Lady Justice and the Black Widow

by Robert Thornhill

  I looked at Kevin. “That does make sense.”

  “Great!” Earl exclaimed. “Then it’s a done deal. When do we start?”

  That afternoon, I put another X on the window.

  For better or worse, we had been lured into the Widow’s web.

  That evening, I received a call.

  “Mr. Williams, this is the Black Widow. Am I to assume that the X on your window means you are ready to proceed?”

  “My partner and I looked over the compound, and we think we have come up with a plan to free the women without anyone being killed. I hope that’s not a deal breaker.”

  “Not at all. In my last letter, I said that how you free those women is up to you. My only concern is that they get away from that monster. Are you ready to proceed?”

  “We are.”

  “Good! We should act simultaneously. Tomorrow, between two and two-thirty. Be ready and I’ll give you the go ahead when I’m ready to act on my end. Any questions?”

  “Just one. Why are you doing all this? Five men are dead so far, and I’m assuming the number will be six by this time tomorrow.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Unless you’ve been the victim of one of these predators, you wouldn’t understand. All five of those men have been abusing women for years and getting away with it. Escobar is a perfect example. The authorities know what he’s doing, but they can’t touch him. In the meantime, dozens of women are being torn from their families and forced into sexual slavery. No more!”

  “Surprisingly, I do understand, but surely you know that eventually there will be consequences to your actions.”

  “I do know, and it’s a price I’m willing to pay. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  The next afternoon, Jan sat in her car watching the house on Ward Parkway. At one-forty-five the garage door opened and a black SUV pulled into the street.

  Escobar was on his way to the BRIO Tuscan Grille. His predictability was going to be his downfall.

  Jan waited until Escobar and his entourage had been seated and ordered.

  Wearing a fedora-type hat pulled low on her face and sunglasses, she entered the restaurant and made sure she was seated where she could see Escobar’s table. She ordered a salad which she quickly consumed, being careful to wipe her prints off the silverware and water glass.

  She saw Escobar rise from the table and make his way to the men’s room as he always did. Next came the only part of her plan she could not control. If another man was in the restroom, she would have to abort.

  Tossing a twenty on the table, she grabbed her purse and followed Escobar. The moment the door closed, she took an ‘out of order’ sign out of her purse and stuck it to the door.

  This was the moment of truth. She entered and took a quick look around. They were alone ---just the two of them.

  Escobar was at a stall in mid-stream when he saw her reflection in mirror.

  “Hey, lady! You got the wrong bathroom.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” she replied, pulling the taser from her purse.

  Before he could cry out, she pulled the trigger and Escobar fell to the floor jerking violently.

  She gave him a second jolt and he was out.

  After administering the potassium chloride, she noticed he hadn’t had time to tuck and zip.

  Karma, she thought. That’s how they’ll find him.

  She dragged him into a stall, tossed his cell phone into the water, and hoisted his lifeless body onto a commode.

  She smiled as she strategically placed her card on the exposed organ.

  “No more immunity for you,” she said, closing the stall door.

  On the way out, she plucked the sign from the outer door, exited the restaurant, and blended into the crowd on the busy Plaza Street.

  A block away, she pulled her cell phone out of her purse.

  “Mr. Williams, I’ve done my part. The rest is up to you.”

  Amy, Earl, Kevin, and I were in the big Peterbilt on the side of the road waiting for the call from the Black Widow. At two-thirty my cell phone rang.

  “Mr. Williams, I’ve done my part. The rest is up to you.”

  “We’re ready to go. Hopefully, if everything goes as planned, those women will soon be free.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Thank you for helping me. Not many would have.”

  “Please don’t mistake what we’re doing as condoning what you’ve done. This was simply a case of doing something we shouldn’t be doing, working with you, for the greater good. Those women deserve to be freed.”

  “I understand. Nevertheless, thank you --- and good luck.”

  I turned to my three compatriots. “That’s it. Escobar is history. Let’s do this!”

  Amy, Kevin and I climbed into the back of the trailer. Earl pulled the door shut, and moments later we heard the roar of the big diesel engine.

  Thankfully, it was just a five-minute drive to Escobar’s compound. I’m not normally claustrophobic, but being locked up in that pitch-black trailer, knowing that in a few minutes I’d be facing evil men carrying Ak-15’s was a bit disconcerting.

  I felt the rig turn into the gravel driveway and come to a stop.

  I heard a gruff voice outside. “Stop right there! What the hell is this?”

  “A delivery, of course,” Earl replied.

  “What kind of delivery?”

  “I think you know. Another shipment from Venezuela.”

  “Nobody told us about a shipment coming today.”

  “Hey, that’s not my problem. I’m just a driver. I do what I’m told.”

  Then another voice joined the man outside. “Hey Bruno, what’s with the rig?”

  “The driver says it’s another delivery from down south.”

  “Escobar never said anything about another shipment.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Look,” Earl said, “if you don’t believe me, call Escobar.”

  “Yeah, I’ll do just that.”

  A moment later. “Nothin’. It went straight to voice mail. What should we do?”

