[Lady Justice 04] - Lady Justice And The Avenging Angels

by Robert Thornhill

  When I didn’t respond, she gave me the look again. “Well?”

  “Well, I’m not going to use this thing with you standing there watching me. I’d like some privacy.”

  She shook her head and started for the door.

  “Oh, say, I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday. Am I permitted to have breakfast?”

  She picked up my chart again. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  When she was gone, I picked up the bedpan. The first thing I noticed was that it was cold. Brrr. I turned the thing over, hoping that instructions would be printed on the backside, but there were none. With my luck, they would have probably been written in Chinese anyway.

  They must figure that everyone instinctually knows how to use one of these things. Like it’s something innate that’s passed down through our DNA. If so, there were definitely some deficiencies in my gene pool. So do you lie down on the thing? I tried it and nearly broke my back.

  So you sit on it. Do your legs stick out in front of you on the bed, or do you turn it sideways and let your legs dangle over the edge?

  I tried it both ways, and the only way that it was comfortable was to dangle my feet over the edge.

  By the time I had turned it and climbed on top, I had exerted more energy than just padding the six steps to the bathroom.

  So there I sat, perched on my plastic throne, and to my dismay, nothing happened. It was obvious that my bowels were balking. I was tempted to just chuck the whole thing and march over to the real toilet, but to be quite truthful, I was scared of Nurse Ratchett.

  Then I saw it, and an idea formed in my head. On the little table next to my bed was a box full of rubber gloves. Normally, I hate seeing those because it usually means that someone is going to be sticking something somewhere I don’t want it stuck.

  I grabbed a pair of the gloves, slipped them on, and put my ear to the door listening for footsteps. Hearing none, I slipped into the bathroom and did my job the way it’s supposed to be done. Fortunately, the resulting deposit was solid and a floater.

  I reached in with my gloved hand, scooped up what was left of yesterday’s lunch, and plopped it in the bedpan. Nurse Ratchett would never notice the difference.

  Being a cop, I realized that if I was going to commit the perfect crime, I would have to destroy the evidence.

  I peeled off the gloves and was about to throw them in the wastebasket but checked myself. She might see them there. I looked at the stool. If it could handle some of the stuff I’ve deposited over the years, surely it could handle two little latex gloves.

  What I hadn’t thought of was that these little gloves, unlike my previous deposits, had fingers. Evidently, one or more of those little fingers had clutched the innards of the stool, and I watched in horror as the water, instead of circling and disappearing, steadily rose to the top of the bowl.

  “No! No! Nooo!”

  I heaved a sigh of relief when I heard the water stop. Another drop would have put it over the edge.

  I looked around and saw a plunger in the corner. I grabbed it and slipped it into the water. Of course the Law of Archimedes took over, and the water displaced by the plunger overflowed into the floor.

  The waves caused by my plunging sent more cascades over the edge, and by the time the gloves had been dislodged, there was a mess to clean up.

  I grabbed a towel and was on my hands and knees mopping up water with my ass hanging out of the stupid hospital gown when I heard, “Mr. Williams!”

  I looked up, and Nurse Ratchett was staring at my bare behind. I cringed, expecting a tirade that would make a sailor blush, but instead her attention had been directed to my little gift in the bedpan.

  She just had a bewildered look on her face. “I’ve been a nurse for twenty-seven years, but this is a new one.” She got me a clean gown and fresh towels, and I climbed back in bed.

  By this time she had regained her composure.

  “Apparently you have difficulty following orders, and you definitely have authority issues.”

  I was about to argue, but I figured I’d better just clam up. As they say, there’s no such thing as a perfect crime.

  “Mr. Williams, you have to stay in bed until after your tests.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She emptied the bedpan, rinsed, and flushed. She returned with the bedpan and a gizmo that looked like the thing my mechanic uses to put oil in my car. “Now, if you have to urinate or defecate, please use these.”

