by Richard Wren
Casey had been studying it and handed it back to Smitty. “Nothing,” he said with a shrug.
“Mr. Smith?” the detective asked.
“I don’t see anything either,” Smitty replied.
“In which case, we thank you for your cooperation. Please leave your address and phone number with the sergeant at the desk.” He got up abruptly and left.
There was nothing to do but leave their information with the desk sergeant and get out.
Outside Smitty pulled away and walked to a nearby bench where he sat with his head in his hands. Casey stood in front of him. “What is it? Did the notes mean something to you?
Smitty slowly looked up to him and in a strained voice said, “We killed her, we got that nice lady killed.”
“No way. Hell, we just got here this morning. What’re you talking about?
Smitty repeated. “Don’t you get it? Gus is innocent. Somebody else killed him, and they don’t want us muckin’ about, digging up old evidence. She made some phone calls, and she got taken care of.”
Casey shook his head. “Naaaah, couldn’t happen that way. She only called us yesterday morning. There just isn’t enough time for something like that to have happened.”
“Sure there is. First off, she must have made the phone calls the night before she phoned us.” Smitty was now warming up to his theory. “If there was a gang involved like, what’s his name?” He paused for a second. “Littler, that’s it, the guy at the golf course. He said there were gangs involved.”
Casey sat down on the bench beside him. “You’re suggesting a vicious gang in Oakland that we’ve never heard of found out that Mrs. Lancaster was digging around in the old murder and arranged for her to be killed in Denver? Impossible!”
Smitty turned to face Casey, put his hand on his shoulder, and looking him in the eye, said, “Son, not only is it possible, I’ve done it. Believe me, it can be done.”
Casey shrugged the hand off his shoulder and in a tone of disbelief, said, “You had people killed?”
“No, no. Not killed. But right now, I mean today, if I wanted something questionable done anywhere in the States, Hell even in Canada or Mexico, I could probably get it done with a phone call or two. The motorcycle gang’s got branches everywhere.”
“But--murder?”
Smitty hesitated just long enough to worry Casey. “I’m sayin’ that that it could be done, and I’m thinkin’ that’s exactly what happened. Why else would an eighty-something, longretired civil servant be run down in cold blood? It’s has to be related to the phone calls she made. We gotta get back.
It only took a few minutes to flag down a passing taxi and Casey used the half hour it took to get to the airport to reserve two tickets to Oakland on the first flight leaving. The earliest flight they could get was on Southwest at one thirty giving them two and a half hours waiting time, just enough for lunch. The cab driver said the Boulder Beer Tap House was in the same terminal as Southwest and a good place to eat. At the mention of beer Smitty instantly said, “drop us off there.”
The flight was uneventful and uncrowded. So much so that they were able to sit apart from any other passengers and openly discuss the events of the last few days. Casey was able to talk Smitty out of the blue funk he had been when he first realized that their actions might have resulted in Mrs. Lancaster’s death but they couldn’t agree on what to do next.
CHAPTER 16
Getting out of the car back at Smitty’s house, they stopped at the curb and continued the debate they’d had all the way home.
“I still say it’s a waste of time to start investigating all the gangs that were around some fifty or sixty years ago. Hell, Smitty, they were probably disbanded,” he hesitated, “before I was born. I think we should look at all the parties to the actual court case; somebody lied or withheld information. That’s what we need to find.”
“Okay. You’ve had your say. But like you said about what happened before you were born, I’ve been around a hell of a lot longer than you have, and I know a hell of a lot more than you do about gangs and how long they last. First of all, gangs don’t die. Our gang’s been around as long as motorcycles’ve been around. And they don’t forget. Not nuthin’. They have individual memories, and they have collective memories. If there was a gang around then that was big enough and had the connections to influence a murder case, then there are people around that will either remember it or remember about it, and that’s where we’re goin’. Capisce?”
