By this time we were well within the warehouse area. I was looking frantically for somewhere to ditch the bomb when I saw it. At the side of a loading dock, a three-sided concrete structure held a big, green dumpster. It appeared to be about ten feet on each side and just wide enough for the dumpster to slide in and out. I wasn’t even sure from this distance if the car would fit, but time was running out, and so were any other options.
I drove into the concrete structure, staying as close as I dared to the right side. I heard the scrape of metal as the passenger door rubbed against the concrete. I cut the engine, pulled the keys, and shoved on my driver’s side door. It opened maybe eighteen inches and struck the concrete.
So many times I had cursed my slight build in comparison to my more muscular counterparts, but at this moment, my one hundred forty-five pounds was the greatest gift I had ever been given.
I wriggled and struggled and sucked in my breath and finally squeezed through the tiny opening. As soon as I was free, I ran as fast as my feet would carry me toward the viaduct. I glanced back and saw Blackwell frantically shoving against the door. There was no way his bulky frame was leaving the car.
I had just reached the first pillar and crouched down behind the four feet thick concrete when I heard the explosion. I felt a rush of wind, and shards of concrete, metal, and glass flew past. When the last piece of debris had fallen, I peered around the pillar to the gaping hole in the ground.
Those who believe in life after death long for the day when they will stand before the throne of judgment and hear the words, “Well done, my good and faithful servant. Enter ye into the joy of the Lord.” But for others, the message will be, “Thou art weighed in the balances of justice and truth, in the holy righteous law of God and thou art found wanting.”
It seemed altogether fitting that John Blackwell’s eternal reward was the very fire and brimstone that he used to torment his fellow man.
Epilogue
Even in the midst of such tragic events as the Rockfest bombing, implausible facts come to light that leave one shaking their head at the condition of human nature.
Apparently, the heavy metal renderings being blasted from the bank of speakers on the hill was so loud, and the revelry of the inebriated fans paying homage to their rock gods so intense, that only those closest to the actual blast site were even aware an explosion had occurred. Most had no idea, until they heard news reports the next day, how close they had come to total annihilation.
When Maggie, Willie, and my colleagues on the force heard the blast, it was assumed that Walter Williams was no more. I would be willing to bet that Steven Spielberg would have traded an Oscar for the opportunity to film the drama that unfolded at the gaping hole that was once a warehouse.
The grieving widow, spared once again by her heroic lover who had given his life to save hers, weeping uncontrollably; the best friend and fellow officers with heads bowed, mourning the loss of one of their own, looking up to see a dirty, dust-covered little man staggering from behind the concrete pillar that saved him.
The next scene, with the heroine running and throwing herself into the arms of her lover, would have to rank right up there with the final scene from the movie Shane, where Brandon DeWilde runs after Alan Ladd as he rides off into the sunset.
There is definitely something about a near-death experience that brings your life into focus.
Once again, Maggie and I had been spared, and we vowed to make the most of the remaining days that had been given to us. We promised each other that we would dance as often as we could and that we would never go to bed angry at each other. I promised to take my prostate pills every morning, and Maggie promised that she would make sure I did.
I now have two ribbons in my drawer bearing the Medal of Valor from the Kansas City Police Department, but my bill from the Finance Department continued to grow at an alarming rate after they added the cost of the warehouse I blew up.
And talk about irony the business of the warehouse that was no more was to distribute fertilizer and other agricultural products by rail to Midwest farmers.
The significance of the fact that his life had been spared was not lost on my friend Willie. After the drama of the explosion had died down, Willie continued to show his family artifacts and tell his story to anyone who would listen. Eventually, when he had exhausted all his known friends and acquaintances, he came to me with a request.
“Mr. Walt, I been tinkin’ ‘bout de stuff we foun’ in de cave. It jes’ don seem right to have it sit in a box in de basement of dis ole buildin’. I had me an idea. Mebbe you could help.”
We got to work, and today there is a little glass display case in the St. Clair County Historical Society bearing a brass plate inscribed with the words:
McFerrin-McDonald Exhibit
Donated by
Great-Great-Grandson, Willie Duncan
In the display is the window from the old McFerrin cabin bearing Cole Younger’s initials, the loot we found in the cave, the textbook from the Rabbit Roost School, and the family Bible opened to the page showing Willie’s family history.