  She had said please, but the tone in her voice said, “Do it or else.” Just then the door opened, and an orderly brought in a tray.

  “I ordered you some breakfast.”

  The orderly set the tray on my bed table. I was starving, and all during my bathroom escapade I had been envisioning eggs, toast, bacon, maybe even a pancake. I was shocked to see a pile of quivering green stuff, a bowl of yellow swill, and a cup of something barely darker than water.

  “What’s this?”

  “Your breakfast, of course. Lime Jell-O, broth, and tea.”

  “Don’t I even get toast?”

  “No, Mr. Williams, you’re on a liquid diet until after your tests. Bon appétit.” I know she was grinning when she walked out the door.

  I looked at my breakfast. I like Jell-O. I just don’t like green Jell-O. I know they make Jell-O in other colors. I’ve seen it. Green just isn’t my favorite color. I’ve tried green shampoo, but I like white better. I love a red, ripe tomato, but I just can’t do a green one. I absolutely hate the green stuff that grows on your food when you leave it in the fridge too long. I was perilously close to digging into my liquid breakfast when my friends returned.

  Dad looked at the pitiful pile of glop on my tray. “I thought so. I’ve been where you are before. Bet you’re hungry, aren’t you?”

  I nodded my head.

  “Willie, watch the door.”

  Dad reached into a sack and pulled out one of those fluffy, golden brown biscuits with egg, cheese, and bacon.

  I almost cried. “I love you, Dad.” It just came out, and it surprised both of us.

  Maggie almost came unglued. “Dad! How could you? The hospital has rules … and the tests … Walt has tests to take … and … ”

  “Tests, shmefts. The kid’s fit as a fiddle. And look at that swill they gave him to eat. If he wasn’t sick before, he sure would be after he ate that.”

  He looked at Bernice for approval, and she obligingly nodded her head.

  Maggie turned to Jerry and the professor for support, but they just shrugged their shoulders.

  “You’re all incorrigible,” she muttered.

  After I wolfed down the biscuit and Dad tucked the wrappers away in his pocket, I had an idea.

  “Dad, before you leave, could you go to a vending machine and bring me a Mountain Dew?”

  “Sure, sonny. Be right back.”

  I had just stashed my Dew under my mattress when Nurse Ratchett returned.

  “You folks have to leave. It’s time for Mr. Williams’s tests.”

  We said our good-byes, and as everyone was leaving, the professor, who had been unusually quiet, turned to speak. I was expecting some words of wisdom or comfort from the old man.

  “Walt, I hope your tests come out better than those of a friend of mine.”

  “Oh really?”

  “Yes, he went to the doctor with a sprig of greenery sticking out of his bottom. He said, ‘Doc, I think I have lettuce growing out of my rear end.’ The doctor examined the greenery and said, ‘I’m afraid I have some bad news—that’s only the tip of the iceberg.’”

  Without another word, he turned and left, leaving me with my mouth hanging open. The professor was obviously spending too much time with Jerry.

  My tests went well, and the doctor proclaime
d me fit to resume my normal activities. I returned to my room and started preparing my parting gift to Nurse Ratchett.

  I dug the Mountain Dew from under my mattress, popped the top, poured it into the funny little beaker she had given me, and placed it on the bed table. I was dressed and ready to go when she walked in.

  “I’m going off duty in ten minutes. I just wanted to check and see if you needed anything before I left.”

  “Why thank you. Here, you might want to get rid of this.” I picked up the beaker of yellow liquid and started to hand it to her, but instead I brought it back and chugged every last drop.

  Nurse Ratchett blanched, gasped, “Oh my God!” and fainted dead away.

  Chapter 18

  On our first day back, Ox and I walked into the squad room together. The officers, while not exactly a chatty bunch, seemed unusually quiet this morning.

  We always got a few waves and howdy-dos before the meeting started, but today no one seemed to even notice our presence. Ox noticed the difference too.