Casey knew when he was outgunned and remembered how right Smitty had been a number of times the previous year when they’d had to prove themselves innocent in a trumped up murder case. There had been times when he had to just stand back and admire the generalship qualities that Smitty had demonstrated.
“Okay, we’ll do it your way.”
Smitty surprised him. “No, we’ll do it both ways and any other way that Josie needs; let’s go in.”
Casey shot the sleeve of his jacket and looked at his watch. “Almost five, think they might have something to eat?”
“Remember how big that damn reefer is in the kitchen? Hell, there’s enough food to feed an army in that damn thing. Josie’ll rustle up something if you’re hungry.”
As they entered the door, they immediately thought they wouldn’t have to worry about food. The smell of steak and onions permeated the whole house.
“Slobs, that’s what they are,” an obviously upset Josie greeted them. “All they ever eat is pizza. I’m sick and tired of it. I’m having steak and onions, fix whatever you want.”
Casey wasn’t surprised. Over and over, she had insisted she was not a cook for the gang and she wasn’t about to give in.
“Do you really think you are responsible for that poor lady’s death?’
“Your dad’s about got me convinced, yes.”
“But the police up there don’t think so?”
“I think they’re working on the theory that someone did it on purpose, but that it might have been something like road rage. One where she wasn’t the target, but just a target. They seemed to think that a relationship between a hit and run today and an old murder was too much of a stretch.” Smitty explained. “Anyway, they kicked us out of there, and we think there’s a damn good possibility the two things are related.”
The last part of his statement was delivered with vehemence, as if he was preparing to defend his decision, and was immediately followed by a complete change of subject. “That steak and onions sure smells good. ‘Don’t know about the rest of you guys, but I’m starved.” And then, before Josie could answer, “What about Gus? What’s going on? Can we get him out?”
Josie had nothing good to report about Gus. “The judge denied my request for bail, but we’re going for a rehearing with some new character witnesses. Maybe there’s some hope. It turns out that Gus’s got some good friends in high places. In the meantime, wash up; dinner’s ready.”
Smitty went to his room, leaving Casey alone in the kitchen with Josie. He tried to figure out a way to ask her a question that had been burning at him since they were in Denver. After a moment or two of thought, he decided directness was the best plan.
He sat down in a kitchen chair and adopted a casual air of relaxation so as to lessen the potential seriousness of his question.
“How much do you know about your dad’s activities in the Devils when you were real young, or maybe even before you were born?”
“Not much, why?”
Casey hesitated, again. “Just something he said in Denver. It kinda bothered me.”
Josie, busy setting the table, casually said, “What was that?”
“Well,” he slowly drawled, “He kinda intimated that the Devils might have been involved in some murders a long time ago.” He reiterated. “Might have.”
Josie glanced at the closed kitchen door.
Very quietly, almost whispering, she said, “It’s entirely possible. Mom used to say he was the very devil when he was young, in a
nd out of jail repeatedly. She left him any number of times. She also said that as bad as he was, other guys in the gang were lots worse, but she never mentioned any details. She was actually afraid of some of them. I know for a fact they were mixed up in drugs, and there were rumors about all kinds of stuff, and lots of people were scared of them. Didn’t you see a bunch of old newspaper clippings about the gang last year in Richmond?”
Casey flashed back to the incidence she was referring to. The gang owned a truck body building company in Richmond where Smitty had actually lived some years ago. At one point, long before he started dating Josie, Casey had spent an afternoon looking at old, yellowed and brittle newspaper clippings about the Devils. He couldn’t remember anything about murders.
Josie continued. “After I was born and Mom got him to promise to be a better dad to me he pretty much quit running with the gang, even though he went to all the meetings and on trips with them. One thing about Dad, when he made a promise, he kept it. But answering your question, it’s possible; I just don’t know. And to be honest, for a long time, I didn’t want to know. I wanted him to be the perfect dad. I didn’t want to know his flaws.”
