Casey's Slip

by Richard L. Wren

  “Have you seriously been thinking about resigning?” I asked.

  “Yes, I have,” he answered forthrightly, “but I have to think of my wife and kids, too. It’s going to be a difficult decision.”

  I told him I had an idea that might solve everything, but that I wanted to talk it over with Smitty before I told him about it. “Can you wait a few days before you make a decision about resigning?” I asked.

  “Sure,” he said. “As I said this is not going to be easy for me. I love the city and the job. If you can figure out a way to lose the evidence against me, and it’s legal, I’m willing to consider it.”

  Smitty looked at me like he didn’t know me, but got up and walked out to the car.

  It suddenly hit me that I’d just been talking to a police chief as equal to equal for a half hour. A week ago I’d have gone to great lengths to avoid spending time with any cop— let alone a police chief.

  What if he found out that I was a fraud? I’m a college drop out boat bum giving legal advice to police chief on how to talk to the FBI?? Why should he listen to me?

  CHAPTER 52

  Outside, in the car, Smitty said, “What’s going on?”

  By then, I was a little embarrassed by what I’d done. Inside I’d been carried away by the conversation and all the ideas flying back and forth. Outside, in the cold light of day, with both Smitty and Josie looking at me as if they didn’t have a clue who – or what – they were dealing with, my idea didn’t seem practical at all. But “upward and onwards,” as my dad used to say.

  “Okay,” I said, thinking fast on my feet and hoping it’d all come together into one brilliant whole, “I think the chief is really serious about quitting. His honor is a real thing to him. He’s holding back mostly to protect his family and because he feels a real sense of obligation to the job. His real concern is that he may yet be forced to do something dishonest by blackmail and, if push comes to shove, he’d quit before doing it.”

  “Yeah, I agree.” Smitty said, nodding. “When he said he’d been contemplating resigning, I believed him. So?”

  “What if we can show him how to turn his liability into an asset? What if we can show him a way to admit his petty larceny in a way that’ll clear him and trap Carpenter at the same time?”

  “Go on.”

  “The chief said that the FBI would listen to a police chief. He also told us he had a close friend in the FBI, someone he knew in college, and still kept in touch with.”

  “Okay so far.”

  “Suppose he went to his friend and told him he had information about blackmailing, bribery, even murder going on in his city with roots in the state capitol. Suppose he told his friend he’d found all this out because the guy had tried to blackmail him over some dumb little thing. He could admit to a questionable misuse of some police funds, tell them he’d already repaid them, and say he wants to give all this information to the FBI – but that he wants his name cleared. I keep reading how prosecutors compromise on charges in order to get information. ‘Seems like it might work the same way here.”

  “You think the FBI would clear him in exchange for this information?”

  “Why not? He didn’t do anything criminal. It was such a small amount; it was more misappropriation than theft. If he wasn’t a police chief, he probably wouldn’t even have to worry about it. On top of that, the information he has is so inflammatory, I bet they’d give even more than that to get it.”

  Smitty was looking less dubious by the moment.

  “I wanted to talk to you about it away from the chief because I think the idea will be received better coming from you than from me.”

  Smitty worked it through, looking for potential problems. Then he finally said, “I like it. As long as we’re still here, let’s get our asses in gear and go back in to the chief, see it he thinks he could pull it off.”

  On the way in, I found myself worrying about my getting in deeper and deeper with the gang. Now it was way too late for second guessing. At least we were trying to work within the law – sometimes.

  Smitty presented the plan. The chief’s reaction was lukewarm. Smitty told him he thought it was the only way to get the chief off the hook and trap Carpenter at the same time. “The only thing I worry about is your connection with the FBI,” he added.

  “Bud would probably help me all he can. But any agreement he and I were to come up with would then be kicked upstairs. Who knows what they might do? Then there’s the question of the legality of the information you have.”