After the display was in place, Willie stood in front of it, and a tear ran down his cheek.
“Befo’ I foun’ dis, I wasn’t nothin’. Neva knowed who I was. I wouda passed on, an’ no one wouda knowed I was even here, ‘cept mebbe you an’ a few frien’s. Wit dis, when I pass, folks can see dat Willie Duncan was here an dat his family was sometin’ special.”
Now, every so often, the four of us pile into the car and drive to the little hamlet on the banks of the Osage. Willie spends some time with his family, Mary stocks up on cheese, and Maggie buys ripe, juicy peaches and tomatoes from Gordon’s Orchard.
No evidence was ever found that provided a direct link to the remaining Avenging Angels. Upon reflection, I think that might have been a good thing.
Before John Blackwell entered their lives, these men had probably been hardworking, God-fearing souls working their farms. When Adolf Hitler was no longer in power, the German soldiers returned to their homes and built a strong, industrialized Germany. We can only hope the same for these men and that they will do as Isaiah prophesied: “They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks and will train for war no more.” That they will take the fertilizer that was stored in their barns to bring death and spread it on their fields to bring forth life. The tragic losses of Will Jr. and David should be a constant reminder not to follow false prophets who preach the doctrine of hate and fear.
In every generation men are born into the world with the extraordinary gift of leadership with the power to influence others and to make them embrace a cause with such fervor that they are willing to sacrifice their lives.
It is one of the great mysteries of the universe why one man bearing such a special gift becomes an Adolf Hitler while another bearing the same gift becomes a Dr. Martin Luther King. John Blackwell was such a man, filled with the potential for good, but manifest in evil.
Justice is depicted as a lady wearing a blindfold, holding a balance scale. History has proven that it is no easy task to keep the scales of life in balance, and every so often the scale is tipped by men with evil intent. It is at those times that brave men must step up to help Lady Justice balance the evil with good.
My name is Walter Williams, and that’s why I am a cop.
About the Author
At age sixty-six, Robert Thornhill wrote his first two mystery/comedy novels, Lady Justice Takes A C.R.A.P. and Lady Justice and the Lost Tapes. Soon after, he wrote the third novel, Lady Justice Gets Lei’d. Lady Justice and the Avenging Angels is the fourth installment in the Lady Justice series.
Robert has also written the Rainbow Road series of children’s chapter books.
Robert holds a master’s in psychology, but his wit and insight come from his varied occupatio
ns, including thirty years as a real estate broker.
He lives with his wife, Peg, in Independence, Missouri.
For more information, go to www.BooksByBob.com
Lady Justice Takes a C.R.A.P.
Volume 1 in the Lady Justice series
See where it all began.
See how sixty-five-year-old Walter Williams became a cop and started the City Retiree Action Patrol.
Meet Maggie, Willie, Mary, and the professor, Walt’s sidekicks in all of the Lady Justice novels.
Laugh out loud as Walt and his band of senior scrappers capture the Realtor Rapist and take down the Russian mob.
For more information, go to www.BooksByBob.com
Lady justice and the lost tapes
Volume 2 in the Lady Justice series
In Lady Justice and the Lost Tapes, Walt and his band of scrappy seniors continue their battle against the forces of evil.
When an entire Eastside Kansas City neighborhood is terrorized by the mob, Walt and his partner, Vince, go undercover as a gay couple at the ‘Cozy Corner’ lounge to unravel the mystery.
The amazing discovery of a previously unknown recording session of a deceased rock-n-roll idol stuns the music industry, but elation turns to tragedy when the owner of the lost tapes is kidnapped.
Walt and his friends prove, once again, that life is far from over after retirement and that the experience, patience and perseverance that come with age can overcome evil deeds and the ravages of Father Time.
But did I mention that while Lady Justice is grateful for the assistance, she can’t help laughing at their methods.
And neither will you!
For more information, go to www.BooksByBob.com
Lady Justice Gets Leid
Volume 3 in the Lady Justice series
In Lady Justice and the Lost Tapes, Maggie said, “Yes!”
In Lady Justice Gets Leid, Walt and Maggie plan a romantic honeymoon on the beautiful Hawaiian Islands, but ancient artifacts discovered in a cave in a dormant volcano and a surprising revelation about Maggie’s past, lead our lovers into the hands of Hawaiian zealots.
For more information, go to www.BooksByBob.com
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