  “I know what I’d do if it were me,” Earl said. “I’d take these women right now. Think about it. They’ve been cooped up back there since they arrived in New Orleans. If you don’t get them out of there, you’re gonna have a truck load of dead bodies. Escobar won’t be very happy about that. I’d hate to be the one who sent them away.”

  “Yeah, you might be right. How many are there?”

  “Ummm, twelve I think.”

  “Damn! We’ve only got six empty cots.”

  “Again, not my problem,” Earl replied. Do you want them or not?”

  “We’ll take ‘em. I’ll find a place in the barn to hold the extras.”

  “Good, let’s get them unloaded.”

  That was our cue to get ready.

  Kevin and I pressed against the side of the trailer, tasers ready to fire.

  I heard the latch click open, and a moment later light flooded the trailer.

  “What the hell?” one of the men muttered, seeing two old fogeys instead of a dozen refugees.

  We fired simultaneously. The 50,000 volts dropped the two henchmen in their tracks.

  “I see why the Black Widow likes these things,” Kevin said. “That was fun!”

  The three of us jumped to the ground.

  “Amy, you and Earl go inside and get the women ready to go. Kevin and I will hog-tie these two and get them ready for transport.”

  We put cuffs on their hands and bound their feet with duct tape. We were just about to put a piece of tape over their mouths when I heard a voice. “Put your hands in the air and don’t move or you’re dead men.”

  We hadn’t seen a driver return from making an escort run.

  He looked at the two men on the ground. “On second thought, maybe I should just kill you now.”

  “I don’t think so,” said a voice behind him.

  He turned to fire, but two taser probes hit
him in the chest.

  “Amy! Thank God! Where did you get the taser?”

  “Hey, you aren’t the only ones who get cool toys. It can get pretty scary out there on the road. I’ve carried one for years.”

  We bound the driver and had just finished when Earl led the women out of the Morton building.

  I saw the look of relief on their faces. Then, when they saw their captors lying bound on the ground, their relief turned to anger.

  The men were just waking up and I could see the fear in their eyes as the women descended on them, kicking and spitting, venting weeks of fear and frustration.

  We gave them a few moments to exact their vengeance before pulling them away.

  Minutes later, with the hog-tied men and the women loaded into the trailer, we pulled out of the compound.

  Eduardo Escobar was dead, his sex slavery operation was in shambles, and a dozen women were free.

  I hated having to work with the Black Widow, but justice had been served.

  Sometimes the ends justify the means.

  CHAPTER 14

  Our first stop was Hope House. I had called ahead and they were expecting us. They welcomed the women with open arms. Soon, they would have hot showers, a warm meal, and a clean place to sleep.

  Our next stop was the precinct. I called Blaylock and asked him to meet us at the curb.

  “What’s with the big rig,” he asked.

  “Special delivery,” I replied, as Earl raised the trailer door.

  Blaylock’s mouth dropped open when he saw the three men bound and gagged. “What the hell? Who are these guys?”

  “They were part of a sex trafficking ring operating out of a Morton building in Eastern Jackson County. We just dropped twelve women off at the Hope House who will testify against them. Their AK-15’s are in the cab.”

  “How did you know about this ring?” he asked, suspiciously.

  “Anonymous call,” I replied, trying to keep a straight face.

  “Anonymous my ass! You’ve been working with the Black Widow!”

  “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it,” I replied resolutely.

  “So you’re saying it’s just a coincidence that you clean out Eduardo Escobar’s on-line brothel the same day he was found dead in a bathroom stall at a Plaza restaurant?”

  “Who is Eduardo Escobar?”

  “Come on, Walt. Who are you kidding? We’ve known each other too long.”

  “Okay, Derek, let me ask you a couple of questions. Did you know Escobar was running a sex slave operation with women he kidnapped in Venezuela?”

  “We might have.”

  “And you didn’t do a thing to stop him because he had diplomatic immunity. Am I right so far?”

  He nodded again.

  “Well, today Escobar is out of business and twelve women are free. Your hands are clean. No diplomatic backlash. Do you have a problem with that?”

  He sighed. “My problem is that you had to consort with a serial killer to get the job done.”

  “I’m sorry about that, too, but sometimes the ends justify the means. I think that applies in this situation. If you don’t believe it, just ask any one of those twelve women who are free today.”

  “I still don’t get it. How did you get hooked up with her?”

  “If you’ll remember, she recognized me in the park. She probably saw Kevin and me at one of the previous crime scenes. She had to realize that at our age we aren’t cops. If she saw us go after the Independence Avenue serial killer, she knew we weren’t averse to doing things on our own.”

  “Okay, so?”

  “So she contacted me. Put a letter under my windshield. All I have is two letters and the number to a burner cell phone. I’ll turn everything over to you. Other than that, I wouldn’t recognize her if she was standing here right now. We had nothing to do with Escobar. That was all her. All we did was act on a tip that women were being held prisoner. End of story.”

  “Some story. I hope you’re not going anywhere. It’s gonna take all afternoon to write this up.”

  The next morning, bright and early, I received a call I certainly hadn’t been expecting.

