Robert Thornhill
Lady Justice and the Geriatric Gumshoes


Lady Justice and the Geriatric Gumshoes

    Inspired by their hero, Walt Williams, three retirees decide to give Lady Justice a helping hand.

    Although their intentions are good, these septuagenarian sleuths get crossways with the Kansas City mafia, dangerous drug dealers, and the Russian mob.

    Walt must come to their rescue, putting himself in harm’s way to pull their eager, but aging, fannies out of the fire.

    Follow the action as Walt and the geriatric gumshoes prove once again that good guys can triumph over evil, no matter how old they are.

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    Seventy-two-year old Sol Marino crept quietly up the aisle past the mustard and ketchup, pausing at the pickles to get a better look at the checkout counter. Standing on his tip toes, looking over the dills, he spotted his boss, Tony, face to face with Vito, Carmine Marchetti’s musclebound emissary.

    Sol had been working part time at Scavuzzo’s Convenience Store and Deli for a month waiting for just this moment.

    Vito made regular visits to the store to collect protection money for Marchetti, the big dog in the Kansas City mafia, and Sol’s assignment was to get the transaction on video.

    He held his cell phone over the shelving, stretching his five foot, eight inch body as far as possible. By craning his neck, he was just able to see Tony pass an envelope to Vito on the camera’s screen.

    Vito had just slipped the envelope in his pocket when Sol’s shaky elbow dislodged a jar of gherkins from the shelf.

   “Oh crap!” Sol muttered as the jar crashed onto the floor.

    Vito turned toward the sound, his weapon drawn. “What the hell, Tony. You said we were alone.”

    “I --- I thought we were,” Tony replied, trembling. “The only other person here is my helper, Sol, and he’s supposed to be in the back, trimming produce.”

    Vito rounded the corner finding Sol standing in pickle juice, fumbling with his cell phone camera.

    “Gimme that!” Vito ordered, grabbing the phone. “Well, well,” he said, watching the video of the exchange, “look what we have here.”

    He grabbed Sol by the collar and dragged him to the counter.

    Vito glared at Tony. “Trimming produce! Does this look like trimming produce to you?” he asked, tossing the camera on the counter.

    Frightened and confused, Tony turned to Sol. “What’s this? What were you thinking?”

    “Just trying to help,” Sol replied, wincing in Vito’s iron grip.

    “Mr. Marchetti’s gonna be really pissed when he hears about this,” Vito said, menacingly.

    “Don’t blame Tony,” Sol begged. “He didn’t know anything about this. It’s all me.”

    Vito looked at Tony. “Is that right, Tony? Was this his bright idea?”

    Tony nodded, knowing he had sealed Sal’s fate.

    Vito pocketed Sol’s cell phone and pushed Sol toward the door. “Looks like your bright idea has earned you a ride downtown and a meeting with Mr. Marchetti.”

    As he was leaving, Vito turned to Tony. “Better put a help wanted sign in the window. Your buddy here won’t be coming back. Oh, and a word of caution, be more careful who you hire.”

    Tony’s heart ached when he saw the look of desperation on Sol Marino’s face as Vito shoved him into the car.