I suppose I was expecting the child molester to be some grotesque figure like the Hunchback of Notre Dame or Egore, but he was quite ordinary looking, a smallish fellow, maybe a hundred and fifty pounds.
Since he was otherwise occupied, I figured this might be a good time to take a look around.
“Uhhh, excuse me. Could you direct me to the rest room?”
“Certainly. Down the hall. First door on the left.”
I actually did have to go.
As I stood at the urinal, I looked around the room. Typical bathroom, a couple of stalls, a couple of urinals, and two sinks.
Then something caught my eye. I finished my business and took a closer look. It was a small hole in the wallboard.
I knew from past experience that molesters were often also peepers.
I slipped out of the bathroom. I could see Arthur was still busy so I ventured farther down the hall. The janitor’s room was adjacent to the bathroom I’d just left.
I ducked inside and found the wall separating the two rooms.
There was the peephole. A voyeur’s dream.
Arthur was definitely our man.
I hurried out just as Arthur was returning with his mop and bucket.
I found Mrs. Kranz separating two toddlers who had been pummeling one another.
“I’m so sorry. I just received a text. I’m needed at my office. I’ll have to reschedule. Thank you for your time.”
I hurried home, stocked my surveillance knapsack with trail mix and a thermos of coffee, and headed back to the day care. I wanted to be watching when Arthur headed home.
A little after five he emerged and headed to his car.
I followed him to a six-plex on Baltimore. After he was inside, I checked the mailboxes. He lived in #2B.
That’s exactly where I would be tomorrow when he was at work. If I could find incriminating evidence, I’d be able to put the pervert out of business.
Jan was munching a sandwich in the breakroom when she overheard two of her co-workers.
“I’ve got a problem and I don’t know what to do?”
“What kind of problem?”
“I live in a six-plex. A middle-aged guy lives across the hall. He’s pretty quiet. He keeps to himself. I think he’s a custodian or janitor. He wears one of those coverall things.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Yesterday, the mailman misdelivered a letter. It was addressed to Arthur Newton, my neighbor. Trying to be a good Samaritan, I knocked on his door. When he came to the door, he was red-faced and sweating. I handed him the letter. It fell out of his hand. When he stooped to pick it up, I could see into the room. His computer was open and I’m positive there were images of little girls in compromising positions. I’m pretty sure my neighbor is into child pornography. Isn’t that illegal? Should I tell someone?”
“It’s illegal all right. Unfortunately, the police will need more than just you saying ‘I think I saw.’ He might have been looking at children’s undergarments on Macy’s website. That’s weird, but not illegal. They would have to have a search warrant to actually go into his apartment. To get a warrant, they have to convince a judge they have probable cause.”
“So, what should I do?”
“That’s a tough one. If you accuse the guy and he’s innocent, you could ruin his reputation. He might even lose his job, but if you don’t and he’s really into that sick stuff --- I just don’t know.”
Well I do, Jan thought. I don’t need a warrant. If the guy’s dirty, I’ll find out. One less pervert spreading filth on the Internet.
Besides lying, another thing I learned from Kevin was picking locks.
I had seen him do it many times. I figured if I was going to keep doing this P.I. stuff, I should learn to do it myself. I bought a set of picks and Kevin taught me the basics. I really sucked at first, but I finally was able to pop open the most rudimentary locks.
The next day, I returned to Newton’s apartment on Baltimore. I watched until I saw him leave the building and drive away.
I climbed the stairs to #2B. No one else was around so I pulled out my picks and went to work. It took fifteen minutes and several words I wouldn’t say out loud in mixed company to get it open. Kevin could have done it in two.
I spotted the computer on the kitchen table. I slipped on a pair of latex gloves. The last thing I wanted was for my fingerprints to be found on a computer with dirty pictures. I booted it up and held my breath. Thankfully, it wasn’t password protected. My technological skills don’t go much beyond punching the ‘on’ button. Kevin calls me a technonerd.
I clicked on the documents folder and inside were other folders labeled ‘boys’ and ‘girls.’ I opened one marked ‘boys’ and images appeared that made me sick to my stomach.
I took out my cell phone and photographed the screen. I figured these photos, along with the peep hole in the bathroom wall should be enough to put Arthur out of business.
I was about to shut the thing down when I felt a jolt just like the time I touched the electric fence in grandpa’s cow pasture.
Then everything went black.
Jan looked up her co-worker’s address on Baltimore. She said the perv lived across the hall which would be #2B.
She figured the guy would be at work, but either way it didn’t matter. If he was home, she would just take care of business. If not, she would search his apartment for incriminating evidence, then come back later when he was home.
She climbed the stairs, found 2B, and tried the door. She was surprised to see that it was unlocked.
Jan pulled the taser from her purse and quietly pushed open the door.
A man with his back to her was looking at images on a computer screen. When she got a glimpse of what he was looking at, there was no doubt he had to die.
She pulled the trigger and the probes bit into the man’s backside. He crumpled to the floor face first.
