Casey's Slip

by Richard L. Wren

  One of the Sacramento gang said it’d be nice if “somebody” kidnapped the senator and he just disappeared.

  Another guy said, “We could do that. Nobody knows what we know about him. Nobody’d connect us with him.” He was serious.

  The first guy said he thought it’d be better if Goldberg just disappeared, like on a fishing or hunting trip. Or maybe in a fatal car wreck.

  Josie poked me in the ribs and whispered that she didn’t like the way this was going, that she was worried.

  “What is it?”

  “Dad. He gets wound up by a group like this and he sometimes makes bad decisions. We need some alternate ideas.”

  I spoke up. “Why don’t we find out everything we can about the senator before we jump to conclusions? We need to know where he lives, where he works, where he might be vulnerable.Then come up with ideas. Besides, what would we do with Mrs. DeHaven? Kill her too?”

  That suggestion seemed to get some traction. Smitty seconded it. Then he turned to Little George. “It’s your town,” he said. “How do we get that type of information about a state senator?”

  “A lot of it’s gotta be in the public domain, don’t you think?” Little George said. “I’ll get my guys working on it right away. Exactly what d’ya think we need?”

  “Anything. Everything. Where he lives. Where his office is in the capitol. Does he have digs in Sacramento? Stuff like that. D’ya know what part of the state he represents?”

  “Somewhere south. We’ll find out. I don’t think he’s married, but I’ve heard he’s got some nasty habits.”

  “All the better.” Smitty smiled grimly. “We should find out who he hangs with, too. Can you find out where he banks? Something else. Find out what kind of car he drives. Does he drive himself? Remember the big black sedan that DeHaven’s neighbors described? The one we got the license number on? Find out if that’s his car.”

  “We can get all that pretty easy, I think. We should also find out how often he goes back to his district.”

  “Can you get all that in the next couple of hours?”

  “Should be a piece of cake,” Little George assured us.

  The local newspaper was very helpful. Through a friend of a friend, we got his Sacramento address and a sampling of who he hung out with. We also found out that he seldom spent much time in his own district except when it came time for re-election. Evidently he didn’t fish or hunt. He did go to baseball games occasionally, but he was best known for marathon poker parties. His invitees included a number of local wealthy businessmen. No other senators. Our source told us Goldberg definitely had a secretive side to him, that not a lot was known about his personal life.

  He also had a reputation of being a dangerous person to cross. Very vindictive and not liked by his fellow Senators.

  These Sacramento bikers had lots of contacts. It didn’t take long at all to gather piles of information. Some of it was trivial, like what his favorite dessert was. Other items were potentially useful, like the report that he was a member of Alcoholics Anonymous. We also found out he drove his own car, a current model, black Cadillac.

  “If we decide we need to kidnap this guy, we still need to know more,” Smitty said, goading them on. “We need to know the routes he drives, when he might be alone and so forth.”

  Josie nudged me again. “I told you. He’s so willing to take chances. He jumps before he looks. We can’t let him get involved in any kidnapping!”

  “Nothing’s gonna happen right away,” I said, trying to calm her fears. “We’ll just have to keep close to him and try to influence his thinking.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. I know Dad, Casey. If he wants to do something he thinks I’ll disapprove of, he’ll just start excluding me. I think the best defense is a good offense. You need to come up with better ideas than his. He listens to you! We can’t let him take the law into his own hands.”

  I said, “There’s something else too. That sniper. Just because nobody from Little George’s gang has spotted him or heard anything about a sniper doesn’t mean he isn’t around.” I asked Little George what he thought about the sniper.

  “I wasn’t going to tell you anything, but since you asked— We located a guy we think may be your sniper. He’s holed up in a fleabag in West Sacramento asking a lot of questions about motorcycle gangs. We gotta be careful and sure. He might just be some kid wanting to join an outlaw gang, but he’s acting pretty suspicious. Personally, I think it’s him.”

