Lady Justice and the Quirky Arlo Quimby

by Robert Thornhill

  LADY JUSTICE

  AND THE

  QUIRKY

  ARLO QUIMBY

  A WALT WILLIAMS

  MYSTERY/COMEDY NOVEL

  ROBERT THORNHILL

  Lady Justice and the Quirky Arlo Quimby

  Copyright February, 2019 by Robert Thornhill

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any way, by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise without prior permission of the author except as provided by USA copyright law.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, incidents and entities included in the story are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, events and entities is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America

  Fiction, Humorous

  Fiction, Mystery & Detective, General

  LADY JUSTICE AND THE QUIRKY ARLO QUIMBY

  CHAPTER 1

  Arlo Quimby approached the booth with the young couple. They sat staring dreamily into each other’s eyes. The young man had proposed and she had accepted. It was a grand night for them, and if Arlo played his cards right, they’d leave a generous tip.

  Arlo had been a server in the Providence Dining Room in the Hotel Phillips for three years. The tips were good and he’d made friends with the chef who let him dine from the restaurant’s pricy menu for free.

  “More champagne?” Arlo asked, bowing ever so slightly.

  “Yes, please,” the man answered, “and thank you for being so attentive. You’ve made our evening very special.”

  Arlo beamed as he poured. It should be a generous tip indeed.

  As he was pouring, he overheard bits of the conversation from the next booth. In contrast to the young couple, the two men a few feet away had made it quite obvious that they wanted their privacy. After ordering and receiving their food, they waved him away each time he approached.

  The first words he overheard were, “Lake City Arsenal.” That got his attention and he leaned closer.

  Then, he heard the words, “C-4 & attack.”

  He knew the arsenal in Eastern Jackson County was one of the government’s largest small arms manufacturing facilities. As soon as he put the three words together, he realized they could only mean one thing --- the men he had been serving were plotting to blow up the arsenal.

  He tried to slip away, but one of the men called out. “Waiter!”

  He froze for a moment, fearing they had seen him eavesdropping. Then he turned. “Yes, how may I serve you?”

  “Check please.”

  Arlo breathed a sigh of relief. “Yes, sir. Right away.”

  When he returned with the check, the man charged the meals to his room. Arlo made a mental note of the room number --- 613.

  Arlo was a nervous wreck for the remainder of his shift. The more he thought about what he had heard, the more he realized there was only one thing to do. The next morning, he would go to the police precinct and tell Detective Derek Blaylock about the nefarious plot to destroy the arsenal.

  CHAPTER 2

  I looked at the clock. It was eleven-thirty. Time to go.

  My wife, Maggie, still active in the real estate business at seventy-five, has buyers all day, so I’m on my own for lunch.

  When that happens, there’s absolutely no question where I will go --- Mel’s Diner on Broadway.

  You see, my wife is kind of a health nut. As soon as we were married, all of the Twinkies, Oreos, and Little Debbie’s in my cabinet suddenly disappeared. Nothing in our house is deep-fried. It’s either baked or broiled.

  I suppose it’s for the best. Eat healthy, live longer.

  I don’t mind the little pile of pills she puts by my plate each morning, two for my prostate, a probiotic, and so on, but the thing I fear the most is my annual colon cleansing. It’s brutal. But I keep doing it because she reminds me that when Elvis, my rock n’ roll idol, died, he had fifty pounds of impacted fecal material in his colon.

  For a man my age, I have very few vices. I don’t gamble or run around with women of questionable character. My alcohol intake is limited to an occasional glass of Arbor Mist. Given all that, I rationalize my visits to Mel’s as the lesser of many possible evils.

  Mel sells comfort food. Everything is deep fried or sizzled in butter on his huge iron griddle, and his pies are to die for.

  Mouth watering in anticipation, I headed to Broadway.

  Mel looked up as I entered. “Chicken fried steak with mashed? Everything smothered in gravy?”

  He can read me like a book. “And a cup of Joe,” I added.

  I had just sopped up the last bit of gravy when Mel approached with a man I’d never seen before.

  “Walt, this is Arlo Quimby. He’s a weird guy and you take on weird cases, so I figured it was a match made in heaven. Talk to him. The pie and coffee are on me.” He turned and walked away.

  “Uhhh, Mr. Williams,” Arlo stammered, “sorry to disturb your lunch.”

  “Call me Walt. What can I do for you?”

  “Mel told me you were a private investigator.”

  “That’s right. My partner, Kevin McBride, and I dabble in the business.”

  “Then I hope you can help me. I don’t know where else to turn.”

  “What’s your problem?”

  He looked around, lowered his voice, and told me about overhearing the conversation of two men he was serving in the hotel restaurant.

  “They’re planning to blow up the Lake City Ammunition Plant,” he whispered, dramatically. “I just know it!”

  If what he suspected was true, it was way beyond my pay grade.

  “Look, you don’t need a P.I. You need to talk to the police.”

  He threw his hands in the air. “I tried, but they won’t listen!”