She removed the probes, reloaded the taser, and pulled the syringe with the potassium chloride from her purse.
She rolled the man over and gasped. She was looking into the face of Walt Williams!
What the hell? Walt must have been shadowing the guy too. What were the odds?
At that moment she heard a voice. “Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my apartment?”
Jan was just as surprised. “You must be Arthur Newton. Why aren’t you at work?”
“Some damn kid must have given me a bug. I started puking so I came home.” Then he spotted Walt. “Hey, I saw that guy at the day care yesterday. What’s going on?”
Jan pointed to the computer screen. “This is what’s going on. You’re one sick s.o.b., but your child porn days are over.”
Newton turned to flee but only made it a few feet before the taser probes bit into his back.
Walt was still out cold, so Jan finished her work with Newton.
Satisfied he was dead, she turned her attention to Walt. He could regain consciousness at any time, and the last thing she needed was the old guy seeing her there.
She rummaged around in Newton’s kitchen drawers and found a roll of duct tape. Quickly, starting at his feet, she wound the tape around and around, binding his arms and legs to his body. Finally, she finished the job, placing a strip of tape over his mouth.
Satisfied, she propped Newton’s body against the wall with the computer on his lap. After leaving one of her cards on both bodies, she slipped out the door.
When I finally regained consciousness, my body felt like I had been run over by a truck. Whatever zapped me must have contracted every muscle in my body.
Then I suddenly realized that my body was bound head to toe in a cocoon of duct tape. I was immobile.
I spotted Newton’s lifeless body propped against the wall and the two calling cards that had been left. Suddenly it all made sense. The Black Widow had been stalking Newton but I had arrived first. The jolt that put me out was from her taser.
Ironically, the thought that p
opped into my mind was Tarzan being wrapped in the silken web of the giant arachnid in The Web of Arrack. And, now, like my childhood hero, I was wrapped in the web of the Black Widow.
I tried struggling, but I couldn’t move. I tried calling out, but the tape muffled my voice. I began to wonder how much time would pass before someone discovered we had fallen victim to the Black Widow.
Suddenly, much to my dismay, I felt a new sensation.
I had to pee.
I wondered, as I lay there in distress, what Tarzan would have done. Unfortunately, if Tarzan had to pee, they didn’t cover that in the movie.
“Maggie, Kevin here. Have you seen Walt? I’ve been trying to call him, but it’s going straight to voice mail.”
“No, I came home expecting to join him for lunch, but he wasn’t here. I’ve been trying to call him too. We had a date. He wouldn’t just blow me off without letting me know. I’m worried. Was he working on something new?”
“Not that I know of, but sometimes he gets involved with something and fills me in after the fact.”
“What should we do?”
“How about this,” Kevin replied. “Give Ox a call. Tell him Walt has disappeared and have one of the tech guys ping his phone.”
“Good idea. I let you know what they come up with.”
Maggie made the call and fifteen minutes later, Ox called back.
“Walt’s phone is at an address on Baltimore. He’s still not answering. I’m heading over there now.”
“Thank you! I’ll let Kevin know. Text him the address. I know he’ll want to join you.”
Kevin and Ox arrived at the address on Baltimore at the same time.
“That’s Walt’s car,” Kevin said. “He must be inside.”
“Yeah, but where? It looks like a six-plex. We’ll just have to go door to door until we find him. Let’s go through and knock first. If no one’s home we’ll go back through. Do you have your picks on you?”
“Is a duck’s ass watertight?”
“I guess that’s a yes. Let’s get going.”
No one was home at the first-floor apartments. They tried the doors and finding them locked, moved on to the second floor.
They knocked on 2B. Hearing nothing, Kevin tried the door. “It’s unlocked,” he whispered.
Ox pushed open the door. “Kansas City police! We’re coming in!”
“Holy crap!” they both muttered, seeing the two bodies on the floor.
“That’s Walt in the tape,” Kevin said, pulling out his pocket knife.
While Kevin was cutting through the tape, Ox pulled the strip from Walt’s mouth.
“Hurry! For chrissakes hurry!” Walt muttered.
The moment his hands and feet were free, he bolted for the toilet.
Ox and Kevin heard a big sigh of relief and a flush.
As I laid there, trying not to stain my trousers, I tried to think about how I would explain my presence in Arthur Newton’s apartment.
I couldn’t say that I’d been tipped off by the Padre. Blaylock would want to know how the Padre knew and I doubted that Father Sabastian would be able to lie as well as Kevin and I and that would lead to Maria Perez. I had promised I wouldn’t get her involved. There was no way I would put her at risk of deportation for doing a good deed.
I decided on the old ‘anonymous tip’ ploy again, only this time it obviously couldn’t have come from the Black Widow.
I would say it undoubtedly had come from some concerned parent at the day care who had spotted the hole in the bathroom wall. It could have been the parent of any of the dozens of kids enrolled there. That would have been my excuse to visit the center and get a bead on Arthur Newton.