  “If it’s him, what’ll you do?”

  “Don’t ask. Let’s just say professional gunmen don’t last long around here.”

  Smitty was hyper active now. He said that tomorrow morning he wanted members of both gangs to fan out and physically see all the places that Goldberg frequented.

  “Take pictures if you can. Where does he eat? What does his Sacramento home look like? What roads does he take? Find out if he’s a creature of habit or if he takes a different route home every night, for instance. Let’s find out everything personal we can about him, and then decide what to do.”

  Protecting Josie, I spoke up. “Smitty, it sounds to me like you’re proposing a kidnapping of a California state senator. If you are, I’m out. We’ve skirted the law a lot these last few days, but I’m not into the kidnapping of anyone, let alone a senator.”

  “Who said anything about kidnapping?”

  “You did, just a few minutes ago!”

  “No, I saidif we decided to kidnap him.”

  I wasn’t sure I believed him. Smitty was hard to read. Glancing at Josie, I could see she wasn’t buying it either.

  Smitty went on without a pause. “What we need guys, is more personal stuff about him.”

  “You know,” drawled one of the Sacramento guys, “the people that’d probably know most about his dirty little secrets would be his staff.”

  “Okay, so how do we get next to one of his staffers?”

  Questioning sounded better than kidnapping to me. I thought for a minute or two and came up with an idea.

  “I bet they’d open up to a friendly columnist,” I said. “A columnist who wants to profile the staff of a prominent senator, for example.”

  Smitty loved it. “Perfect, how could they say no? Let’s do it. Casey, it’s your idea. You, Josie, Gus and Les make it happen.” We adjourned to the kitchen.

  Gus said, “You got a Sacramento columnist in your hip pocket?

  “Don’t need one. I had a nice blurb about me and my delivery service in a San Diego column once and never even met the columnist. I got a call from a staffer saying they’d heard about me and would I give her a little info. Next thing I knew, there I was in his column.”

  “Okay. I see where you’re going.”

  “Good. All we need is for someone to call his staff, tell them they’re an assistant to some columnist and the rest should be easy.”“

  It’s worth a try,” Gus said. “The worst that can happen is they say no.”

  “I ain’t no actor,” Les said immediately. “No way could I pull off any of this shit. I nominate one of you three.” He was pointing at Gus, Josie and me. After a quick conference, we stuck Josie with the job. The odds were higher that a columnist’s staffer would be a woman, we all agreed. Plus Josie’d already proven she was a good actress. She thought it’s be a gas.

  The newspaper call to the senator’s office went just fine. When Josie introduced herself as a staffer for a columnist whose name was a household word in northern California, the senator’s staff was more than receptive. When she told them that part of the article was to be about the staff and how important a good staff was to a successful Senator, they were hooked. They told her to come on over. The only problem she had was convincing them that her first interviews should be on the phone. When she shaped her questions so that a lot of them were about the staff, they totally capitulated and answered all of them quite willingly. In the middle of it all, she was able to slip in all the questions about the senator we wanted.
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br />   “Thanks so much,” she told the last of them, “and please thank the rest for me too. I’ll put all this into a report to my boss for his review. He’ll probably want to talk to each of you personally. It might be a while. You know how long these things take.”

  What we found out was interesting. The senator was in his sixties, but appeared and acted younger, particularly around younger women. In some other ways, he acted older. For example, he was completely predictable, like when he got to work each day and the routes he drove to and from work. Also he was very vain about his appearance. He would never allow himself to be seen in public in anything but a suit and tie. No one seemed to know much about the poker games we’d heard about, except that they were usually held on Tuesday nights.

  Reading between the lines, his staff saw Goldberg as a lazy senator, one they really didn’t like. Any one of them would leave him, given the opportunity. Each and every one of them thought they did most of the work. None came out and said so, but you definitely got the impression they didn’t feel they were appreciated or treated very well. Maybe that’s why they were so eager for the interview.

