Lady Justice and the Lottery

by Robert Thornhill

“He did it again!” Earl Lassiter exclaimed. “The old cop did it again!”

  Morty Friedman smiled at his old friend. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “That thing on the news last night --- surely you saw it --- the stand-off between two Star Trek characters on the Bond Bridge. One of them was Walt Williams, the old cop that saved Maggie and me with those toy phasers. He put the fear of God into two gunmen with automatic rifles and he wasn’t even armed.”

  “How could you possibly know all of that?”

  Earl grinned, “You’d be surprised what money can buy. When I saw the news report, I drove to the scene. I slipped a young cop a couple of Benjamins and he told me the whole story. I’m telling you Morty, this is the perfect guy for my TV series. Think about it --- a seventy year-old cop that fights crime with experience and savvy instead of guns and brawn. He’ll be an instant hero with the Baby Boomers.”

  Just then there was a knock on the door.

  “Expecting someone?” Morty asked.

  “Your cousin, Sol,” Earl replied, “and I hope he has a guest with him.”

  Earl returned to the living room followed by Sol and a perky young blonde with a great body and an infectious smile.

  “Morty, I’d like you to meet Stacy Brecht,” Earl announced proudly. “This is the little gal from Hollywood that’s going to get my show on the tube.”

  Stacy extended her hand. “I appreciate the confidence, Earl, but we have a lot to talk about before your show is listed in the TV Guide.”

  “Then let’s get to work. What’s first?”

  “The biggest obstacle in any new production is finding the upfront money --- investors that are willing to plunk down big bucks when there is no guarantee that they will get a return on their investment.”

  “The money is no problem,” Earl replied. “I have over a hundred million dollars burning a hole in my pocket and this is something I want to do.”

  “Great,” Stacy replied. “Then we’re off to a good start. You mentioned that you wanted this to be a series. Are you sure there is enough material for a whole season?”

  “Again, not a problem. I’ve been nosing around the Kansas City Police Station and several of the bars where cops hang out. Walt and his City Retiree Action Patrol are pretty hot stuff and the cops are telling me stories that you wouldn’t believe.”

  Stacy interrupted. “City Retiree Action Patrol? The acronym for that is C.R.A.P.!”

  “Yeah, I know,” Earl grinned. “Great title for the series, isn’t it? City Retiree Action Patrol --- Seniors Fighting Crime! This old cop has done stuff that’s just off the wall. He and another cop went undercover as a gay couple to expose a corrupt city official and he even dressed in drag to flush out a dirty cop. You couldn’t make up stuff like this!”*

  “Looks like we have a mystery series with as big dose of humor,” Stacy said. “I have some connections at the USA Network, TNT and Hallmark. I’ll put together a proposal and we’ll run it up the flagpole.”

  “Fantastic!” Earl said. “Now lets talk about the actors we want to recruit.”

  “Whoa! Slow down, Earl! We’re a long way from signing actors.”

  “Maybe, but I know who I want for the leads. Harrison Ford will play Walt and I want Susan Sarandon to play his wife, Maggie.”

  Morty laughed. “Good luck with that, Pal. I don’t see you getting Harrison Ford to dress in drag.”

  “And just why not?” Earl replied defensibly. “Dustin Hoffman did it in Tootsie, Robin Williams did it in Mrs. Doubtfire, Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon did it in Some Like It Hot. Everybody has a price! So what’s next, Stacy?”

  “Have you talked to Walt Williams himself? What if the guy isn’t interested in becoming a household name?”

  “No, not yet, but I’ll get him on board. Remember, money talks and I’ve got a boatload of it.”

  “If you don’t mind changing the subject,” Morty said. “How’s my ball field coming along, Sol?”

  *******************************************

  *http://booksbybob.com/lady-justice-and-the-lost-tapes_307.html

  “You should drive by,” Sol replied. “All the old houses have been razed and they’re smoothing the lots as we speak. We’ve found the perfect guy to organize the volunteers, so everything is on track.”

