Lady Justice and the Organ Traders Read online

  “Post, wait, and hope they respond?” Kevin said. “Sounds pretty passive to me. I know that I’m going to die without a transplant. If I was looking to buy a kidney, I think I’d be a bit more aggressive --- you know --- put the word out on the street.”

  “See! That’s what I’m talking about!” Blackburn said. “If you want to be part of this operation, you play by our rules.”

  “Okay! Okay!” Kevin replied, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just sayin’.”

  I could tell right away that this operation was going to have some interesting twists with Kevin on board.

  The ad had been posted on Craig’s List for three days, but there had not been a response.

  Ox and I had returned to our regular patrol duties and we had kept busy with the usual domestic complaints, bench warrants and rowdy drunks, but I wondered how Kevin was getting along. I didn’t see him as a patient kind of guy, willing to sit back and cool his heels waiting for something to pop.

  Sure enough, on the evening of the fourth day, he showed up at our door.

  “Hey Walt, got any plans for the evening?”

  Actually, we didn’t. Maggie had worked late and we were about to order a pizza.

  “How about this,” he said, with all the enthusiasm of a used car salesman, “I need somebody to keep me company tonight. I’ll take you to Mel’s Diner and buy you a chicken fried steak. Maggie, you can come too, if you want.”

  Obviously Kevin had done his homework and knew that I was a sucker for Mel’s chicken fried steak.

  “If you’re bribing me with one of Mel’s culinary delights, you must have something else on the agenda. What gives?”

  He gave me that ‘Who? Me?’ look. “I’m shocked that you would think such a thing. I’m going to attend a Kidney Transplant Support Group at the University of Kansas Hospital over on Rainbow Boulevard. I was just hoping for some company.”

  “I’ll pass,” Maggie said. “I’m not a big fan of Mel’s grease, carbohydrates and MSG. I’ve got a Weight Watcher’s dinner I’ll throw in the oven. You two go ahead.”

  I really didn’t want to go, but I didn’t want to be a big poop either.

  “Will you throw in a piece of chocolate cream pie?”

  “Done!”

  “That was too easy,” I thought. “I’ll get my coat.”

  When we arrived at the hospital, I discovered that the group was designed for people needing a pancreas transplant as well as those needing a kidney.

  The brochure that was handed to me at the door stated, “The mission of this support group is to provide a caring environment for kidney and pancreas transplant candidates and recipients to give and receive support as well as education.”

  The meeting began with an educational presentation that lasted about a half hour. The remainder of the time consisted of a group discussion where attendees could share their concerns or encouragement. It was like an AA meeting for people with organ problems.

  The participants seemed to fall into one of two groups, those who had already received their transplants and those still on the waiting list. There was a remarkable difference between the two. It wasn’t difficult to tell who was in each group.

  Those still waiting for an organ shared stories of quiet desperation, talking about the endless hours hooked up to the dialysis machine and their dwindling hopes of receiving an organ before their time ran out.

  The lucky ones encouraged the rest to remain strong, never give up and keep praying for a miracle.

  We were the oldest guys in the room and when it was Kevin’s turn to speak, he played the sympathy card to the hilt.

  “I envy you young folks,” he said, his voice wavering. “At least you have a chance. Me, I’m seventy-five years old and that puts me right at the bottom of the list. I’ll be hooked to that damned machine till the old body just can’t take it anymore. There’s something wrong with the system. There are hundreds, if not thousands, just like me and there are folks out there that would be willing to give up a kidney for a price but for some reason, society just won’t let that happen.”

  A man spoke up, “Even if it was legal, most of us couldn’t afford it. I’ve heard that black market kidneys go for upwards of a hundred grand.”

  That was the opening that Kevin had been waiting for. “That’s not the point. I could afford to pay the hundred grand and would be happy to do it, but if this thing was legalized and controlled, there would be no market for the bootleggers and the price would drop to a level that most people could afford.”

  “I see where you’re coming from,” the man replied, “but it’s not going to happen in time to save us. People are just plain stubborn and resistant to change when it comes to this moral stuff.”

  “I’m afraid you’re right about that,” Kevin said, hanging his head and wiping a crocodile tear from his eye.

  After the sharing, refreshments were served and the attendees gathered in small groups for more intimate conversations.

  “Pretty clever!” I remarked as we headed back to Kevin’s car.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said with a smile. “I just felt the need to commiserate with some kindred spirits.”

  “So this little ruse had nothing to do with encouraging someone to offer you a black market kidney?”

  “Do you want a straight answer or shall I keep you in the dark so you can claim plausible deniability.”

  “I think it’s a little late for that. Do you think it will work?”

  “Time will tell. The Craig’s List thing certainly wasn’t getting us anywhere.”

  When we reached the car, there was a slip of paper under the windshield wiper.

  Kevin retrieved it and we read it together.

  “If you’re truly interested in a kidney, call this number.” It was one of those 1-800 things.

  “Well, there’s your answer,” Kevin said, slipping the paper in his pocket. “Looks like it worked!”