Casey heard Smitty joshing with a couple other members of the gang. It sounded like he was coming up the stairs. He thought about what Josie had said. He’s my father-in-law. I’ve known him for over two years, and I like and respect him for what he is today. Can’t condemn someone for what his friends might have done. Josie loves him, and even though she was an assistant D.A. she supported him. Forget it! he commanded himself, just as Smitty and two of the gang entered the room.
“Screw you, you retard.” One of the guys said to the other just inside the kitchen.
A small potato flew through the air and narrowly missed the speaker. “Don’t swear in our kitchen.” Josie admonished him.
“Woops,” he sheepishly said. “Forgot you were here, Josie.”
“That’s alright, we’re just leaving.” She grabbed Casey’s arm. “I think the two of us will go home for the night.”
“Be sure you’re both here bright and early manana.” Smitty said.
“Seven thirty early enough, oh captain mine?” Josie joshed.
Smitty didn’t bother answering, just made a face at her and continued eating.
On the way to their house, Casey suggested they have a quiet evening. Perhaps watch TV and catch up on local and international new instead of worrying about the case.
“Sounds good to me, but I can’t stop worrying about poor Gus. At his age and his condition this jail time’s taking a lot out of him. But maybe you’re right and a fresh start tomorrow morning is what we need.”
Let’s hope so, right now I don’t have much hope for Gus.”
CHAPTER 17
Casey was enjoying his second cup of coffee after breakfast when Smitty came bounding into the kitchen. “Let’s eat and get going,” he ordered as he lightly cuffed that back of Casey’s head.
“Where’re we going?”
Slowly and somewhat pontifically, Smitty said, “You and I are going to take a scenic motorcycle drive through the Redwoods to visit an old friend of mine.”
“Again? Didn’t you punish me enough the other day?”
“This is different. A country ride to meet a character you need to meet.”
Puzzled, Casey looked to Josie for help. She helplessly shrugged her shoulders.
“Okay, I give.” Casey very smartly riposted.
“Canyon. We’re going to visit Gats.”
Still mystified, Casey asked the obvious. “Enough of the games. What’s Canyon and Gats?”
Obviously enjoying his little game, Smitty said, “Gats’s, an old biker buddy of mine. He’s been in around the Devils since the beginning of time and remembers everything. And it isn’t what’s Canyon? It’s where’s Canyon? Josie, tell him.”
Josie simply said, “It’s a beautiful canyon only a half hour away that a bunch of hippies live in.”
Smitty, a little miffed at the shortness of her answer, said. “It’s a lot more than that, you’ll see. Plus you’ll like Gats.” He hesitated and added “if he lets us in.”
An hour later, Casey, riding behind Smitty on one of several motorcycles he owned, was admiring the narrow, twisting, deeply descending road that Smitty said would eventually lead to where Gats lived. The road was mostly shady and dark, with only occasional patches of bright sunlight due to the many redwoods on either side. A creek gurgled its way beside the road, appearing and then disappearing as the road twisted.
“It’s really hard to believe we’re only a few minutes from your home,” he shouted into Smitty’s ear.
“Don’t blink, you’ll miss the town.” Smitty shouted back as they passed a parking lot in front of a small, brown shingle building with a U.S Post Office sign and sporting a large flag pole with the American flag flying. “Did you see it?” He added.
“That was it?” laughed Casey.
“Hang on,” Smitty yelled as he made a sharp left turn just in front of an oncoming pair of bicycles. “Idiots,” he mouthed as they complained loudly at his maneuver.
Casey held on for dear life as the pavement quickly deteriorated into a deeply rutted dirt and rock, very steep road. In a short time, they were in a deeply wooded declivity, totally out of sight of the highway and the post office. Smitty skidded to a stop in front of a chain link fence and gate fastened to heavy steel posts that stretched out of sight in both directions. As far as he could see, there were no buildings behind the fencing.
“You sure we’re in the right place?” he asked as he swung his leg over the bike and stretched.
