The tall black youth, who had graduated to murder, by way of Juvenile Hall and petty crime before heading for the big time, had not done the same as many of his contemporaries had done, which was to blow all his money on a big show. Instead, he had taken a lease on a good apartment in the better part of his district, bought a better but not new car, and decided that he would wear the best that he could afford, instead of the 'street-cred' gear which all his friends were wearing. This new affluence had been noticed by a sharp-eyed detective, who was used to seeing the loudest possible threads on 'SixThree', and wondered where he had got the money; because the black youth had no job, and did not have access to legitimate funds. The detective, Harry Gorsen by name, suffered from sore feet, bad breath and was overweight, but had that rare gift, so useful for a policeman, the ability to merge with the environment; and thus follow people who did not wish to be followed.
SixThree, having a target for his services, went uptown to a bar where the target hung out, located his car, and thence the victim, and parked a little down the street, and then readied himself for a long wait. The detective's car, further back, saw his target taking particular notice of one vehicle, called in the number tag plate, and identified it's owner as a long term gambler and loser, Eddie Mulroney. Taking a chance that his target, SixTree would not attempt anything on a busy city street, the detective decided to have a back-up unit sit on the bar, and travel to the home of the gambler Mulroney. His precinct agreeing, the back-up unmarked car rolled up less than fifteen minutes later, and Detective Gorsen moved off to the home address of Mulroney, and once again parked and waited. Two hours later, a bored policeman finally keyed his microphone, and called out to the dispatcher that Gorsen should be warned that both primary and secondary targets were on the move. Acknowledging, the detective reached back, grasping a flask of coffee, and pouring a cup, settled back once more for a long wait. He saw Mulroney park his car on the street, and walk up to his home, and then the detective spotted 'SixThree' cruising along, marking the position of Mulroney's car, before slowly rolling away, to park further down the street.
Gorsen called in, and advised his duty Lieutenant that his opinion was that a hit was being planned, and requested further back-up support. This being promised, the detective once more settled back for a boring evening's observation, when he could be at home. His partner, Lou Johnson, had been brought out and dropped around the corner, and he came walking slowly along, and eased himself into Harry Gorsen's car, bringing a bag of burgers and cokes along with him. The two detectives sat on, waiting patiently, as Gorsen had a great arrest record, and if a hunch was all the detective had to go on, they would wait it out together. They knew that SixThree was still around because he lit a new smoke every ten minutes, and the flare alone lit the car. Finally, the black man's car door slowly opened, also alerting the police as the courtesy light clicked on, and SixThree headed along the pavement towards Mulroney's car. He popped the door, as well as the bonnet, before setting to work on the wiring. The two policemen watched as he loosed the petrol pipe union, and set a small bundle of rags underneath, together with his favourite toy, a flash bulb.
Having waited long enough, the two cops quietly exited their vehicle, walked up behind the arsonist, and grabbed him as he still leant inside the engine compartment. Five minutes later, with a wide-eyed gambler viewing the car which would have burnt him alive, and a struggling SixThree in the back of another squad car, the two detectives leant back against the railings, lit cigarettes, and gloried in a good collar. They waited for the photographer to appear, and asked for a full set of prints, before wheeling their car back to the Precinct house, together with their prisoner.
SixThree knew that he had no choice, because he had literally been caught on the job, and thus did not have a great deal to bargain with, but decided to give it a try. The crime details had been fed into the computer, and similarities to seven or eight other murders were hauled out, and one by one were put to the young black hoodlum, with his demeanour sinking further with every name read out. He asked for a private word with Detective Gorsen, and asked what he could get in the way of a deal. The fat detective's face never changed, but simply asked in return what was on offer. "I'll give you the names of the callers, not just the agents. The ones who set things up, but I gotta get immunity!"
"Come on, SixThree, you gotta be kidding! Immunity! We caught you dead set, trying to fry that nice Mr. Mulroney. You are gonna get straight Life in Rykers Island! Deal, what could you offer us that would set you on the Immunity track?"