  At first, Agent Blackburn was pissed. “I thought I told you, no cowboy stuff!”

  Kevin looked appropriately offended. “Agent Blackburn, I’m dying of renal failure and my chances of getting a transplant are slim and none. I’ll be spending my last days hooked to a machine and you’re going to bust my balls for going to a support group to help me through this trying time? How was I to know this gang would have someone on the inside?”

  I had to hand it to Kevin. He certainly knew how to cross over the line with impunity.

  “Okay, okay,” Blackburn said, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. “It is what it is. Let’s decide what we’re going to do with this note.”

  “That seems pretty obvious,” Kevin replied. “I’ll call the number.”

  “Not so fast. I’ll get our tech guys in here to monitor and hopefully trace the call. We’ll also want to record the conversation.”

  “Then let’s do it!”

  An hour later, everything was in place.

  “We good to go?” Blackburn asked.

  The tech nodded.

  “Okay, Kevin. Make the call, but remember, you’re an old man pleading for a kidney to save his life, not a hard-ass gumshoe.”

  “I know how this works,” Kevin said, rolling his eyes.

  He dialed the number.

  The voice that answered was obviously mechanically scrambled. “Good morning, Mr. Fenton. I have just a couple of questions for you. The price is one hundred thousand cash. Can you do that?”

  “Yes, but ---.”

  “I’ll ask the questions. Are you ready to proceed and are you willing to follow our instructions to the letter without question?”

  “Yes!”

  “Splendid. You work on getting your funds together. We’ll be in touch.”

  The line went dead. The call had lasted less than thirty seconds.

  Blackburn looked at the tech guy who shook his head. “Burner phone. Not enough time for a trace.”

  “Looks like the ball’s in their cour
t,” Kevin said. “I’d probably better steer clear of this place in case they’re watching me. I’ll be in touch when they contact me again.”

  That contact came the very next day.

  I was at the breakfast table enjoying my coffee and Wheaties and reading the morning paper when the phone rang.

  “Walt, Kevin here. When I went out this morning, there was an envelope under my windshield wiper. These guys know where I live. Anyway, there was a note, an order for lab work and a key to a storage locker in the envelope. The note said to take the order to a clinic on Eighteenth Street, have the lab work done, wait for the results and pay for the tests. I’m supposed to take the lab work and fifty thousand dollars and place them both in a storage locker at the Greyhound Bus Station. Pass the information along to Blackburn so he can be getting the money together.”

  “Will do. Give me a call when you have the lab results and we’ll coordinate a drop for the cash.”

  “Okay, this is the break we’ve been waiting for,” Blackburn said. “Kevin may be followed so we don’t want to spook these guys. A real patsy would be going to a bank to draw money, so Walt, we’ll have you dress in plain clothes and meet Kevin at the United Missouri Bank to give him the cash. In the meantime, I’ll have some of my guys undercover at the bus station to keep an eye on the storage locker. When they pick up the cash and the lab report, we’ll follow them. You and Ox will be in an unmarked cruiser outside the terminal along with another vehicle. The two of you can switch off in case they’re looking for a tail.”

  It was two o’clock when Kevin called.

  “Holy crap! Those vampires took nineteen vials of blood! I’m surprised I can still walk!”

  “Do you have the results of the tests?”

  “Sure do and it cost me two hundred bucks! Tell Blackburn that I expect to be reimbursed!”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem. He’s already ponied up fifty grand. I have it in a small satchel. Meet me inside the United Missouri Bank at Twenty-Fourth and McGee.”

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  “So what’s the plan?” he asked, taking the satchel.

  “You just do like the note said. Deposit the money and the lab report in the locker and head straight home in case you’re followed. Blackburn has eyes inside the bus station watching the locker. When the stuff is picked up, we’ll tail them and see where they go.”

  “What then?”

  “It depends. There have been so many layers insulating the mastermind of this operation, we don’t want to make a bust unless we know we’re getting the big guy.”

  “Makes sense. See you on the other side.”

  Ox and I were in plain clothes in an unmarked cruiser. We had been given ear buds so that we could hear the chatter from inside the terminal.

  “Here comes McBride,” one of the Fibbies said. “He’s putting the stuff in the locker. He’s on his way out.”

  We saw Kevin exit the bus station and head for his car.

  “Now we wait,” Ox said, pulling a box of donuts and a thermos of coffee from the back seat.

  It was five o’clock, the sun was setting and the coffee was long gone when Blackburn’s voice came through the buds.

  “Nothing yet. We’re going to have to bring in another undercover shift. Our guys can’t stay there any longer without drawing suspicion. Ox, Walt, you can go on home. We have a car to relieve you.”

  Right on cue, another unmarked pulled up behind us and flashed its lights.

  “Thank goodness!” Ox moaned. “My butt’s asleep!”

  I was disappointed that we would miss out on the action.

  The next morning, we were summoned to the captain’s office.

  Blackburn was there, bleary-eyed and unshaven. It was obvious that he had pulled an all-nighter.