  “One thing at a time chief. It looks to me like you’re at a crossroad,” Smitty said. “On the one hand, you can resign in some disgrace. On the other, you can take the information to the FBI, and give yourself a fighting chance at correcting a huge wrong and getting personal exoneration in the bargain. So I guess it’s your choice, Chief.”

  We all sat in silence for a few moments, the chief drumming his fingers on his desk.

  Finally he spoke.

  “Smitty, you’ve done a good job of painting me into a corner.”

  A small grin softened the statement.

  He continued, “I guess it’s time for me to fish or cut bait. Tell you what. Let’s meet early tomorrow afternoon. I’m pretty sure my main goal is to stop Carpenter and I think your plan is feasible. But I want to talk it over with my wife tonight, so we’ll meet tomorrow.

  “Should work out fine. We have a funeral to go to in the morning; I’ll call you when it’s over.”

  My immediate thought was Red. Smitty had checked his e-mail on his cell phone while we were in the car. He must have received the message then.

  On the way back out to the car, he confirmed my guess. The funeral service was set for eleven the next morning. Smitty said we’d better hurry back to his house. He had a lot of planning to do before then.

  CHAPTER 53

  He wasn’t kidding. Smitty had a lot to plan, on a number of fronts. First of all there was gang protocol to arrange. Gang funerals were always held at the same funeral parlor in East Oakland. There was a certain military precision to them that had to be organized. Every motorcycle had to be spotlessly cleaned. Every Hog had to wear the same uniform. Black gang jackets. Black leather pants. White shirts and, of course, their helmets. No scuffed boots.

  They would all leave from the garage in Richmond as a group, two by two, and proceed sedately to the parlor. At the parlor they’d enter, again two by two, and take seats in a special section. Very much like a military or police service. Smitty planned for upwards of twenty bikes in the parade.

  He told the guys to sit in the roped off section of the parlor, but that he might sit with the widow if there was room.

  Nobody was talking to me. I wanted to go to the funeral service, simply because I’d liked Red. Josie was in the kitchen preparing dinner. Perhaps she’d have an idea.

  “Sorry,” she told me. “They aren’t going to include you at all. The Devils are an exclusive club. Even though they’ll accept you as a friend, you’re never really a member. Same thing with me. There are no women in the Devils. Never have been, never will be.”

  “But you’re Smitty’s daughter!”

  “Regardless, only members can go to official meetings. You have to be a provisional member for a year before you can become a full-fledged member. The funeral is like an official meeting. We’re not included.

  “What about wives? A lot of the guys are married. Won’t they want to come?

  “Oh they’ll come, the ones that knew Red. But they’ll come separately. They’ll probably car pool or something. And they won’t sit with the gang.”

  “Boy, that’s really chauvinistic! How come the wives let them get away with that?”

  “It’s just something they all agree to when their husbands decide to join the Devils. Joining the Devils is like a commitment.”

  “But you’re going, aren’t you?”

  “Absolutely. We can go together in my car, if you want. Something else. Don’t be surprised wh
en you see a bunch of motorcycle cops show up. There’s quite a history of violence at gang funerals, or at least there used to be. It got so bad the cops got to showing up to try and head off the brawls. Now they show up out of habit, I think.”

  “What about dress?”

  “If you’ve got something fairly conservative, that should be fine. If we leave early enough we can stop by your apartment.”

  So it was all arranged, we’d go together. Josie was not looking forward to the service.

  “I hope you don’t mind if I cry during the service. Red was almost a second dad to me. He used to baby sit me some times. He and Dad were really close.”

  She was close to tears as we talked.

  I’d been sitting on a stool watching her cook dinner while we were talking. She was making sandwiches on some sort of a gadget, four at a time. She’d put corned beef cheese and sauerkraut between two slices of bread, then toast them on the device. They sure smelled good. My mouth was watering.

  She turned toward me.

  “Do me a favor?”

  “Of course, anything.”