  A grim-faced Captain Short entered and took the podium, followed by another guy we rarely saw in the squad room—the police chief.

  He surveyed the assembled officers and spoke in the gravest of voices.

  “Will Officers Wilson and Williams please come forward?”

  I looked at Ox. He was as bewildered as me. We walked to the front, and when I turned around I was shocked to see Maggie seated in the back row.

  We were standing at attention in front of the group when Captain Short announced, “I’m going to turn the meeting over to Chief Warren Pearson.”

  When the chief took the podium, I noticed two little velvet boxes in his hand.

  “As officers of the Kansas City Police Department, we have taken an oath to serve and protect the good citizens of our town. I am proud of each and every one of you, but this morning I want to recognize two men whose quick thinking and heroic actions this past weekend saved the lives of thousands of Kansas Citians and averted one of the largest disasters in Kansas City history.

  “Officers Wilson and Williams, it gives me great pleasure to award you the Medal of Valor. The Medal of Valor is presented in recognition of a conspicuous act of bravery exceeding the normal demands of police service. It expresses the community’s gratitude for the sound judgment demonstrated by the officer in the performance of his or her duty, often without regard for personal safety yet with full awareness of the reasonable attainment of his or her objective.

  “Congratulations, officers. Please accept these medals with thanks from a grateful community.”

  As the chief pinned the medals on our chests, the previously subdued squad rose as one, and cheers and hoots filled the room.

  It was all I could do to hold back the tears. It had been a long journey since the first time I thought about being a cop. I looked around the room at the officers who had initially greeted me with apathy or outright disdain, and seeing their acceptance was one of the greatest gifts of my life.

  Then I saw the love radiating from the eyes of a little redheaded gal in the back of the room, and I knew without a doubt she was the greatest gift I would ever be given.

  Captain Short took the podium and restored order. “I believe the two of you have another award coming. Officer Dooley.”

  Oh crap! I thought. Not Dooley! Here it comes!

  Dooley, a young officer with a sharp wit who had delighted in giving me a good-natured hard time from my first day on the force, took the podium. “Ox, Walt, it gives me great pleasure to recognize you for this special award.” He held up two gaudy ribbons with big pink gummy bear fish attached to the bottom.

  “You two have won the honor of Loose Park Lake Fishermen of the Year. Singlehandedly, in one night, you took more fish from the lake than anyone in recorded history.”

  Another round of hoots and cheers.

  The captain took the podium again. “The organizers of the Crawl for Cancer and the Beaumont Club are especially grateful. Without your quick and decisive action, several thousand patrons and the Beaumont Club would be gone today. In recognition of your bravery, they are presenting a check in your name to the St. Luke’s Cancer Institute.

  “The presentation will be made at the Beaumont Club this Saturday evening. The Gods of Thunder, a Kiss tribute band, will be performing, and the presentation will be made between sets. The band starts at nine o’clock. You and Ox, of course, are expected to be there.”

  The warm glow I was feeling suddenly faded.

  The Beaumont Club? Kiss tribute band? Nine o’clock? Not exactly my idea of a fun evening!

  The captain continued, “I’m afraid it’s not all good news. I’ve been asked to give you this.” He handed us an official-looking document.

  I opened the document. It was on the official letterhead of the Kansas City Finance Department. It read: “Bill for reimbursement of public and personal property. Repairs to Loose Park Lake, $250,000. Replacement of trolley car, $40,000. Replacement of tamale cart, $2,500. Total, $292,500. An amount of $500 will appear as a deduction on your monthly paychecks until the above sum is satisfied in full.”

  I looked at Ox, and we both looked at the captain.

  A big smile crossed his face. “Just kidding.”

  We took our seats, and the captain was back to business. “We have taken this moment to celebrate a victory, but this is just the victory of a single battle. The war is far from over. These terrorist bastards are still out there, and we’re no closer to bringing them to justice than when we started.