Once again, that was going to be my story and I would stick with it. I was amazed at how quickly I had learned to spin little white lies but doing so was much better than exposing poor Maria. It was another instance that reinforced my belief that not everything is black or white, but often some shade of grey.
When Blaylock arrived with the CSI guys, imagine his amazement when he discovered that somehow the Black Widow and I had crossed paths again.
At least this time he couldn’t accuse me of collusion.
Not only had I been bitten by the spider’s taser and wrapped in her duct tape web, but she left a note on her calling card as well.
“Sorry, Walt. I hope you’re okay.”
CHAPTER 15
The headline in the next morning’s Star read, “The Black Widow claims her seventh victim!”
The story went on to give a detailed account of Arthur Newton’s pornographic lifestyle and how he had met his demise.
Somehow, reporters at the paper knew details of every crime scene that were not released by the police. Juicy stories sell papers and none of the reporters were willing to reveal the source of their information citing their First Amendment rights. There was no doubt that the Black Widow had to be the source, but no one had a clue how the information was being relayed.
On the editorial page was a column that caught my attention. It was written by a woman who was supposed to be an expert on aging.
It informed me that I should be offended by being referred to as a ‘senior citizen.’ Apparently, the politically correct term these days is ‘older adult.’
Bull hockey!
In my humble opinion, this politically correct stuff is getting out of hand. While I whole heartily agree that there are words that shouldn’t be used to describe certain races, ethnic groups, or sexual preferences, the pendulum has swung too far.
As far as I’m concerned, I’m proud to be called a senior. I remember when I was an underclassman in both high school and college. I couldn’t wait until I was a senior.
Now, I wear the moniker as a badge of honor. It means that I have passed through the struggles and pitfalls of life and have graduated with honors.
I feel sorry for those in my generation who go to great lengths to hide their seniority. For me, my head of grey hair is a badge of honor. No longer do I have to ask for the senior discount at the checkout counter. It’s given to me automatically. It’s something I’ve earned for sticking around this long.
While I’m not a big fan of ‘elderly’ or ‘over the hill,’ I’m certainly not offended by the terms.
When I was a kid, my buddies and I played cowboys and Indians. I wonder if kids are even allowed to do that today. If so, they would probably have to say they were playing bovine managers and Native Americans.
That’s not to say there are no challenges once one reaches three score and ten. There are challenges specific to every age. The real test is how you deal with them.
I once saw this little ditty on Bernice’s refrigerator door.
The Golden Years
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 are here at last.
The golden years can kiss my ass.
Yet, in spite of these challenges, most of the seniors I know have more spunk than millennials I’ve seen.
Another perk is that once we reach our dotage, we can get away with stuff for which we would have been ostracized in our younger days. People just chalk it up to old age and move on, and I’m cool with that.
Oh, well, such is life.
As I folded the paper, I couldn’t help but wonder who the Black Widow’s next victim would be, and if fate would have us cross paths once again.
CHAPTER 16
Jeff Greenberg slammed down the Kansas City Star.
“Equal rights my ass!” he muttered.
He had just read an article stating that Senator Elizabeth Wright was coming to Kansas City to drum up support for passage of the Equal Rights Amendment.
“Damn women anyway!”
Twice during the past year, he had been passed over for promoti
ons that were ultimately given to women.
It just wasn’t fair. With all this #Me Too crap going around, men were afraid to look sideways at a woman for fear of being sued for harassment.
To top it off, some bitch calling herself the Black Widow had offed seven men including one hell of a basketball player.
This was supposed to be a man’s world. What happened?
A woman’s job was to bear children, take care of the household duties, and have a hot meal on the table for her husband. Instead, they had abandoned the home, put on high heels and pant suits, and invaded the sanctity of the workplace.
Something had to be done to restore things to their proper order.
Chris Carnes had been handing out assignments to the eager reporters in the briefing room
“Francine, Senator Elizabeth Wright is coming to Kansas City to promote the Equal Rights Amendment. She’ll speak at Bartle Hall, then afterwards there will be a ‘meet and greet’ session with the news media. I’d like you to cover that story.”
Jan’s heart skipped a beat when she heard that Senator Wright was coming to town. The feisty senator was one of her heroes.
As a cub reporter, Jan had always taken whatever assignments Carnes was willing to send her way, but this was an assignment worth fighting for.
“Uhhh, Chris,” she said, raising her hand, “I don’t ask for much, but I’d really like to cover Senator Wright’s speech. I’ve been following her for years. It would mean a lot to me.”
Carnes looked at Jan, then at Francine. “How about it, Francine? I could give you the Keith Urban concert at the Sprint Center.”
Francine nodded. “Hell yes! I’d rather spend an evening with Keith any day.”
“Then it’s settled. Jan, Senator Wright is all yours.”
Jan was thrilled.
The Equal Rights Amendment had always been one of her hot buttons. She couldn’t understand how it had not been adopted as part of the Constitution of the United States in ninety-five years.
Lady Justice and the Black Widow Page 10