Lady Justice and the Evil Twin

by Robert Thornhill

  Then it hit me. I hadn’t told Mary about my doppelganger.

  “I’ll be right there!”

  I grabbed my gun. “Come on, Kevin. We’ve got a situation!”

  Mary was waiting for us on the front porch of the hotel.

  “Mr. Walt! I swear you was here earlier. How come you don’t remember?”

  “Mary, that wasn’t me.”

  “Sure looked like you.”

  “I know. The guy’s name is Viktor Kozlov. How much money did you give him?”

  “A full week’s worth. Eight-hundred dollars.”

  “Damn! Now he’s into me for nine-hundred bucks. You say he wanted to see Owen Gilmore?”

  She nodded. “He went upstairs, but Owen wasn’t home yet.”

  “Any idea why he wanted to see Owen?”

  “Not a clue.”

  “What room is he in?”

  “Number 14.”

  At the top of the stairs, we met Mr. Feeney.

  “Hey, Mr. Walt. When you was here earlier, you said you’d send Willie over to ream out the crapper. It’s still plugged up.”

  “That wasn’t me you talked to.”

  “Sure looked like you.”

  “I’ll explain later. We have to see Owen Gilmore.”

  We moved down the hall to #14 and knocked. “Owen, this is Walt Williams. We need to talk.”

  Owen cautiously opened the door. “Hi Mr. Williams. What can I do for you?”

  “This is my partner, Kevin. May we come in?”

  “Sure,” he replied, stepping aside. “What’s this all about?”

  “Earlier, there was a man here looking for you. His name is Viktor Kozlov. He’s Russian. Does that mean anything to you?”

  I could see the color drain from his face.

  “Holy crap! They know!”

  “Know what, Owen? If you’re in some kind of trouble, we can help.”

  He took a deep breath. “I work on the loading dock at Harmon Imports. They get stuff from all over the world. A couple of days ago, a crate slipped off the conveyor and broke open. It was full of some kind of ceramic dolls from Mexico. One of them busted open. It was filled with marijuana. I pretended I didn’t see anything, but they must’ve known that I did. Now they’re coming to shut me up. What should I do?”

  “I know Rocky Winkler at the Drug Enforcement Unit. Will you tell him everything you just told us?”

  “I guess, but what then? I sure can’t go back to Harmon. The Russians will know I talked.”

  “I think I have a solution. Let me give Rocky a call.”

  Minutes later, I had Rocky on the phone. After hearing Owen’s story, he said to stay put. He was on the way.

  Viktor pulled to the curb in front of the old hotel. He hoped Gilmore would be home from work so he could finish his current assignment.

  As he climbed out of his car, he didn’t see the old woman peering at him through the window.

  I had just hung up from Rocky when my phone buzzed. It was Mary.

  “Mr. Walt! The guy that was here earlier --- the one who looks like you --- he’s back! He’s coming up the front porch stairs right now!”

  “Thanks, Mary. Stay inside your apartment and don’t come out until I tell you it’s safe.”

  I turned to Kevin. “Koslov is here. Let’s get the rat bastard!”

  I pulled my gun and crouched just outside the door to #14.

  Moments later, Kozlov appeared at the far end of the hall.

  We both just stood there in awe. It was like looking in a mirror. Everyone was right. He sure looked like me.

  I saw him draw his gun, but I got off the first round. It blew a hole in the door of the #4 bathroom. I ducked as Kozlov returned fire.

  Mr. Feeney stepped out of the bathroom just as I got off my second round. It blew out a light fixture above the bathroom door. Feeney squealed, and retreated back inside.

  Kozlov was about to send another volley our way when we heard sirens in the distance.

  Instead of firing, he pointed a finger. “This isn’t over!” Then he was gone.

  I hurried down the hall to the #4 bathroom. “Mr. Feeney, are you okay?

  “I recon so, except for wettin’ myself. Did you get the guy?”

  “No, he got away.”

  At that moment, Rocky and his men came bounding up the stairs. He was surprised to see me.