  “They have targeted the gay community, a strip club, and a pub crawl. What’s next? A casino? An adult bookstore? The only thing we’re sure of is that they will strike again. We must be vigilant.”

  After a lot of hugs, handshakes, and pats on the back, the room emptied, and I saw my sweetie standing quietly by the door.

  She gave Ox a hug then threw her arms around my neck. “I’m so proud of you both. My heroes!”

  Not a bad day for an old retired guy.

  The accolades were great, and I appreciated the recognition, but I was ready for it to be over. I told the captain that while I was thrilled that a contribution was being made in our name, I’d just as soon skip the thing at the Beaumont. He just smiled and said that personal appearances were the price of fame. Basically, I had no choice.

  Maggie and I love to dance, and normally we welcome any opportunity to cut a rug, but we had tried the club scene before, and it just didn’t work for us. We dance the rumba, foxtrot, cha cha, and swing. I seriously doubted that any of that music was on the Kiss song list. At the ripe old age of sixty-seven, we had developed the habit of being in bed at ten, hoping we could stay awake until the conclusion of the news. Bands at most clubs don’t even start till nine or nine thirty, about the time we’re getting in our jammies.

  Since Ox had to be there too, we decided to double date. In the two years I had known Ox, he had not had a steady girlfriend. I knew he dated occasionally, but his personal love life wasn’t a frequent topic of conversation. Ox said he was bringing Martha. She was a waitress at Denny’s. Thinking back, I recalled some eye contact and fleeting smiles between her and Ox as she waited our table.

  Since the soiree didn’t even start until the ungodly hour of nine o’clock, we decided to take the girls somewhere really nice for supper something other than Denny’s. It was a special celebratory occasion, so we decided to go whole hog.

  I made reservations at the Ruth’s Cris Steakhouse on the plaza. It was the best steak I had ever eaten. It should have been. After paying the bill, I did some quick mental calculations and figured I could have eaten at Mel’s every night for two weeks for what it cost me. But who’s counting?

  So far it was a beautiful evening. Martha was a delight, and the four of us got along famously. Then we arrived at the Beaumont Club,
and things went downhill fast.

  By the time we arrived, all the parking spots on the street were taken, so we parked in the big four-level garage behind the building. Even at a block away, the DJ music was so loud it hurt our ears.

  At the door, I told the bouncer who we were, and he led us to a table on the front row with reserved signs. Celebrity perks.

  It was a good thing we had plenty of time for conversation over dinner because it was impossible to hear one another over the din in the big club. We were seated on the edge of a fair-sized dance floor, and the stage was just beyond. Already, patrons were jammed shoulder to shoulder, hopping up and down and wiggling their butts with arms raised above their heads. If this was dancing for the younger crowd, I was glad I was an old fart.

  I noticed that most of the dancers had a beer in their hands. I wondered if it was a requirement to get on the floor.

  And the floor! I remembered my trek across the floor the night of the pub crawl and the swill that sloshed over my shoes. I looked down, and sure enough, there it was. I wondered if it was the same swill or if they rotated it occasionally.

  A young man sporting a tongue stud came to our table. “You guys want a pitcher? It’s on the house.”

  We all looked at the floor and shook our heads.

  “Don’t suppose you have any Arbor Mist back there?” I asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.

  Mr. Studley looked at me like I was speaking Swahili.

  “Just bring us a round of Cokes.”

  The guy shrugged his shoulders and walked away.

  Right at nine o’clock, the DJ announced the band. There was a pyrotechnic explosion on the stage, and when the smoke cleared, the Gods of Thunder, Kiss tribute band, dressed in their garish costumes and painted faces, had taken the stage. The crowd roared as they began thumping out their opening song, “Parasite.”

  During the next forty-five minutes, we were treated to another half-dozen Kiss favorites played on smoking guitars by the fire-breathing, blood-spitting Knights in Satanic Service. At one point, the guy who played Gene Simmons looked directly at Martha and gave her his best tongue wag. By the look on her face, she was less than impressed.