Lady Justice and the Candidate (2 page)

CHAPTER 1

   
My name is Walter Williams and I’m a sixty-nine year old cop --- actually, technically speaking, I’m a sixty-nine year old dead cop --- at least that’s what the U.S. Secret Service wants the world to believe.

   
I know --- that sounds absurd! What interest could the Secret Service possibly have in an aging Kansas City police officer with just over three years service?

    This amazing and unlikely journey began just over a month ago.

    Kansas City had been the proud host of Major League Baseball’s All Star Game and our department, along with Homeland Security, had thwarted a terrorist attack that would have made the 2012 game, a day of infamy in U.S. History.

    Having been within seconds of being blown to bits along with thousands of fans, my partner, Ox, and I were happy and relieved to be back on our regular Midtown beat.

    When I say 'regular,' I use the term loosely.

    For some reason that still escapes me, the Dynamic Duo, a name lovingly bestowed on us by our fellow officers, always seem to find ourselves in the middle of the most bizarre cases, often with me undercover.

    Apparently, my age and slight build, relative to the other officers in the squad, has made me the ‘go-to’ guy when they’re looking for someone to embarrass and humiliate.

    I have been a ‘john’ in a prostitution sting because I looked 'old and needy,' a transvestite and a candy-striper due to my svelte physique and relatively hairless body, and a dying man because I was the closest thing they had to a cadaver.

    On this particular day, I was just an old dude with a toothache.

    I was chosen for this assignment because I have two gold crowns --- big ones on my lower molars.

    The department had received several complaints that a local dentist, Dr. Morey Friedman, was swiping gold teeth from his patients while they were knocked out and replacing them with porcelain ones.

    The unsuspecting patients wouldn’t notice the switch until days later --- I mean really, who examines their teeth every day? We brush and floss, but unless there’s a problem, we just keep right on chewing.

    When confronted with the theft, it became a ‘he said --- she said’ scenario.

    I know that I have no idea which dentist put in my crowns or exactly when they did it.

    This dental larceny was the product of unreasonably high gold prices.

    Dozens of storefronts had sprung up across the city advertising, “CASH FOR GOLD!”

    Each location promised more money than the next guy and they were looking for coins, jewelry, watches --- and yes, gold teeth.

    Apparently Dr. Friedman saw the opportunity to ‘seize the day’ by seizing his patients’ teeth.

    Naturally, I was skeptical when the Captain asked me to allow my mouth to be burgled.

    “But Captain,” I protested, “going to the dentist ranks third on my list of things I hate doing the most. I sometimes suffer for weeks until the pain of waiting is greater than the perceived pain of getting treatment.”

    I could vividly recall my hands clutching the arms of the chair in a death-grip as I saw the big needle heading toward my inner cheek.

    “You’ll feel a little pinch,” the dentist always says.

    A little pinch my ass! It always feels like a hornet has somehow inadvertently flown into my mouth.

    Then there’s the drill. You would think that with all the miracles of modern technology, they could make a device that doesn’t sound like a Black and Decker.

    I hate the smell when the drill meets the tooth. A person just shouldn’t be awake when he knows that a body part is being drilled and burned.

    It’s no wonder that the dentist and his assistant wear masks.

    The Captain brought me back to the present.

    “Walt, you’ve been beaten, shot at and thrown off a parking garage roof. This should be a piece of cake.”

    “But I didn’t know that those things were coming. I didn’t have time to think and worry about them.”

    “Here’s the deal,” he said. “Whatever happens in that chair, the department will take care of it. You can go to the dentist of your choice at the city’s expense.”

    “Gee, that makes me feel a whole lot better --- two visits to the dentist.”

    “OK then, how about a bribe. I’m pretty sure I can score two seats at the Music Hall for you and Maggie to see
The Jersey Boys
.”

    I knew that my wife of just over a year loved Frankie Valle and the Four Seasons, and if she ever found out that I passed up two free tickets, it certainly wouldn’t earn me any points.

    “Ok, it’s a deal --- but they’d better be good seats!”

    I left Ox in the parking lot and walked into Dr. Morey Friedman’s dental office wearing a wire and my best impression of a man in great pain.

    Before we left the precinct, the innards of my mouth had been photographed by the CSI guys to establish my pre-Friedman dental structure.

    A comely receptionist greeted me with a smile, “Welcome to Dr. Friedman’s office. Do you have an appointment?”

    “No,” I replied, holding my jaw. “I bit down on something at lunch and it hurt like hell --- oh, sorry --- it hurt really bad. Do you think you could work me in?”

    She looked at the schedule on her desk. “The doctor is with a patient, but we could get you in right after if you don’t mind waiting fifteen to twenty minutes.”