  “Walt! I thought I just saw you driving away.”

  “That wasn’t me.”

  “Sure looked like you. Where’s Gilmore?”

  I took Rocky down the hall and introduced him to Owen. After a long discussion, Rocky said he would talk to the U.S. Marshalls about putting him in witness protection. If Owen’s tip panned out, the Russians would definitely be after his hide.

  Before we left the hotel, I told Mary what had taken place. I warned her that the Russian imposter might be back, and until he was caught, she should use the code word, snickerdoodles, to make sure it was really me.

  I noticed that after our altercation with Viktor, Kevin had been unusually quiet. On the way home, I found out why.

  “Walt, I’m worried about you.”

  “Why? I’m fine.”

  “Are you? You had that guy dead to rights twice and you damn near shot Mr. Feeney. What happened?”

  “I --- I don’t know.”

  “How long since you had your eyes checked?”

  “I can’t remember. It’s been a few years.”

  “Well, I think it’s time. If we’re going to work together, I have to know my partner can keep up his end. I hope you understand.”

  I understood all right, and I got a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  The next morning, I received a call from Rocky. Based on Owen’s information, he got a warrant and the D.E.U. raided Harmon Imports. They found the grass just like Owen had said.

  After hearing the news, my first call was to Carmine Marchetti. I promised him I’d keep him informed about anything concerning the Russians.

  Naturally, he was thrilled. A major supplier of Russian marijuana had been cut off. He thanked me for the information, saying once again that I was his favorite gumshoe.

  It’s not like I want to be friends with the guy, but it’s nice to know I’m on his good side.

  CHAPTER 8

  Ivan Sokolov was furious.

  “You have failed me, Viktor! Because you failed, we lost over two-hundred pounds of marijuana. But even more tragic, we lost our main supplier from Mexico. It will take weeks, maybe months, to find a new supplier.”

  “I’m sorry, Ivan, but in my defense, how could I possibly know that Williams was coming to the hotel? It must have been the old woman. She told him I’d been there. Do you want me to take care of her?”

  “Absolutely not! You’ve caused enough trouble for one day. I want you to go to your hotel room and stay there until I decide what to do with you. Understand?”

  “Yes, Ivan. I will do as you say.”

  Viktor said the words, but knew he was lying. That very night, he snuck back to the hotel and under the cover of darkness, read the name on the old woman’s mailbox.

  I had been thinking a lot about what Kevin said, and to tell the truth, I had noticed that objects using my left eye were getting fuzzy.

  For a seventy-five-year-old guy, I have been very fortunate. Other than a couple of kidney stones and having a mitral valve repaired, I have been quite healthy. I rarely go to the doctor. My philosophy has always been, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

  While others my age are battling hardening of the arteries, arthritis, diabetes, or a host of other maladies, somehow, I have been spared. I have friends who talk about their latest colonoscopy, but I have yet to have a camera stuck up my rear end.

  Nevertheless, I faced the fact that it was time to have my eyes checked. Nearly plugging poor Mr. Feeney was the deciding factor.

  With great trepidation, I made an appointment to have my eyes examined.

  The next day,
Viktor parked on the street across from Williams’ apartment building. When the old P.I. left the building, Viktor followed him to an eye surgery clinic. When Williams went inside, he knew he had plenty of time to exact his revenge.

  He drove to the hotel and knocked on the old woman’s door.

  “Mary, good morning.”

  “Hey, Mr. Walt. Come on in.”

  “I just wanted to stop by and make sure you’re okay. That was quite a shootout yesterday.”

  “Sure was. I’m fine, but Mr. Feeney’s still shakin’ in his boots. He said he couldn’t sleep a wink last night. Say, I was about to get me some cookies when you knocked. How about having one with me?”

  Viktor really didn’t want one, but figured he should go along. “Sure, why not?”

  “What’s your favorite? I’ve got several kinds.”

  “Ummm, how about chocolate chip?”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Mary returned moments later with one hand behind her back, but no cookies.