  When we got back to Smitty with our results he told us to get together with the rest of the guys and make some sort of a chart of the senator’s average day.

  “By tonight or tomorrow morning, latest, I’d like to be able to see where he usually is, all day, every day.”

  Being curious about what Smitty had in mind for tomorrow, I stayed behind with the rest of the gang. Everyone had questions, particularly the guys from Oakland who were anxious to avenge Red and the young kid killed on Smitty’s boat. Smitty said he also was pissed about his boat neighbor’s death.

  “He was a total innocent. Probably just woke up and accidentally saw the bomber. And for that he got killed?”

  As they talked, the temperature in the room kept rising. The threats became more vicious, the ideas more outrageous.

  Looking at Little George, I could see he didn’t like the way the meeting was going. Finally, I guess he couldn’t stand it any longer. In a loud voice he said, “Smitty, shut up and sit down!”

  Amazingly, that’s exactly what Smitty did.

  “I gotta tell ya, I got a real problem with what you’re doing now. You’re talking about doing physical damage to a state senator in my town. I know I said I hate his guts and something should happen to him, but not—by—us! I, we, gotta live here. You guys think you can waltz in here, do something totally illegal and then waltz right out, leaving us holding the bag.”

  “I hear you, George,” Smitty said. He sounded like he meant it. It was a come to Jesus moment, and Little George wasn’t finished, either.

  “Good, because it’s your fault that you’re letting these ideas even see the light of day. They’re dangerous, and it’s up to you to draw a line. I totally understand your outrage at these murders, but I gotta protect the future of the club.”

  “You’re absolutely right. Guys, listen up. Little George is absolutely right. We gotta tone down the rhetoric – me first. We are not – repeatnot – gonna do anything that’ll reflect badly on our hosts here. Agreed?”

  He got no argument. Little George carried a lot of weight – more than just his body weight.

  Smitty suggested that he and Little George pick out three or four guys each and have a planning session first thing in the morning.

  Little George agreed. “We can tie a shit can around the senators’ neck without becoming a lynch gang. We’ll figure out a way.”

  Gus and I breathed a sigh of relief. I asked Gus, “Did you put Little George up to that?”

  “No way, Jose. I had nothing to do with it.”

  CHAPTER 74

  Next morning, by the time Josie and I reached Little George’s house, he, Smitty and the guys they’d chosen were huddled up in a back room, by themselves.

  Conspicuous by their absence in that little group was us. Not only were we not invited, they were taking pains not to let us know what they were talking about. Gus and Les were miffed. Josie was miffed and worried. I wasn’t. I’d just as soon be left out of whatever it was they were planning.

  Occasionally one or two of the group came out to get coffee or a beer. When they’d pass Josie they’d glance at her surreptitiously as if they were embarrassed that she wasn’t included. At one point one of them accidentally left the door open, allowing us a glimpse of waving arms and loudly arguing. It looked like Smitty was working hard, trying to convince them about something.

  Finally they broke up, but they still didn’t tell us anything.

  “I think they’re still planning to waylay the senator and do something to him,” Josie said. “Their idea of breaking laws is different from most people’s idea. I have to talk to Dad.”

  As Smitty came out of the room he looked surprised to see us standing so nearby. Josie cornered him.

  She didn’t mince words. “Dad, I’m really worried about what you guys are planning. You can’t kidnap anybody. It’s against the law. I don’t want to have to visit you in jail. And don’t forget your promise to Mom.”

  “Don’t worry, little girl. We know exactly what we’re doing and it’s nowhere near kidnapping.”

  The next thing we knew, he’d had a large blackboard brought out from the rec room. This time, the door stayed open. On it, he scribbled all the observations the guys had made the previous day and taped up pictures to support them. By the time he was done, the senator’s entire day was outlined, at least for most days. What they seemed to be most interested in was his morning and evening driving habits.

