“Did they get Hartman?”
“No. In fact, it looks like they were arrested before they could make their move.”
A long silence. “I am not pleased. We have lost our contacts on the street and Hartman is still rallying support for legalization. The Kepler’s are history. Can you take care of Hartman?”
“Of course, but I’ll have to get out of here and find a new place. I have no doubt that the two of them will sing like canaries to save their own skin. The police could come any time. I need to move fast.”
“I understand. Call me when you’re settled. And Ramon --- don’t fail me.”
“I won’t, Carlos. You have my word.”
Quickly, Ramon threw his things into a suitcase. After looking carefully up and down the street, he climbed into his car.
He was driving down Linwood Boulevard wondering where he could find a place to lay low when he spotted a sign in front of a huge old building. The sign above the porch read ‘Three Trails Hotel,’ and the sign in the yard read, ‘Sleeping room. $40.00 per week.’
“Perfect!” he said, pulling to the curb.
He grabbed his suitcase, climbed the steps, and knocked on the door marked ‘Manager.’
A hefty woman in her seventies opened the door. “Yeah, whadda you want?”
“Uhhh, I saw your sign. I’d like to rent a room. Do you have an application or something?”
The woman looked him over. “You got the forty bucks cash?”
Ramon nodded.
“Are you running from the law?”
“Of course not,” Ramon lied.
“Then you don’t need no application. Let’s see your money.”
He opened his wallet and handed her the cash.
“What’s your name?” she asked, taking the money.
“Miguel Lopez,” Ramon lied again.
“Well, Miguel, my name’s Mary. These are the rules. No cooking in your room, and we don’t allow no overnight guests, if you get my meaning.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“No loud music and no drugs. If I catch you doing any of those things, you’re out of here. Another thing, there’s twenty rooms up there and four hall baths. If you take a crap or a shower, clean up after yourself. I ain’t no maid.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
She pointed to a slot in the door. “If you want to stay another week, put your money in an envelope with your name on it and put it through the slot. If I don’t get an envelope, you’d better be gone. Understand?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
She handed him a key. “Room 9. Up the stairs and take a right.”
“Thank you.”
As Ramon climbed the stairs, he was a bit shaken. He had faced vicious men and felt no fear, but this old woman made him tremble.
At the head of the stairs, he almost ran into an old gentleman coming out of bathroom #4.
“Whoa, Mister!” the old gent said. “Ain’t seen you around here before. You rent #9?”
Ramon was about to reply when a stench from the bathroom overwhelmed him. He coughed and gagged. “My God! What happened in there?”
“Sorry about that. I hit Jim’s tamale wagon last night. The tamales smelt a whole lot better goin’ in than comin’ out. I’d give it about a half hour. It’ll be okay by then. My name’s Feeney. What’s yours?”
“Miguel.”
“Well, Miguel, I’m just down the hall. If you need anything, just holler.”
Ramon found room #9 and opened the door. Inside was a bed, a small dresser and one chair.
“Dios mio!” he muttered. “I have thousands of dollars and this is the best thing I can find?”
The next morning, Ramon heard a commotion in the hallway.
He heard a woman’s voice. “Gotcha, you squatter scum ball!”
He opened the door and found Mary standing over a man. She was brandishing a baseball bat.
“If I catch you in here again, I’ll knock you into next week. Now get your scrawny white ass out of my hotel!”
The man scrambled to his feet and made a beeline for the stairs.
“You’d better run,” Mary muttered, stalking away.
Ramon saw Mr. Feeney step into the hall. He was grinning. “That Mary’s somethin’ else, ain’t she?”
“Is she always like that?” Ramon asked, amazed.
“Mary can be real nice when she wants to be, or real mean when she has to be. That guy’s been sneakin’ in at night and sleeping in the bathroom. I’ll bet my Social Security check he won’t be back tonight. No one in their right mind messes with Mary Murphy.”
“Would she really use that bat?”
“Hell yes! She’s used it lots of times. A couple of years ago, a terrorist was about to pop a cap on the owner of this place and his wife. Mary whacked him in the head before he could pull the trigger. Cracked his head wide open like a ripe melon.”
“Unbelievable!”
“You better believe it. Another time, a feller broke in, stole money, and threatened her with a knife. She shot him dead. She’s a corker.”
“She is indeed,” Ramon replied.
Back in his apartment, Ramon smiled. “Mary Murphy is just the person I’m looking for.”
The next day was hot and humid.
Ramon went to a nearby convenience store, bought a cooler, ice, and a six-pack. Back in his room, he made sure everything was perfect, then headed to the front porch.
He settled into a porch chair, popped the top off a beer, and waited.
Fifteen minutes later, Mary emerged from her apartment.
“Good morning, Mary.”
“Good morning to you Miguel. How was your first night?”
“Okay I guess. I met Mr. Feeney. He’s quite --- uhhh --- interesting.”
“I think aromatic is the word you were looking for,” she replied, grinning.
She spotted the cooler. “You’ve got the right idea there. It’s gonna be a scorcher”
“Sure is. I’ve got a six-pack here. Would you like to join me?”