  Viktor was wary. “What? No cookies?”

  “You ain’t gettin’ no cookies, cause you ain’t Mr. Walt!”

  Viktor drew his gun, but Mary was faster. She swung her bat and Viktor squealed in pain as white ash collided with bone, flesh, and gun metal. The gun sailed across the room and under the couch.

  Viktor scrambled to his feet just in time to see Mary cock the bat for a second swing.

  “I’m gonna crack your head open like a ripe melon!”

  He ducked, but the bat struck his shoulder. Racked with pain, he ran for the door.

  Mary was right on his heels. “Come back here and fight like a man, you scumbag!”

  Viktor beat her to the car and sped away.

  With sweaty palms, I was lead into the examining room.

  After taking my temperature and blood pressure, the nurse came at me with a vial of liquid. “Tilt your head back, please.”

  I did as I was told and was rewarded with copious squirts of liquid in each eye.

  “Just relax,” she said. “The doctor will be with you shortly.”

  Relax, I thought. That’s easy for you to say.

  The short time turned out to be twenty minutes, but finally the doc arrived.

  After a brief introduction, he pivoted a machine in front of my chair.

  “Place your chin on the rest and look into the light.”

  Naturally, the first thing that came into my mind was what they tell people who are dying, “Look into the light. Walk into the light.”

  I did as I was told and was hit with a light beam that reminded me of the Star Ship Enterprise just as it’s blasting into warp speed.

  After examining both eyes, he pushed the machine away. “You have cataracts in both eyes.”

  “Both! Are you sure?”

  “Well, I have been doing this for a while now, so, yes, I’m sure. Don’t be alarmed. Over half the people who reach the age of eighty have cataracts. We can take care of that for you. It’s a very simple process.”

  “How simple?”

  “We make a small incision in your eye, break up the old lens with ultra sound, suck it out, and slip in the new lens. You’ll be good as new.”

  The moment he said, “small incision in your eye,” my hiney puckered.

  “You won’t feel a thing,” he said.

  Yeah, I’ll bet! I thought.

  “The nurse will be back in a minute. She’ll take you to the scheduler. We’ll do your left eye first, then the right one two weeks later.”

  On the way home, I tried to envision what it would be like to have my eye cut open. Every time I thought about it, my hiney puckered again.

  As I climbed the stairs to my apartment, Dad and Bernice were just coming out.

  Dad gave me the once over. “You look a little pale, son.”

  “I’ve got a cataract,” I muttered.

  “Oh, wow!” Bernice gushed, “a Cadillac! Did you trade in your old Ford?”

  Evidently she wasn’t wearing her hearing aids.

  “Not a Cadillac, a cataract --- in my eye.”

  “Oh, that,” she said, dismissively. “I had those years ago.”

  “Me, too,” Dad said. “Well, we gotta go.”

  I was hoping for a bit more sympathy.

  Thankfully, Maggie was home. I hadn’t told her where I was going. She has a tendency to worry.

  “Hi, sweetie, where have you been?”

  “Eye doctor. I have cataracts --- in both eyes --- I’m going to have surgery.”

  “Well, it’s about time,” she replied. “Maybe after your surgery, you can see well enough to hit the stool.”

  I was dumbfounded! My own wife!

  “It’s no big deal,” she said. “I had mine done when I was fifty-five.”

  There was absolutely no sympathy to be found.

  “Oh, yes,” Maggie added, “Mary called. She said to come by. She said it was very important.”

  I sighed and headed to the hotel.

  “What’s the code word?” Mary asked.

  “Snickerdoodles.”

  “Thank goodness, it’s really you. The other guy was here earlier. He didn’t know the code word, so I whacked him with my bat.”

  “Holy crap! Tell me everything.”

  “He came in all nice and sweet. I offered him a cookie and asked what kind he wanted. When he said ‘chocolate chip’ I knew it wasn’t you, so I fetched my bat. He drew on me, but I laid him out good. Knocked the gun right out of his hand. I got it right here.”