  “Those condos there on the right are where the senator spends his nights. He was pointing at a picture one of the guys had taken. You can’t see it. It’s in the rear, with a lake view. As you can see, the development’s new and all by itself out there, at the very end of the road.”

  “Real isolated, isn’t it,” someone commented.

  “Yeah, and look at the road. It runs alongside that canal for about two miles before meeting the highway.”

  Then he put up more pictures of the streets the senator usually took on the way to and from his home.

  After everybody got a good look at the pictures, Smitty said he wanted all the Oakland guys to come with him. “We’re gonna go somewhere and get some lunch. We need to do some planning.”

  As they filed out of the back room, Josie and I start to gather our stuff together to join them. “Not you two,” Smitty said, noticing us. “You’ve worked hard enough. You deserve some time off.” He handed Josie a hundred dollar bill and said, “Go have a real fancy lunch somewhere. Ask Little George to recommend some place expensive.” Turning his back on us, he headed outside.

  Josie closed her eyes, and I don’t think she was counting to ten. “I told you so. All of a sudden he’s cutting me out. He’s planning something he doesn’t want me in on. Dammit! I don’t know what to do.”

  “What about Gus?” I asked. “He was in on the last part of the meeting and they’re taking him along this afternoon. Maybe he can find out what they’re planning and let us know?”

  “That’s our only hope. I’ll try to catch up with Gus and see if he’ll do that. Maybe if Dad knows I know what he’s planning, he might reconsider”

  We caught up with Gus and she whispered her request to him. With a quick glance at Smitty, he whispered, “It’s gonna be okay. No kidnapping, just some scare tactics and pressure. Your dad thinks we got enough info’ that he’ll cave if we push hard enough. Do what your dad said, have a nice lunch, relax. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

  Little George was standing next to Gus. “You two want a good place to have lunch? Have you been to the Firehouse in Old Sacramento?”

  “I don’t even know where Old Sacramento is, let alone any Firehouse,” Josie told him.

  “Okay, then you should definitely go there. It’s a little touristy, but the restaurant’s good and the area’s a great place to while away an afternoon.”

  “I don’t want to w
hile away the afternoon,” Josie said. “I’m worried about what you guys and my dad are going to do.”

  “We spent the afternoon wandering through shops at Old Sacramento, even took a tour of a river sternwheeler. I don’t know if it really still paddled up and down the river, but it served meals so we had lunch there.

  When we’d had it with wandering, we found our way to the Firehouse for dinner. As Little George has promised, it was really nice. The weather was warm so we ate outside on a large patio. We tried our damnedest to not think about Smitty, but he certainly was the elephant in this outdoor room.

  Gus had told us that the group expected to be out real late, so we tried to pace our evening accordingly, drawing it out with a cocktail before dinner and deliberately ordering a multi-course meal. Even following dinner with a leisurely dessert and coffee, we were still through and out of the restaurant by about eight-thirty.

  Josie said she didn’t want to go back to the hotel. She wanted to do something to keep her mind occupied. We checked all the movies, but didn’t see anything interesting.

  “What do you think of live comedy shows?” Josie asked.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen one,” I admitted. “Seen them on TV, of course. Those seem to be pretty dumbed down and foul mouthed.”

  “I noticed a billboard on the old sternwheeler about a comedy show on board tonight. It said bring the family, so I imagine it’d be pretty clean, at least.”

  We found the boat again, were able to get tickets and, as it turned out, the show was a riot. The sternwheeler had a pretty good size theater on board. It wasn’t filled but almost so. The ad hadn’t lied – it was a family show and it certainly diverted Josie.

  We got back to the hotel about midnight and Josie immediately made a beeline for the desk to check if there were any messages for her or me. There weren’t.

  She tried to reach Gus but got no answer. Same with Smitty. The automated message said that neither of the cell phones was in service. We were completely stymied. Evidently the gang had, for some reason, turned all their cell phones off.