  “Go to the refrigerator and get a couple of heads of cabbages, wash them and chop them up into small pieces. I’m going to make a coleslaw salad to go with the sandwiches.’

  A short time later we piled up the sandwiches on a large platter for me to carry downstairs, and Josie followed with the huge bowl of slaw. As usual, beer was the drink of choice. The meal was a little subdued, I guess because of Red.

  After dinner Smitty announced he was pretty sure some of us would be going up to Sacramento in a day or so.

  Josie and I spent the evening watching TV on a small set in the living room. The guys were all in the rec room watching sports on a huge screen.

  Something Smitty had said was bothering me.

  “Why do you think Smitty said we’d probably be going to Sacramento?”

  “I guess he thinks that the chief will take care of Carpenter and there’s bigger fish to fry in Sacramento.”

  “Yeah but how will he make any contacts in Sacramento?”

  “Relax; he’s got lots of contacts in Sacramento. You’ll see.”

  I tried to relax watching the TV. Spending a lot of time out to sea, I’d never gotten the television habit. After watching it for a couple of hours that night I realized I hadn’t been missing much.

  “You’re bored, aren’t you,” Josie said.

  Perhaps my yawns were the giveaway. We both decided we’d get to bed early. The next day would be a long one.

  Next morning, after breakfast, all the guys at the house were busy shining their boots and getting ready for the funeral. Smitty told me that they’d be leaving around nine-thirty, meeting up with all the rest of the gang at the Richmond garage.

  “I’m going with Josie in her car.”

  “That’s good. Tell Josie you two can follow the procession from the garage, or you could just meet us at the funeral parlor.”

  I wanted to see and follow the group. Josie did too.

  We left shortly after the gang did, stopped at my apartment to get my one and only sport jacket and got to the garage in time to see Smitty organizing the procession.

  Even though Smitty had told them the night before about how it was always two by two, it still took a lot of yelling to get them in order. The noise was deafening the garage was big enough to accommodate all the gang and their bikes, but that many bikes in an enclosed place was more than just noisy.

  Josie and I climbed up the balcony stairs so we could watch from that vantage point. I counted thirty seven bikes; it’d be thirty eight counting Smitty’s. “He’ll lead the procession from the right front slot,” she told me. Like the first violinist in an orchestra.”

  I’d noticed some black and white bikes outside the garage that looked like police bikes. “They’re “funeral cops,” Josie told me. “They’ll go ahead of our procession, to clear traffic at stop signs and so forth. It’ll make the trip much faster, even though they’ll be riding real slow.”

  Finally everyone was organized to Smithy’s satisfaction. He even made a final walk up the whole line, checking on their clothing. Exactly on time, the huge factory doors were rolled up and the caravan hit the streets. As the last two left, we followed in Josie’s car.

  CHAPTER 54

  We arrived at the funeral parlor a few minutes before the scheduled services. The Devils parked their bikes in even rows, then lined up two by two and, led by Smitty, walked slowly into the chapel. It was impressive and scary at the same time. Thirty eight big guys, all in black leather jackets and wearing dark glasses walking in unison down the aisle. A real tribute to Red.

  When they arrived at the roped off section they filed into the rows, all except Smitty. He went forward, sat down next to Red’s widow and gave her a big hug.

  I don’t remember much of the service. My mind kept wandering back and forth between my short friendship with Red and the Carpenter problem. It wasn’t a long service, focusing mostly on what a nice guy Red had been and how many friends he had. There were lots of people there, even though his widow sat almost alone. Josie sniffled several times through the service.

  After the service Josie told me that the gang was gathering back at the warehouse, that this too was customary. “They call it a wake.”

  “We should go,” she continued, “but we shouldn’t stay. It’ll be fun for a while, but some of the guys don’t know when to stop. Let’s go by for a half hour or so, then leave. Nobody’ll miss us. Maybe we can have dinner or something.”