  She handed me the gun wrapped in a tea towel.

  “What happened then?”

  “I whacked him again, and he ran like a scared rabbit. He beat me to his car, so he got away.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Hell, yes! I’d love to have another crack at the little creep.”

  I called Detective Blaylock, who took Mary’s statement and the gun. A few days later, Derek told me that ballistics had matched the gun to the slug that killed the convenience store clerk.

  That night, all I could do was lay there in the dark, thinking about how to get Viktor Kozlov out of my life. When not thinking of him, images of Dr. Frankenstein coming at my eye with a sharp tool filled my mind.

  The day of my surgery finally arrived. They said I wouldn’t be able to drive after the procedure, so Maggie tagged along.

  I checked in at the front desk, and it wasn’t too long before a nurse took me back to the surgical area. I was shocked to see a line of recliners, each one filled with an old person. I was led to the last open chair and told to sit. It was obvious that I had just entered a geriatric cataract assembly line.

  The nurse handed me a hospital gown. Thankfully, I was instructed to put it on over my clothing. I hate those things because there’s no way to wear one without exposing your rear end to the whole world.

  After taking my blood pressure, I was handed a form to sign. Basically, it said that if they accidently blinded me, too bad. I signed it. In for a dime, in for a dollar.

  Then came the eye drops. Four different vials. I was told that these would dilate my pupils, and one of them contained numbing drops so I would feel no pain. I asked for an extra squirt of that one. I needn’t have worried. They squirted me four times.

  A kindly nurse put an IV in my arm. She explained that just before going into surgery, they would inject something to make me calm. I was all for that.

  I had to sit there about forty minutes for the drops to take effect. Finally, a nurse returned and said she was going to inject the calming drug.

  I gave her a big smile and said, “Shoot the juice to me, Bruce.”

  She gave me a strange look. “My name’s not Bruce.”

  “Oh, I know that. That’s a line from the 1950’s song, Transfusion, by Nervous Norvus. ‘Shoot the juice to me, Bruce. Pass the blood to me, Bud. Pass the crimson to me, Jimson. Pump the fluid in me, Louie. Put a gallon in me, Allen.’ That one”

  “Uhhh, right!” sh
e replied, backing away.

  I guess she’d never heard the song. She was too young.

  Another nurse led me to the operating room. I was seated in some kind of reclining chair and they put on a mask that covered all of my face except for the left eye.

  The doctor shook my hand and said, “Almost done. Just look into the light.”

  Then a few moments later, “You’ll hear a buzzing sound.” Finally, “Here comes your new lens.”

  The whole thing took about ten minutes, and thankfully, I didn’t feel a thing.

  As I was led to the recovery room, I remembered a quote from Ernest Hemingway that said, ‘A coward dies a thousand deaths. A brave man dies but once.’

  I had spent a lot of time and energy worrying about something that never happened.

  As we were driving home, Maggie said, “Well, let’s see if you can hit the stool now.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I aim to please.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Ivan Sokolov looked at Viktor’s bandaged hand. “What happened to you?”

  “Oh this?” Viktor replied, waving his hand. “It’s nothing. I was getting out of the car and the wind blew the door shut on my fingers.”

  “Ouch! That must’ve hurt. Can you work?”

  “Sure, no problem. What do you have for me?”

  “Carmine Marchetti owns a bar over on Independence Avenue, The Rat Pack Lounge. Every so often, there’s a high stakes poker game in the V.I.P. room. Lots of high rollers. Tonight, there’s a game. The house gets a cut of everyone’s winnings. That, plus the evening’s receipts, should be a hefty wad of cash.

  “Nick Valenti is the guy who runs the place. I want you to go there just as he’s locking up. He may know this Walt character and let you in. If not, force your way in and grab the dough. Valenti and Marchetti go way back. Taking out his old friend will let Marchetti know we’re coming after him.”

  “I got this, boss.”

  “You better have it. After that last screw up, I wasn’t sure I could use you again. Don’t make me regret this.”