"I could give you names, lots of names, and proof. Yeah, proof that they called me and set things up?"
"What you got hidden in that nasty mind of yours, SixThree? How could you get proof, everything is done at arms length?"
"Everything I done, every call, is all taped. Every time I go on a meet, I carry a tape machine! I got it all! I reckoned the day when I took a fall, they might come in handy. What you say, policeman?"
"I'll have to see." The detective wandered out into the main office, a bemused smile on his face. His partner asked what was wrong, and Gerson simply whispered, "He got 'em all on tape!"
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The Marketing VP sat back, after getting the message that the visit to New York had to be postponed, as the Officer concerned was in hospital. He idly wondered what the visit would have uncovered, but as Joe associated police work with danger, he didn't think to associate the cancellation with his business. He then received the call from reception that two police officers were on their way up to see him, and welcomed O'Rourke and Larson into his office when they arrived. Before they could say anything to warn him, he said, "Are you gonna check the phones?", then realised what he had done. The cops unscrewed the phones in his office, together with those of his secretary, finding each time the same wiring changes and mods as they had found in his home. Detective Larson motioned Joe away from the area, and said, "You may well have blown it, Mr. Kozcinski , but we'll go through the motions. Whoever did this has probably got a line tied in to an outside position, with a voice-activated tape recorder, but it may well be monitored during the day."
Their worst fears were realised when a telephone engineer gave them to an address about five blocks from the office complex, but all that was found was a phone, complete with patch equipment, and a chair behind a desk. The room was clean, no fingerprints, no food, nothing! the two cops looked at one another, and, after accepting that their lead had been blown by an loose word, wrapped up their enquiries, and went back to the station house.
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Joe and Alex had decided that a late dinner at the Club would end their day quite nicely, and were sitting, enjoying their coffee after their meal, when Larry Burnett waved and walked over. The three sat swapping auto gossip, mixed with real estate stories, for ten minutes, until Larry mentioned that he had heard, from a broker friend, that Nick Cavalieri had taken a bath on the Stock Market. "Who, Nick? Well, I suppose he can afford it!" said Alexis.
"Dunno about afford it, Alex, but he was down to the tune of over fifteen million in less than two months; happened about six months ago, and that is no small amount of bread to cast upon the waters! My buddy said he was surprised that three senior people from Continental went down together."
"Who were the others?" asked Joe, not really concentrating on the talk.
"Garnett, Drew Garnett, the senior guy from Pensions at Grand Rapids, and Virginia Horrigan. The word was that they were down nearly as much as Nick. They plunged with that big electronics conglomerate that was supposed to be the greatest; and then lost when the company went belly up. They were all trading under nominee terms, but the bank accounts are in their real names, so thats how my guy knew who was who!"
"Forty-five Million dollars! Nick could possibly have borrowing power to that sort of money, but Garnett, no way! He's on the same scale as me, and I can't afford to buy Alex a meal here more than once a week."
&n
bsp; "That is the word, my friend. If you want to fly, borrow real big, and then the banks have to be your friend."
After a few more comments, Larry said his farewells, and Alex and Joe were left alone at their table. "Do you think it is for real?" asked Alex, " the bit about all that money on the Stock Market, how could they afford it? Virginia is below you on the pay level, and she has been with Continental for over ten years, and there is no way that someone on her pay scale could afford that sort of loss, not without inherited money behind her! She lives on her own, I think she came out of the divorce with the house, and a shade of alimony, but because she was a senior kicker with Continental, not a lot."
Her husband leant back against his seat back, "I think it's all a bit of Burnett horseshit, that's what I think! Drew, Virginia and Nick, they haven't got anything in common! Nick is CEO, Drew is in Pensions and Virginia is head honcho in finance. Drew was always hard up, because he has to pay two sets of alimony, Nick has more than enough, what with his earnings; I know for a fact that he took the last three years stock options, and Virginia, as you say, just doesn't have that sort of borrowing clout!"
Alex leant forward, her brow furrowed in concentration, "Not so fast, husband mine! They do have something in common, read your Company profile if you want to check, but aren't all three the Company heads on the Pension Fund trust Committee?"