She thought for a moment. “Don’t mind if I do.”
She took a seat in the chair next to Ramon. He dug a brew out of the cooler, removed the cap, and handed it to Mary.
“Thanks.”
“Cheers!” Ramon said, as they clicked bottles.
Mary took a long swig, and that was the last thing she remembered.
CHAPTER 14
I received a call from Ox.
“Walt, if you’re available, we need to talk.”
“Sure, come on over.”
Twenty minutes later, Ox was in my office.
“What’s on your mind?”
“Kristen Hartman. I think she’s still in danger. You heard Andre Kepler say that this Ramon Dias was the Columbian’s Kansas City contact.”
I nodded.
“Kepler gave us his address. We hit the place and he was gone. He must have seen the thing at the fountain. It was all over the news. He probably figured the Kepler’s would give him up to get a deal, so he took off.”
“That makes sense.”
“So, bottom line, Dias is still out there and Hartman is still actively promoting her marijuana agenda. Since the Kepler’s failed, there’s a pretty good chance Dias will try to finish the job himself.”
“What do the folks downtown think?”
“Detective Blaylock had a conversation with Hartman and told her that she was the intended target. He strongly suggested that she back off, but she wouldn’t hear of it. There’s no way the city can afford to give her around-the-clock protection. She’s on her own.”
“She’s either really committed to her cause or really naïve. Maybe both.”
“That’s not all,” Ox continued. “Ramon Dias may not be the only thing she has to worry about.”
“How so?”
“I listened to her speech at the fountain. The reason she’s pushing for legalization of marijuana is that it’s a relatively inexpensive alternative to prescr
iption drugs without the side effects. She was talking about using weed instead of opioids for chronic pain and CBD oil for glaucoma instead of Xalatan, and a whole list of other ailments. Do you see where I’m going?”
“Big Pharma! Every time another state legalizes marijuana, it cuts into their profits.”
“Exactly!” Ox said. “Remember what happened to Dr. Briles last year?”
I certainly did.
Dr. Nathaniel Briles was a holistic physician who, along with a number of other doctors, was experimenting with a substance called GcMAF for fighting cancer. Since GcMAF was a natural substance produced by the body, it was not patentable. If this treatment proved effective, it could potentially wipe out the 142 billion dollar cancer industry. Big Pharma couldn’t let that happen. Over a period of three months, twelve holistic doctors who were experimenting with GcMAF died under questionable circumstances. Dr. Briles feared for his life, and as it turned out, for good reason. An assassin was sent to make sure Briles never finished his work. Thankfully, with the help of a retired CIA agent, the assassin was terminated. Even though the immediate threat was eliminated, Dr. Briles still looks over his shoulder, wondering if they’ll send someone else to finish the job.
“So, Kristen Hartman could be in danger from not just one, but two groups. Columbian drug lords and Big Pharma would both see their profits dwindle if medical marijuana is legalized in Missouri.”
“That’s what worries me,” Ox replied. “I don’t think she fully comprehends the danger.”
“Then maybe we should have a chat with the young lady.”
“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”
“Do you know where she’s staying?”
“I do. I got her address from the reports taken at the fountain. She’s staying downtown at the Comfort Inn on Admiral Boulevard.”
“She’s on the second floor,” Ox said. “Room 213.”
We took the elevator to the second floor. When we stepped into the hall, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
Mary Murphy was just ahead of us carrying her baseball bat.
I called out to her just as she reached room 213. “Mary! Stop!”
When we reached her, I could see that something was very wrong. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused.
She just stood and stared at me.
“Mary, what are you doing here?”
She pointed to the room. “Bad woman. Must kill.”
I tried to take the bat, but she drew back. “No! Must kill!”
“Mary, it’s me, Walt! Let me help you.”
“No!” she wailed, drawing back her bat.
I had seen her swing the bat before and I wanted no part of it. I backed away a safe distance.
“She’s been drugged,” Ox said. “We can’t reason with her when she’s like this.”
Mary turned back toward the door and was about to bash it with her bat.
“We have to take her out,” Ox said. “Are you ready?”
I nodded, and together we tackled my old friend.
It took both of us to subdue her and take the bat away.
“Call 911,” Ox said. “I’ve got her.”
After I made the call, I turned to Ox. “She couldn’t have got here on her own. Somehow Dias must have gotten to her. Maybe he’s still in the parking lot.”
“Go see,” he replied. “I’ve got this.”
I ran to the parking lot and looked in every car. All of them were empty.
Ramon Dias had gotten away again.
CHAPTER 15
Kristen Hartman heard the disturbance in the hall and opened the door. “What’s going on out here?” Then she saw Ox on top of Mary. “I’m calling the police!”
“I am the police,” Ox replied, struggling to show her his badge.
“Why are you on top of that woman?”
“Because she was about to beat you to death with that bat,” I replied, just returning from the parking lot.
Hartman was obviously confused. “But why? I’ve never seen her before. Who is she?”
“You don’t know her,” I replied. “The same people who tried to harm you at the fountain drugged her. She has no idea what she’s doing.”