  “Who did you talk to?”

  “Detective Blaylock.”

  “Derek Blaylock?”

  He nodded. “I told him everything I just told you and he blew me off. Are you sure you can’t help me?”

  “I was on the police force five years before I became a P.I. and worked with Blaylock on many cases. I know him well. Let me talk to him and see what he has to say.”

  “Well, all right, I guess. But hurry! The attack could come at any time.”

  “I’ll get with him today. I promise. Give me a number where I can reach you.”

  Mel brought my chocolate cream pie just as Arlo was leaving.

  “I told you he was a weird duck,” he said with a grin.

  I figured I was on a wild goose chase, but I promised Arlo I’d talk to Blaylock, and I try to keep my promises. Truthfully, I had nothing else to do. This visit gave me an excuse to hang out at my old stomping grounds.

  I tapped on Blaylock’s office door.

  “Walt! Come on in. What brings you downtown today?”

  “I ran into a strange fellow at Mel’s Diner. Mel told the guy I was a P.I. He said he had recently paid you a visit.”

  “Who are we talking about?”

  “Arlo Quimby.”

  As soon as I mentioned his name, Blaylock rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Walt! Quimby? Really?”

  “He said he told you about overhearing a plan to blow up the Lake City Arsenal, but you blew him off.”

  “Of course I did. Quimby’s a nut case. He’s always coming in here with some cockamamie conspiracy story. Sorry you got sucked in.”

  “So are you thinking he made up hearing the conversation or he heard something and got it all wrong?”

  “I have no idea and I really don’t care. He’s a flake. He’s a
flat-earther for chrissakes!”

  “A what?”

  “A flat-earther. The fool believes that the earth isn’t a round globe. It’s flat. Surely you’ve heard of these nuts. Quimby even carries around a satchel that’s supposedly filled with proof that we’re living on some kind of pancake.”

  I had seen the satchel at the diner.

  “Actually, I haven’t, but I’m beginning to see your point. Sorry to bother you.”

  “No bother. I always have time for an old friend.”

  As I drove home, I debated whether or not to call Quimby. If what Blaylock said was true, the guy was probably a few fries short of a Happy Meal. Nevertheless, I said I would call him, so I pulled to the curb and dialed his number.

  “Arlo, this is Walt. I just left Detective Blaylock.”

  “And ---?” he asked expectantly.

  I tried to let the guy down easy. “He just doesn’t believe there’s enough evidence to open an investigation.”

  A long silence. “He told you I was a flat-earther didn’t he?”

  “He might have mentioned something like that.”

  “Unbelievable!” he moaned, obviously frustrated. “Just because we have different beliefs on some things doesn’t make what I heard any less true. If I was a Catholic and you were a Protestant, would that make what I have to say less believable?”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “If I was gay and you were straight, would that make what I have to say less believable?”

  “No, but surely you know that ---.”

  “That anyone who believes the earth is flat has to be bat-shit crazy,” he interrupted.

  “Well, I wasn’t going to put it quite that way.”

  “No, you were trying to be polite, but that’s what you were thinking. Listen, I know what I heard and I have more information to back up my theory.”

  “What kind of information?”

  “Not over the phone. No telling who might be listening. If you really want to know, meet me at the World War I Memorial. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  The memorial was on my way home, and I’ll have to admit, I was curious.

  “Fifteen minutes. I’ll be there.”

  Ten minutes later, I was pulling onto the long driveway leading to the memorial.

  I parked, and found Quimby waiting for me at the base of the memorial.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d actually come,” he said.

  “When I say I’ll do something, I keep my word. Now what is this new information?”

  He looked around to make sure no one was listening. “A friend of mine works the front desk at the hotel where I work. I knew the guy’s room number and my friend let me look at the check-in sheet. He registered as Lawrence Lewis from Portland. I asked another friend who’s tech savvy to try to find him. Guess what? The name and the address are bogus.”

  “Are you sure? What name was on his credit card?”

  “No card. He paid cash. Tell me that’s not a bit strange.”

  I had to admit it was.

  “So what is it you want me to do?” I asked.

  “We need to get into the guy’s room.”

  “You can’t be serious! We can’t just break in because you have a hunch. Besides, if we got caught ---.”

  “But Blaylock said he needed more evidence. That’s one way to get it.”

  “Why do you need me? Just break in and take a look for yourself.”

  “See, that’s the problem. Detective Blaylock thinks I’m some kind of kook. No matter what I would find, he wouldn’t listen to me. But he’d listen to you.”

  I thought for a moment. “My partner has some gizmo that breaks into key card rooms.”

  “You won’t need it,” Arlo replied. “I’m dating one of the housekeeping girls. I can get her pass key.”

  Arlo had an answer for everything.

  I was still skeptical. “Let me talk to my partner and I’ll get back to you.”

  “Okay, but don’t wait too long. Remember ---.”

  “Yes, I know. They could blow the place up any day now.”

  I turned to leave, but he called me back.

  “Have you got just another few minutes?”