  “Ain’t this great?” Morty gushed. “Who said ‘money can’t buy happiness’?”

  The next morning I met Ox in the precinct parking garage.

  “You owe me big time!”

  “For what --- besides scaring the pants off you last night?”

  “It took Judy a half hour and a jar of cold cream to scrape the goo off my face. Funny thing though --- before we got to that, she mentioned that pon farr thing and said Klingons really turned her on. I didn’t even know she had a clue about that Star Trek stuff.”

  “So how was it?” I asked, trying to keep a straight face. “I’ve heard those Vulcan girls are --- uhhhh --- enthusiastic lovers.”

  “You have no idea! It was fantastic!”

  “Great! Then we’re even.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “A little bird might have whispered some Star Trek lore in her ear.”

  Ox shook his head. “I should have known. Has anyone ever told you that you’re a sneaky old fart?”

  “There might have been an occasion or two.”

  As we approached the squad room, Ox asked, “We’re gonna get ribbed big time for our little escapade last night, aren’t we?”

  “If Dooley’s here, I’d say it’s a good bet.”

  When we opened the door about half the guys were wearing pointy Spock ears. Dooley rose and addressed us in his most eloquent voice, “The Federation welcomes the Klingon delegation.”

  He probably had more prepared, but at that moment the captain entered. His face broke into a smile when he saw his pointy-eared squad.

  “Well, those aren’t exactly regulation, but given last night’s adventure, they may be entirely appropriate.”

  Thank goodness the captain has a sense of humor,” I thought.

  “Jack Crawford and Sarek the Vulcan, whoever he is, asked me to extend their thanks to everyone involved in the recovery of the captain’s chair and the arrest of the perpetrators, so, great job everyone!

  “Let’s hope today is less eventful. You will all be back on your regular shifts. Be careful out there.”

  As Ox pulled our old Ford onto the street, I could see he was troubled.

  “Walt, you were right --- again.”

  I was afraid of what was coming.

  “Last night was so great --- but then this morning when I went to the breakfast table there were two pills sitting by my cereal bowl.”

  “Let me guess --- one for your prostate and a probiotic.”

  “Yes, but that’s not the worst of it --- it looks like this weekend I’ll be doing a colon cleanse.”

  So, there it was. My dear friend and partner was about to undergo the rigors of the cleanse. I had dreaded this moment, but now it was time for the ‘conversation’.

  “The trick to getting through this thing is to prepare yourself both mentally and physically. I just wish that I had a friend that could have guided me through my first one.”

  Ox looked at me in horror. “You’ve done this more than once?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. I’m not quite sure what pulls the ‘cleanse’ trigger in my wife’s psyche, but when it happens, it’s better to not rock the boat. Think of it like a visit to the dentist. No one ever wants to do that, but when it’s over, you’re a better and healthier man for having done it.”

  “I get the dentist,” he replied, “if you’ve got a cavity it needs to be filled, but what’s with the colon thing?”

  “Maggie had me read several articles about how our overall health is connected to our colon. Apparently stuff can build up in there over the years and it gets pretty nasty. The kicker for me was when she told me that after Elvis died, an autopsy re
vealed that he had over seventy pounds of fecal matter in his colon.”

  Ox grimaced as he looked at his belly straining against his belt. “So I have a seventy pound poop to look forward to?”

  I smiled. “I certainly hope not.”

  “Okay, so how does this thing work?”

  “First, don’t schedule anything for Saturday. You won’t be leaving the house. On Friday night, she’ll give you some pills that contain cool stuff like psyllium husk and cascara sagrada. There’s also a possibility that she’ll give you some vile liquid to drink.”

  Ox winced and looked a little pale.

  “Think Drano. You get a clogged sink, you dump some down the drain, and bingo --- things open up and start running again. This stuff is like Drano for your poop chute.

  “Once you’re mentally prepared, it’s wise to make some physical preparations to make your experience more enjoyable.”

  “Such as?”