  “Screwed again!” he said, shaking his head. “When they hadn’t shown up by seven this morning, I told my guys to snoop around. Turns out, there’s a hall behind the storage lockers. The back side of the lockers is a plywood panel that’s just held in place with a few screws. The perps opened the locker from the back and cleaned it out while we were out front with our thumbs up our kiesters! They got away clean AND they have our fifty grand. Nothing to do now but wait for them to contact Kevin again.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Several days had passed before we heard from the organ traders again.

  Kevin had come to our apartment for dinner. We had finished and Kevin and Maggie had just started pouring through old photo albums, trying to piece together their fractured childhood when Kevin’s cell rang.

  He looked at the screen and when he saw that the number was blocked he switched on the speaker phone.

  “Hello.”

  “Fred Fenton?”

  “Yes, this is Fred Fenton. How may I help you?”

  “My name is Dr. Miguel Vargas and I have some good news for you. Based on the lab reports you gave us, I believe we have found a compatible donor.”

  Kevin slipped into his desperate, dying man persona as easily as I would have slipped into my old comfy house shoes.

  “Thank God! I just can’t bear the thought of spending my last days hooked to a machine. How soon can we get started?”

  “Very soon. We are hoping for two days from today. The preparation for the transplant is quite extensive so we try to schedule two procedures on the same day. We are contacting the other recipient to confirm their participation.

  “The procedure may take anywhere from three to four hours depending on what we find. The first operation will begin at nine in the morning. We will send a car for you at eleven. That will give us plenty of time to get you to our facility and prepped. If all goes well, we should begin just after twelve. When you wake up, you will have a new kidney and a new lease on life.”

  Kevin gave a little sob. “This means so much to me. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “No thanks needed. It is a service we are happy to provide. Now, for your final instructions. You will bring two things, the remainder of your payment in cash and whatever you feel you will need for an overnight stay. We want to keep an eye on you just to make sure there are no complications.”

  “May I bring a friend?”

  “Are you referring to the man that accompanied you to the transplant support meeting?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then certainly. I’m sure he is aware of what’s going on and will be discreet.”

  “Absolutely!”

  “Very well then. I will send you a text to confirm the day and time. Good evening, Mr. Fenton.”

  The line went dead.

  “Looks like we’re in!” Kevin said, reverting back to his old mischievous self.

  Josh Summers had feared that the call would not come in time. Dr. Vargas had told him that finding a compatible donor for Beth’s unusual blood type might be difficult, but the call finally came.

  “Mr. Summers, we’ve located a compatible donor. If you have the rest of the cash, we’re ready to proceed.”

  Josh had drained every account, including the boy’s college fund and his retirement. He had even cashed in his life insurance policy to get the initial fifty thousand that Dr. Vargas had required. With the second mortgage on his house and the loan from his boss, he was able to put together the final payment.

  On the evening before the operation, Josh and the two boys gathered at Beth’s bedside. She had grown weaker, but had clung to life, buoyed by the hope that a donor would soon be found and the love and support of her family.

  “It won’t be long now,” Josh said, putting his arms around his sons. “Before you know it, we’ll have your mom back, healthy and happy.”

  “I miss you all so much,” Beth whispered, “I just want us to be a regular family again.”

  The four of them joined hands and with heads bowed and tears flowing, thanked God for the miracle that would save Beth Summers’ life.

  Kevin had received the confirmation text and we were in the captain’s office
finalizing our plan to take out the organ trader ring.

  “Good thinking, getting Walt inside,” Blackburn said. “Frankly, as careful as they have been, I’m surprised that they didn’t do a background check on him.”

  “Whoever was watching us that night just saw an old dude,” Kevin replied. “Who would guess that an old fart like him would be a cop?”

  Like Rodney Dangerfield, I just don’t get no respect.

  “Here’s how we’ll play it,” Blackburn said. “They’ll be picking you up at eleven. We’ll have a car standing by to tail and we’ll plant a tracking device in your overnight bag just in case we lose you. As careful as they have been, we have to assume that security at their final destination will be tight, so, no guns and no wires. You’ll be going in cold.

  “When you’re inside, we’ll surround the place. Vargas said that the first operation would take about three hours, so we’ll wait until noon, then hit the place with everything we have.”

  “Just don’t wait too long,” Kevin said with a grimace. “I don’t want a catheter stuck up my dick!”

  Precisely at eleven, an SUV pulled up in front of Kevin’s apartment and honked.

  Kevin was carrying the satchel with the fifty grand and I was carrying a duffel bag with his overnight clothes, toothpaste and deodorant. A tiny tracking device had been sewn into the hem of his jockey shorts. The driver opened each bag and inspected the contents before allowing us to enter the vehicle.

  “Looks like we’re good to go,” he said. “Just climb into the back and relax.”

  We headed down Southwest Trafficway and exited onto the 12th Street Viaduct. It was obvious that we were heading to the West Bottoms.

  The SUV wound through a maze of railroad tracks and side streets and pulled up in front of an old brick three-story warehouse. I noticed ‘Armour Meat Packing Company’ in faded, barely readable letters on the chipped brick.