  “I suppose so. Why?”

  “I know you probably think I’m a kook too. I just wanted to show you one thing. Something to think about until I see you again.”

  I sighed. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

  He opened his satchel and brought out a scrapbook. He flipped through the pages until he found the one he was looking for.

  “The globe heads tell us the earth is a sphere with a circumference of 25,000 miles. If that is true, then far away objects would disappear as they fall below the curvature of the earth.”

  I nodded. “That makes sense.”

  “Does it really?” he asked, smiling. “Take a look at this.”

  He showed me an illustration.

  “The Bedford Levels is a canal in Cambridgeshire that is straight for six miles. Samuel Rowbotham placed a telescope in the canal 6 inches above the surface of the water and was able to observe a boat with a flag along the entire length. If what the globe heads say is true, the boat should have been 16 feet below the horizon.”

  Then he produced another drawing.

  “Rowbotham then placed a flag at every mile marker. Again, according to what we’ve been taught for years, the last flags should have been out of sight below the curvature of the earth. What he observed, were all six flags, perfectly aligned.”

  Then he pointed to another photo.

  “This is the Notre Dame Antwerp Spire. The land on which it sits is 468 feet above sea level, and the spire is 403 feet high. With a telescope, ships at sea can see the spire 150 miles away. If the earth were a globe, at that distance, the spire should be an entire mile, 5,280 feet below the horizon.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  He grinned. “I know! It’s crazy, isn’t it? It goes against everything you’ve ever been taught. He ripped the photos from the scrapbook and placed them in my hands. Just think about it.”

  He closed the scrapbook, put it in his satchel, and walked away.

  CHAPTER 3

  As soon as I returned home, I called Kevin.

  “Can you come over?”

  “New client?” he asked.

  “Maybe. The whole thing’s a bit strange.”

  “As I recall, strange seems to be our specialty. I’ll be right over.”

  Fifteen minutes later, he was in my office.

  “Okay, what weird thing are you getting us into now?”

  I told him about my meeting with Arlo Quimby and his suspicions.

  When I finished, he grimaced. “So this waiter overhears three words, Lake City Arsenal, C-4, and attack, and the guy who said the words is registered under a false name. Is that about it?”

  “Actually, that’s five words, but yes, that’s all we’ve got. Quimby took it to Detective Blaylock, but Derek wasn’t buying it.”

  “What are you suggesting we do with it?”

  “Quimby wants us to shake down the guy’s room. He can get us in with a key card from a housekeeping gal pal. I figure it can’t hurt. If we find something, we can go from there. If we find nothing, that’s the end of it.”

  He thought for a minute. “Why not? It’s not like we’ve got anything better to do.”

  I dialed Quimby.

  “Arlo, I’m with my partner. We decided we’d take a look at the room. How do you want to proceed?”

  I could hear the excitement in Arlo’s voice. “Fantastic! Here’s what we’ll do. Lewis, or whatever his name is, has been eating in the restaurant every evening. We’ll meet in the lobby and I’ll give you the key card. Wait in your car until I call and tell you the guy’s in the restaurant. That should give you a good hour to check it out. I’ll give you a call when he’s leaving the restaurant.”

  “Sounds good to me. What time should we meet?”

  “He’s been coming
to dinner around 6:30. Meet me in the lobby at 6:00.”

  “We’ll be there.”

  After hanging up, I told Kevin our plan.

  “Sounds like he’s got it together,” Kevin observed.

  “Uhhh, one more thing,” I said, dreading what I was about to reveal. “Have you ever heard of the flat-earthers?”

  Kevin grinned. “Yeah, I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never actually met one.”

  I took a deep breath. “Well, you’re going to meet one tonight.”

  Kevin put two-and-two together and I saw the incredulous look on his face. “Quimby! You can’t be serious! No wonder Blaylock gave him the boot. He’s a nut case.”

  “That might be,” I replied, “but it doesn’t change what he heard, and the fact that the guy registered under a fictitious name.”

  “And he really believes the earth is flat?”

  I nodded. “Let me show you something.”

  I pulled out the two drawings and the photo Arlo had given me, then told Kevin Arlo’s interpretation.

  Then I asked the $64,000-dollar question. “If the earth is really a sphere, how could this be?”

  Kevin hadn’t uttered a word throughout my presentation. He just stared at the photo and drawings.

  Finally, he looked up. “Walt, you’re scaring the hell out of me!”

  At precisely six o’clock, we met Quimby in the hotel lobby.

  The moment I introduced Arlo and Kevin, Arlo got the vibe.

  “You told him, didn’t you?”

  I nodded. “I had to. He’s my partner. He needed to know what we’re getting into.”

  Arlo smiled at Kevin. “I hope that won’t cloud your judgement.”

  Kevin grinned. “Your personal beliefs are none of my business. Let’s just keep this professional.”

  “Great! That’s fine with me. Here is the room card. #613. Wait in your car and I’ll call you when Lewis is seated in the restaurant.”