  “Reading material for a start. Have a good book within reach of the throne. You’ll be spending a lot of time there. It’s not a bad idea to have a tube of Preparation H on hand and don’t forget those little Cottonelle ass-wipes. They’re very cool and soothing.”

  Ox is one of the bravest men I have ever known. I have seen him stare death in the face more than once, but when I glanced at my friend, I noticed that his hands were trembling.

  When I arrived home, my old friend Willie was waiting for me on the front porch.

  Willie lives in a studio apartment in the basement of my three-story apartment building and takes care of the maintenance on that building as well as the Three Trails Hotel, but Willie is way more than an employee --- he is a close friend and has pulled my fat out of the fire more times than I care to think about.

  Before joining me years earlier when I owned over two hundred apartment units, Willie was a street hustler. Even though he gave up the life on the seamier side of the law, he still keeps in touch with his cronies from the old days. This has actually proven to be a blessing as somehow Willie seems to get dragged into more and more of our official investigations and quite often the success of those cases has been due to Willie’s street connections.

  On most occasions, I’m greeted with his stock salutation, “How’s it hangin’, Mr. Walt”, but I could sense right away that he was in a somber mood.

  “Willie, you don’t look so good. Is something troubling you?”

  “You got dat right, Mr. Walt. It’s Charlene. She done been arrested.”

  Among Willie’s street friends are several ‘ladies of the evening’. I’ve met a few of them and found them to be very pleasant people notwithstanding their occupation. In fact, a couple of them had helped us nab some pretty bad characters. Charlene was one of those gals.

  “Arrested? For prostitution? What’s so unusual about that? Surely that’s not something new.”

  “Nope. Not prostitution. She give that up months ago. Some John beat the crap out o’ her an’ she figured it was time to get out o’ de life. She been goin’ straight --- got herself a job as a maid for some of dose rich folks on Ward Parkway.”

  “So what was she charged with?”

  “Grand theft. Dey say she took de lady’s diamond ring --- s’posed to be worth five grand --- I know she didn’t do it, Mr. Walt. I jest know it. Charlene sittin’ in jail --- can’t come up wit de bail money. Can you look into it?”

  I could see the anguish in my friend’s face. “Of course I will, Willie. First thing in the morning.”

  As soon as squad meeting was over, I approached the Captain and explained the situation.

  “Willie and his pals have helped us on several occasions. Any chance Ox and I could take a few hours and look into this thing?”

  The captain thought for a minute. “I suppose we owe them that --- but a word of caution --- this isn’t your case. Don’t step on any toes.”

  Fortunately, the detective in charge of the case was Derek Blaylock. We had worked together on several occasions and he was a real straight shooter.

  “Wish I had better news for you, Walt. Jeannie Blankenship, the lady of the house, had taken off her ring to do some dishes and laid it on the counter. The phone rang, she went to her office to take the call and when she returned, the ring was gone. The only other person in the house was the maid, Charlene. There was no evidence of forced entry and no one saw anyone else near the house during the time the ring was taken.”

  “So did you find the ring on Charlene?”

  Blaylock grimaced. “No, we didn’t, but she could have hidden it. She swears she didn’t take it, but let’s face it, she was the only one that could have.”

  “So really, at this point, the case against her is circumstantial.”

  “At this point, yes, but it’s all we’ve got.”

  “I know this is asking a lot, but would you mind if Ox and I stopped by to have a visit with Mrs. Blankenship?”

  “Knock yourself out, Walt. Maybe you can see something we didn’t. You two seem to have a knack for that.”

  The Blankenship home on Ward Parkway was one of those gated, two-story things with the fancy turrets. It reeked of money. I wondered what Mr. Blankenship did for a living to live in such fancy digs, give his wife a five thousand dollar ring and a full time maid.

  I expected Mrs. Blankenship to be a stodgy old matron that walked with a broomstick up her butt, so I was surprised when a thirty-something gal with a ponytail and a young child on her hip answered the door.

  I introduced us and asked if we could have a moment of her time. She seemed harried, but invited us in.