    “That would be great. I really appreciate it.”

    I took a seat in the waiting room and looked around at the wall photos of rotten teeth-turned perfect through the miracle of modern dentistry.

    Seeing the photos brought to mind the conversation I had the previous evening with one of my tenants in the three-story apartment building I own on Armour Boulevard.

    Maggie and I live on the entire top floor. My dad, John, Bernice, Dad’s current squeeze, the Professor, Willie my maintenance man and best friend, and Jerry The Joker occupy the other units.

    It was with Jerry that had I mistakenly shared my upcoming dental escapade.

    Jerry fancies himself a standup comic and he has a monologue ready for virtually any topic.

    He heard the word ‘dentist’ and was off and running.

    “Walt, do you know what’s the best time for a Chinaman to go to the dentist?”

    I shook my head.

    “Tooth-hurty!”

    He plunged ahead.

    “Do you know where elephants go for their dental work?”

    “No,” again.

    “Tuska-loosa!”

    His jokes, to quote the lyrics from a song from
South Pacific
, are 'as corny as Kansas in August,' but the guy has a big heart.

    Just then, the door to the inner sanctum opened and a man on wobbly legs staggered into the waiting room.

    He was hanging onto a dental assistant with knockers as big as ripe cantaloupes.

    Having seen both the receptionist and the dental assistant, I surmised the good dentist didn’t hire based on performance alone.

    “Maybe you should sit awhile until the gas wears off,” she suggested, guiding him to a chair.

   
Gas!
I thought.
What gas?

    “Mr. Williams, the doctor will see you now,” the receptionist said. “Brenda will take you back.”

   
I followed Brenda
and noticed right away that her backside was every bit as fetching as her other obvious attributes.

   
She seated me in the dental chair and proceeded to hook a thing around my neck that I assumed was to keep the blood and gore from staining the front of my shirt.

   
In order to fasten the thing, she leaned in and reached around the back of my head, which brought in her ample cleavage within inches of my eyes.

   
If this exercise was designed to divert the patient’s attention from the approaching discomfort, it was working.

   
I wondered if this was a technique that was taught in dental school or something that the doctor had picked up on his own.

   
At that moment, Dr. Friedman entered the room. “I see that you’ve met Brenda,” he said with a knowing smile.

   
The doctor appeared to be in his mid-to-late fifties with dark hair graying at the temples. He was one of those suave, good looking guys that for some reason always seem to be chick magnets, and who guys like me love to hate because it’s so easy for them.

   
“So what brings you here today?” he asked.

    “Toothache,” I said, stating the obvious. “This one right here,” I said, pointing to a molar on the opposite side of my mouth from the gold crowns.

    He peered into my gaping mouth and started poking and prodding the tooth with a sharp instrument that looked like a nut pick.

    “Ummm, yes, I see the problem. Let’s give you some nitrous oxide and we’ll have you out of here in no time.”

    “Nitrous what?”

    “You may know it as ‘laughing gas.’ You’ve never had it before?”

    “No,” I replied. “The other dentists just stuck a needle in my mouth.”

    “Well I can certainly do that,” he said, “but I think you’ll find that the gas is much more pleasant.”

    “Sure,” I replied, glad to avoid the 'little pinch.' “Let’s do it.”

    He strapped a mask over my nose and turned a valve on a metal cylinder.

    I had never been gassed before and wasn’t sure what to expect, but when I took my first deep breath, the feeling that came over me was much like when I finish a margarita at my favorite Mexican restaurant.

    It doesn’t take much to get me looped and Maggie says that I’m a ‘silly’ drunk.

    With the second deep breath I let out a giggle. “Hey Doc, do you know where elephants go for their dental work? Tuska-loosa! Get it?”

    He just smiled.

    With the third breath, my attentions were once again directed toward the dental assistant who had brushed my arm handing the doctor an instrument.

    “Brenda,” I said with a goofy grin, “wouldn’t it be cool if your last name was Bosom? Then people would say, ‘Look! There goes the Bodacious Brenda Bosom! Heh, heh, heh. That’s called alliteration. I remember that from my college literature course.”

    The last thing I remember was Friedman saying, “I think he’s ready.”

    The next thing I knew, I was sitting in the waiting room that seemed to be spinning in dizzying circles.

    I ran my tongue against the spot where the two gold crowns were supposed to be and felt a sharp ridge.

    Apparently, Dr. Friedman’s one-size-fits-all porcelain crowns didn’t quite match up.

    When my head was almost back to normal, I whispered, “Ox, come on in. We’ve got him.”

    Within minutes my partner entered the room holding the search warrant that had been issued earlier.