  That’s what we did. She knew a nice place on the waterfront that served a great hamburger. It was a full restaurant with a full menu, but Josie said they were famous for their burgers. We lingered over the meal for a long time, long enough to tackle dessert and coffee.

  As we were leaving, she said, “All dressed up and no place to go.”

  “I’ve never been there,” I said, “but I’ve been told there’s a hotel in Berkeley that has a nice bar and a small dance floor, if you like to dance?”

  “Wow!” she said. “Your mama must have raised you right. I love to dance but I never get the chance.”

  We found the place, had a few drinks and Josie got her fill of dancing. Most girls tell me I’m not a great dancer, but I’m enthusiastic. Anyway we both had a good time and got back to Smitty’s house before any of the gang.

  Next morning, as were having breakfast and listening to the news, a flash came on. The announcer said he had a news flash. The station was being advised that there’d been an explosion and fire at the 5th avenue marina, more news to follow. Smitty jumped up and said, “The Jezebel, I gotta get down there.”

  I remembered that the gang had two other members living at the Marina.

  Smitty raced off on his motorcycle and we tailed him in Josie’s car. As we headed through downtown Oakland towards the Embarcadero, Josie nudged me and said, “Look at that.” Directly ahead of us, a pall of smoke was just beginning to rise up. A moment or two later, we began to hear sirens coming from several different directions.

  Smitty gunned his bike and raced ahead. Later he told me that he’d been hit with a premonition that it his boat. We pulled in a minute or two after Smitty. He was already off his bike and running toward theJezebel, or more correctly, what was left of her.

  One fire engine was already there and more were arriving. Two policemen were trying to restrain Smitty, and we were rudely shoved aside.

  Smitty’s boat was literally in pieces, at least all of it I could see. As we got closer I could see that there were actually two boats in pieces and on fire. The second one was in the slip next to Smitty’s, and was producing most of the smoke. The firemen had a hose rigged up, and water was pouring on the fire. Someone was yelling that there might be people on board both boats.

  The firemen were having a tough time. TheJezebel was just about completely demolished above the water line. They were trying to hack their way through flames and ruins. The other boat was
even worse. The flames rose higher and the smoke was getting even more dense.

  The fire trucks had been able to get only one hose out on to the docks. The second truck had to lay a hose down from almost a block away. When they finally got the second hose operating, they quickly got control of the fires. Just then one of the firemen poked his head out of Smitty’s boat and yelled,

  “We’ve got one. Need an ambulance!”

  “Shit, shit, shit,” Smitty groaned. He turned to one of the guys and asked him, “Do we know who was on the boat?”

  “I think it’s one of the new guys. He’s single. He wanted to do it ‘cuz he’d never spent a night on a boat.”

  “Have I met him?” Smitty asked.

  “I don’t think so. He wasn’t at the funeral or the wake yesterday.”

  “God, I hope he’s okay”

  I could imagine what might have happened. I had a mental picture of me taking a nap below decks at some of the yacht harbors. I’d sometimes stuff earplugs in to cut out the dock noises. Some one could tramp all over the decks and I’d never hear them. Poor guy.

  Two firemen climbed out of the smoldering wreckage of Smitty’s boat carrying a man between them. They lifted the guy out and laid him on the dock. Most of his body was wrapped in a blanket, but I could see that his left arm was severely burned.

  At the same time, on the other boat, the firemen were using axes to break down the hatches and get inside. In a few moments one of them yelled.

  “We got another one.”

  Josie and I’d moved over to the other dock where we could see without being in the way. Looking at the firemen’s efforts to save lives, something struck me as odd. Smitty’s boat was blown apart like from an explosion. But the other boat looked like it had caught fire from the inside. It was an older wooden boat, and they sometimes have galley fires, but what about Smitty’s? I resolved to ask one of the firemen before they left if they’d noticed the difference too.

  The way the second guy was being carried out of his boat, we were sure that he was dead.