Hartman was shaken. “They’re trying to shut me up. I didn’t believe it at first, but I suppose it’s true.”
At that moment the cops arrived, followed by the paramedics.
While Ox was sharing what we knew with the officers, I pulled Hartman aside and handed her my card. “I’m a private investigator. We need to talk. You are in more danger than you realize. I can’t do it now. I have to go with Mary. May I come back later?”
“Of course. I’ll be in my room all day preparing for my address to the League of Women Voters.”
“Good. Stay inside and don’t open your door to anyone you don’t know.”
“You’re scaring me.”
“You should be scared. Trust me. I’ll be back as soon as I know Mary is all right.”
The paramedics took Mary to the emergency room. After hearing that she had most likely been drugged with scopolamine, they said there was nothing to do but let her rest until her body metabolized the drug.
Mary slept and I sat in a chair at her bedside until she stirred.
“Where --- where am I?”
“You’re in the hospital, Mary.”
“Why am I here?”
“You were drugged. Can you tell me what happened?”
Her brain was obviously still hazy. She shook her head, trying to focus.
“I was --- I was on the porch with the new guy. He offered me a beer. That’s the last thing I remember.”
“New guy? Tell me about him.”
She tried shaking away the cobwebs again. “His name was --- let me think --- Miguel. Miguel Lopez. He looked like Ricardo Montalban, you know, the actor who was on the TV show with the little guy who said, ’De plane! De plane!’ He was real nice. It was so hot this morning. He offered me ----!”
Then it struck her. “Son-of-a-bitch! He spiked my beer! Just wait till I get out of here. I’ll fix his Latin ass!”
“Actually, I think his name is Ramon Dias, and he’s a very bad dude. What room was he in?”
“Number 9.”
“You seem to be okay now. Let’s get you out of here. I’ll call Ox and have him meet us at the hotel. I doubt the creep is still there, but we have to be sure.”
Forty-five minutes later, Ox and I moved cautiously up the stairs, guns drawn.
At the top of the stairs we ran into Mr. Feeney.
“Holy crap!” he wailed, seeing our weapons. “What’s up with the hardware?”
“We’re looking for the new guy in #9. Have you seen him?”
“Yep, but you’re too late. He come bustin’ in a couple of hours ago, packed his crap in a suitcase, and took off like the hounds of hell was on his tail.”
Ramon Dias was in the wind again, and Kristen Hartman was still in danger.
I called Kevin, filled him in on what was happening, and we headed for a visit with Kristen Hartman.
“Who is it?” she asked when I knocked on the door.
“Walt Williams and my partner, Kevin McBride. May we come in?”
She opened the door a crack and peeked out before unhooking the chain.
“I’m glad you’re being careful,” I said as she stepped aside to let us in.
“The thing this morning really shook me up. I thought what happened at the fountain was just some crackpot, but now that they’ve tried to silence me twice --- I guess they mean business.”
“Trust me, they do.”
“Who exactly is ‘they?’”
“The man and woman who were arrested at the fountain told the police that they were working for a Columbian drug lord named Carlos Moreno and his Kansas City contact, Ramon Diaz.”
“Columbian drug lord! I don’t understand. Wait --- yes I do. I hadn’t thought of it before, but if marijuana is legalized in Missouri, it would hurt his smuggling oper
ation.”
“You got it.”
“But why me? This initiative is bigger than me.”
“Because you are the one spearheading the movement. He figures if he takes you out, the movement will falter. If you wind up dead, others might think twice about taking your place.”
“Good Lord.”
“I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings, but Carlos Moreno may not be the only one who wants to silence you.”
“What could possibly be worse than a Columbian drug lord?”
“Big Pharma,” I replied. “Just think about what you’ve been saying at your rallies. Weed instead of Oxy for chronic pain, weed instead of Xalatan for glaucoma, and I’m sure you could add many more.”
“That’s true,” she replied, “but we’re talking about American companies, not South American criminals.”
“Believe me, they’re just as ruthless. We’ve seen them at work twice before. A few years ago, a doctor was experimenting with an all-natural product that would have the same effect as a statin drug called Rolotor at much less cost and with no side effects. Putnam Pharmaceuticals, fearing the loss of millions, sent an assassin to kill the doctor before he could release his study.
“Then just last year, another assassin was sent to silence a doctor who was experimenting with GcMAF, a natural substance that could possibly be a cure for cancer, potentially costing the drug industry 142 billion a year. Do you see where I’m going?”
Kristen was obviously quite shaken. “I see what you’re saying but --- this is America! Free speech! The right to choose! What happened to all that?”
“I know you’re disillusioned,” Kevin said, “but this is the real world. There are ruthless people out there who will do most anything to protect their profits.”
Then I saw the fire in her eyes. “So what am I supposed to do? Just quit? I can’t do that. People need this. I’ve seen the children struggling with seizures and the elderly spending their entire Social Security check to buy glaucoma medicine. This legislation could fix all that. No --- I can’t just let it go.”
Lady Justice and the Devil's Breath Page 7