“Absotively.” He answered. “Watch this.” He walked over to where a tree limb hung over the fence and onto their side. He reached up into the tree and pulled out an almost invisible piece of green rope, then tugged on it. Immediately, a raucous clanging sound rang out from the top of the tree.
“He’ll be here in a sec,” Smitty volunteered.
Casey glued his eyes to the faint trail leading even higher up the hill. He stared at it in anticipation. “Don’t see anything yet.”
“Who’s your friend?” a voice suddenly asked, disturbingly close to his left shoulder. Casey, startled, swung quickly to his left to see a scarecrow of a man nonchalantly leaning against one of the steel posts less than a yard away, addressing Smitty.
Without waiting for an answer, the man continued. “I got your message, don’t know nothin’.”
“Bullshit, Gats. You been around forever and never forgot anything. Besides, Gus needs your help.”
“Gus,” the man said and slowly sank down into a hunkered crouch, looking very comfortable. “Tell me about Gus.”
Smitty shot a quick glance at Casey, shrugged his shoulders, and started relating everything that had happened since Gus had been arrested.
“What a bunch of crap,” was his response as Smitty finished. “Gus kill somebody? No way!”
“So, you remember anything?”
Gats shot a squinting oblique look at Smitty, plucked a piece of grass and started chewing on it. “Course I do. Remember everything. Don’t know if it’ll help you much.”
“You were there then?”
“In the flesh.”
“C’mon. Quit playin’ the hick with me. Tell me what you remember before I get my son-in-law here to beat you up.”
“Son-in-law? Daughter got married, huh?” He paused, sighed, straightened up, and said, “Okay, as best as I remember. Everybody was young then, full of oats.” He paused. “Some more than others. Gus was one of the quiet ones, but he got along with everybody. He was kind of a dreamer, unless he was working on a mark. Put him in front of some fat cat and he’d fleece him faster’n lightning.”
“What about the guy that got murdered? Was he one of the ones that got in more trouble than others?”
“You might say. Fat little dude. His trouble was he tried to run on both sides of the fence at the same time; probably why he got killed
.”
Quick as a flash, Smitty jumped on that remark. “What d’ya mean, that was probably why he got killed? Both sides of the fence? What’s that mean?”
“More likely three sides of the fence,” Gats said.
“Quit playin’ with me. Three sides of the fence?”
“Well, that was the general understandin’ at the time. He rubbed shoulders with the gangs and tried to get in with the money guys, and on top of that, he finked to the cops.”
“Was he ever in the Devils?”
“Nope. Never saw him on a bike.”
Casey interjected a question that had been nagging him. “Did you know him or ever actually meet him?”
Gats swung his gaze to him. “Yeah, I met him. Creepy little jerk.”
“D’ya know if he had any enemies?”
He answered with a question, a habit that crossed Casey up. “What was your name?”
Casey hesitated, hadn’t Smitty introduced him?
“Call me Casey,” He said.
He chortled. “Like Casey at the Bat?”
Casey was startled. Actually his father had named him after the famous poem and also the legendary Casey Stengel, a secret from his mother his father had carried to the grave.
“Exactly.”
“Enemies?” He switched back to the original question. “I’d almost guarantee it, but I don’t know of any for sure.”
Smitty butted back in. “Gats, think hard. What was the scuttlebutt about the murder?”
“Don’t have to think hard at all. The story was that he’d tried to blackmail some highfalutin’ guy, and the guy had him rubbed out.”
Smitty was stunned. “That was rumored?” He was silent for a moment. “What about the police--wasn’t there an investigation?”
“Wasn’t no investigation.”
“What do you mean no investigation?”
“Just what I said, it was a complete farce. They even pretty much kept the stabbing out of the papers.”
“Who did?”
“I got no idea. Like I said, it was all rumors and speculation.” Gats paused for a moment, then continued. “But, fact is, the police investigation was over before it started. Sure as hell somebody quashed it. And that, my friend, is all I know.” He started back into the trees.