  “I suppose you’re here about the ring?”

  “We are,” I replied. “We just wanted to go over a few details with you.”

  “I really hate this,” she said. “Charlene was such a big help to me. I really miss her.”

  “Do you think she took the ring?” Ox asked.

  “I didn’t think that she would. We had become very close --- but the detective said she was the only one that could have. Excuse me for just a moment.”

  She went to the window and looked out. “Warren!” she shouted. “Don’t climb on that fence! You’ll fall!”

  “Four-year-old,” she said apologetically when she returned. “Taking care of two kids and this big house is just too much --- that’s why we hired Charlene.”

  “Was Warren here the day the ring was taken?” I asked.

  “No, he was at day care. We were using the time to do some thorough cleaning.”

  At that moment, a blood-curdling scream came from the back yard.

  Mrs. Blankenship ran to the window. “Oh my God! He’s fallen!”

  She ran back to us and thrust the baby into Ox’s arms. “Here! You take care of Kyle. I have to see about Warren!”

  Before he could react, she was out the door, leaving Ox holding little Kyle at arms length.

  The two of them stared at each other for a moment, then suddenly Kyle’s countenance made a drastic transformation. He grimaced and his face turned a bright crimson. It was apparent that the child was straining.

  A moment later, his efforts were rewarded. We heard a distinct plttttt, and immediately our eyes began to water as the pungent fumes assaulted our nostrils.

  “Oh good Lord!” Ox muttered. “Did he just do what I think he did?”

  “I think it’s pretty obvious,” I replied, wiping the tears from my eyes.

  After doing the deed, little Kyle had smiled, obviously proud of his accomplishment, but the smile quickly turned into a frown as he became more uncomfortable. A moment later, he was screaming.

  I could see the panic in Ox’s eyes. “What are we going to do?”

  I took a quick look out the window. “Looks like Warren busted his lip. We may be on our own for a while. You’re going to have to change him.”

  “ME! Why me?”

  “Because you’ve got him. Remember the old saying, ‘possession is nine-tenths of the law’.”

  “I don’t think this
is what they were referring to!” he protested.

  “Anyway,” I said, “this is good practice for you. You and Judy might have a kid some day. Maggie and I are way beyond that. She’s already been through the change --- well, most of it.”

  “Most of it? What part isn’t over?”

  “The hot flashes. You haven’t lived until you’re awakened at three in the morning with the bed covers flapping. What’s even more disturbing is when she has one in the car in the dead of winter. Immediately the windows come down. Sometimes we go ten miles before it’s over. I’m shivering and my fingers are frozen to the steering wheel.”

  “Why don’t you just say something?”

  “Because, my friend, there are some things in this world worse than frostbite.”

  Ox was about to explore the subject further when Kyle’s protests increased a few decibels.

  “We need to take care of this,” I said, looking around. “Mrs. Blankenship is going to think we’re torturing her kid.”

  I spied one of those bassinet things against the wall.

  “Over there,” I said. “You operate --- I’ll assist.”

  Ox laid Kyle on the plastic mat and began peeling back the Velcro tabs.

  When he opened the diaper, revealing Kyle’s little gift, we both gagged and it was all we could do to keep from adding our breakfast onto the bassinet.

  I spotted a can of wipes and handed one to Ox. “Here, you lift him by his feet and I’ll pull the diaper away. Then you can wipe his butt.”

  “I --- I can’t,” he moaned. “I just can’t. I’ll puke!”

  After taking another look, I figured I’d probably puke too.

  “Okay,” I said, “here’s an idea. Bring him over to the sink.”

  Ox headed to the kitchen sink dribbling little piles of poo along the way.

  I turned on the faucet and held my hand under the stream until it was comfortably warm.

  “Okay, now stick his butt under that. Neither one of us will have to touch anything.”

  Ox stuck the wiggling baby under the faucet and a few minutes later everything brown was down the drain.

  Ox held the baby at arm’s length while I patted him dry with a tea towel.