  “Walt, Carmine here. I read in this morning’s paper that Eduardo Escobar got whacked in a crapper. I call that poetic justice. I saw that twelve of his girls got rescued. I don’t suppose you had anything to do with any of that?”

  “I think I should take the Fifth, Carmine. No point in self-incriminating.”

  He broke out laughing. “I hear ya, pal. I’ve taken the Fifth a few times myself. Anyway, congratulations. I told you if you got that piece of trash off our streets, I’d owe you. So be it. If you ever need anything, you know where to find me. Ciao.”

  I heard a ‘click’ and he was gone.

  I breathed a sigh of relief. Several times before I had been in his debt. It’s rather disconcerting, knowing you owe favors to the godfather of the Kansas City mob. While I’m not in the habit of consorting with the mafia, it was nice to know I wasn’t on his black list.

  Moments later, the phone rang again.

  Another call I hadn’t been expecting.

  “Walt, this is Father Sebastian. I don’t know if you remember me.”

  I certainly did. The good padre had been instrumental in helping us put the Mexican drug cartel operating on the West Side, out of business.

  Hector Corazon had been recruiting young women from the Sacred Heart Guadalupe parish. He would send them to Mexico where cocaine was surgically implanted into their breasts. Several of the returning women didn’t survive the procedure.

  “Of course, Father. What can I do for you?”

  “I have a --- situation. It’s very sensitive. May I come to your office?”

  “Certainly.”

  “I’ll be right over.”

  Twenty minutes later, Father Sebastian was seated in my office.

  I could see the look of concern on his face.

  “What I’m about to tell you, you must promise to keep in the strictest confidence.”

  “You have my word, Father. What’s going on?”

  “One of my parishioners, Maria Perez, came to me with very disturbing information.”

  “Go on.”

  “Maria is a single mom. She works and her five-year-old daughter, Angelica, is in day care. She came home crying, saying a man at the day care had been touching her. I think you know what I mean.”

  “I do, and that’s horrible. Has Maria been to the police?”

  The Padre sighed. “That’s the thing --- she can’t. Maria is an undocumented alien. She is in the country illegally. If she goes to the authorities and they report her to ICE --- well, you know what can happen.”

  “She’ll be sent back to Mexico.”

  “With the administration’s current immigration policy, it’s very likely. She’s been in this country twelve years. She works, pays taxes, and has never been in trouble, but all it takes these days is one word to Immigration and Customs, and she’s gone.”

  “I see your problem. How can I help?”

  “I was hoping you could look into the situation at the day care center. If you could find evidence that this man is a child molester without involving Maria and Angelica, that would be wonderful. Meanwhile, Maria is afraid to send her daughter back there.”

  “Who are we looking at?”

  “It has to be the custodian, Arthur Newton. He’s the only man there. With his job he has the run of the place.”

  “I’ll see what I can do, and please tell Maria not to worry. Her secret is safe with me.”

  “Thank you, and may God go with you.”

  One of the things I’ve learned from my partner, Kevin, is that a good P.I. has to be able to lie like a dog.

  For seventy-four years, I’ve lived by a moral code that says lying is a no-no, so it’s been quite an adjustment for me. Nevertheless, with some practice I’ve been able to master the art.

  This was one of those times I figured it would come in
handy.

  From the street, the Single Parents Day Care Center on Southwest Boulevard looked like every other day care I’d seen. The exterior was painted in bright colors, and inside a chain-link fence was a playground with swings, teeter-totters, and other stuff designed to wear out preschoolers.

  Inside, I was met by a matronly woman with grey hair tied in a bun. I couldn’t help but wonder if the grey came naturally or if it was bestowed onto her prematurely through her association with the dozen or so children romping around a playroom.

  “May I help you?”

  “I hope so,” I replied. “My name is Navin Johnson. My daughter is moving to Kansas City. She’s a single mom and we’re looking for day care for her five-year-old daughter, Erin. We’re looking at several day cares. I’d like to see what you have to offer.”

  There was no look of recognition, so I figured she didn’t know that Navin Johnson was Steve Martin’s character in The Jerk.

  “Certainly,” she replied, extending her hand. “My name is Judith Krantz. I’m the director here. I’d be happy to show you around. Follow me.”

  She led me through a gate into the playroom. Another woman was desperately trying to corral the active youngsters. It reminded me of the old saying, ‘it’s like herding cats.’

  “As you can see,” she said, “many of our programs are interactive. We encourage our children to engage with their environment, not just be spectators.”

  I figured that was just double-speak for wearing them out.

  A mop-haired little kid ran up and kicked me in the shin.

  “Ethan!” she scolded. “What have we learned about being nice?”

  He kicked me again and ran off. Apparently little Ethan had learned nothing.

  “Sorry about that. Sometimes when there’s been no discipline at home it takes a while to get through.”

  “We also provide healthy snacks,” she said, as a little girl came up and wiped chocolate on my pants.

  At that moment, a boy dropped his carton of milk.

  “Oh dear! Arthur! Clean up.”

  A middle-aged man appeared carrying a bucket and mop.