”

  As I surveyed the scene, I was willing to bet that no one ever had a birthday quite like this one.

  CHAPTER 10

  When I walked into the squad room the next day, the last person I expected to see was my half-brother, Mark Davenport.

  I didn’t even know that I had a half-brother until a few years ago. Dad was an over-the-road trucker and unbeknownst to anyone, including Dad, his lady friend in some small town out in western Kansas became pregnant. Knowing that Dad was like the fellow in Gogi Grant’s old song, The Wayward Wind, she decided to raise Mark on her own.

  When I first met Mark, he was in the FBI, but later he transferred to Homeland Security. As fate would have it, I actually got to work with him undercover on two different occasions.

  “Happy birthday, Bro,” he said, shaking my hand.

  “Thanks. I hope you didn’t come all the way from Washington just for my birthday. A card would have sufficed.”

  “Actually, I wish that was the case, but I’m afraid there’s more to my visit than that.”

  I got an uneasy feeling. “Please don’t tell me you’re here to recruit me for another undercover.”

  “Walt! What kind of brother would do that on your birthday?”

  At that moment, the captain called the meeting to order.

  “Gentlemen, I’m going to turn the meeting over to Mark Davenport of Homeland Security. He has some rather unsettling news. Mark.”

  “Thank you Captain. I’m sure that many of you have been reading the headlines about the attack at the Westgate shopping complex in Nairobi, Kenya. Over sixty were killed and another two-hundred and forty injured. A terrorist group, al-Shabab, which has ties to the Taliban, has claimed responsibility. Immediately after the attack, twenty agents from the FBI flew to Nairobi and have been sifting through the rubble. Unfortunately, they have uncov
ered evidence that indicates that some of the terrorists may have ties to Kansas City. We’ve known since the aborted attack at the All-Star Game last summer that a small cell has been operating in Kansas City. Now, it seems, they have stepped up their game. The FBI believes that the Nairobi incident was just a tune-up for a much larger operation on US soil --- possibly right here in Kansas City.”

  An uneasy murmur swept through the room.

  Mark continued, “There are a number of possible targets, but we believe the one most vulnerable and most likely is the American Royal Parade coming up this weekend. The theme again this year involves a salute to our veterans. In addition to the usual marching bands, Boy Scouts and floats, there will be several hundred servicemen and women, veterans, the Governor of Kansas and the grandchildren of a couple of presidents. Over ten thousand spectators are expected. An attack of any magnitude would be devastating and a real feather in the Taliban’s cap. The problem is that the parade route stretches from Union Station north to the Sprint Center. There’s a hundred different places along Grand Avenue where they could launch an attack.”

  “How can we help, Mark?” the captain asked.

  “We need to scour every inch of the parade route and that will require a lot of man hours. Any personnel that you could spare would be greatly appreciated.”

  “Consider it done,” the captain replied. “Men, give me a half hour to revise the duty roster. If your name is on the list, report to Agent Davenport.”

  I fully expected our names to be on the list and I wasn’t disappointed.

  Twenty of us were gathered in a staging area. Most were beat cops like Ox and me, but there were also four teams from the K-9 patrol.

  “There’s a little bit of everything along Grand Avenue,” Mark said, “businesses, restaurants, bars, strip clubs and vacant buildings. We have to thoroughly search each one. Hopefully, everyone will cooperate, but if you get any flack, give me a call. Pay particular attention to any location that handles liquids in pressurized containers. We don’t want a repeat of the incident at the Gay Pride Parade.”