Her reward was a silence from Joe, as he tried to follow Alex' reasoning. "So what, the leeway for any action is strictly limited by the Fund rules. There is just no way the management would sanction any money going out into private hands. Why, there is a continuous audit watch on the Fund, by an outside accountancy firm!" Joe tried dismissing his wife's reasoning, but, like an itch which had to be scratched, he could not get rid of the thought that she had implanted.
Joe decided to be careful in his approach to the nagging doubt about the three Pension fund seniors, so, the next morning, dug into his files in his office for the last review of the Pension fund, and read it from cover to cover. It was full of the usual self-serving plaudits, how much they were doing for the retired of the many divisions of Continental, and how noble the people were who served on the overview committee for no reward whatsoever. Joe searched the small print and, eventually found what he was looking for, the banks and managers which Continental used to stash all the loot, and the names, and company, who provided the independent audit services which helped the Fund comply with State and Federal law.
Remembering that his telephones had only been cleared of surveillance a couple of days previous, Joe decided to keep his enquiries quiet from the firm, and used a payphone in one of the many coffee areas to contact a very old friend, who now ran the Trustee section at the Chicago branch of AmeriBank. Howard Elstein was surprised to hear from his old college friend, after a period of over five years, but happily agreed to do a run down on the present state of the main Continental Pension fund, for old times' sake. Joe asked him to give his evaluation of the running of the fund, if the managers were doing a good job, and if the returns were to the industry average. He promised to call Joe back at work, but was even more surprised to hear Joe asking him to call him at home, after work, and to tell no one else that he was making enquiries. "Thanks, Howard, I wouldn't normally ask an old buddy to act like this," Joe said in farewell, " but there is something I gotta clear up in my head, and you have all the contacts! Thanks, Howard. Bye.!"
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Alex Kozcinski usually drove straight from the Kozcinski home in Grosse Point to her office in the Garden Mall, a distance of about five miles, but had to take a round-about route that day as she was acting as bus driver for a friends' children. Adrienne had called her as she was leaving for work, asking if she could drop her kids at school, as her own car wouldn't start. Alex therefore had four children in the car with her, and was just that bit more aware of her surrounds, as she normally drove on automatic pilot to work. She therefore spotted a big Ford as it drove along in her wake, letting other drivers constantly overtake as she drove towards the school. Pulling up at the entrance, she started to unload all the children, who all waved as they trooped towards the Entrance, then saw the Ford parked about fifty yards back, motor still running. As there had been a scare a year back, with a pervert who watched all the kids as they entered school, there was a mounted police patrol in the vicinity of the school, just to deter the crazies. Alex called the eldest of Adrienne's children back to the car, scribbled a note describing the tail, and asked the girl if she would pass the note to the policeman on the big horse. She saw the child pass the note to the cop, and then saw the big Ford saw its' way into the opposite direction, and hightail away at speed. The mounted patrolman walked his horse over, while Alex got out of her car and went to greet him. She described what had happened, and also told him of the Central division's help with the tail on her husbands' car, and what had happened to the second tailing car. As the tag plate on the Ford had been obscured, there was no chance it would be picked up, but a mobile cruiser, arriving quickly on the scene, gave Alex a convoy protection to her office, and said that they would report to the Lieutenant at Central.
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In the analysts' sector of the Securities office, located just off Wall Street proper, the tall, smiling man who picked the phone up was never really sure, until the caller announced themselves, which side of his life was going to answer. The call this morning, however, was definitely part of the shady side of his life. He gave his caller a coded reply, which gave his caller the payphone number to call in five minutes; as all calls in and out of his office were recorded as a matter of course. He walked down the street, and waited until the phone was freed, then placed one hand over the receiver, and picked up immediately the ring began. "yes, Walt, why call now?"
"Boss, my tail on Mrs Kozcinski was spotted. She called the cops, and I just got out in time. I think it's gonna do no good tailing these people, they have somehow got wind that we were tailing them. Big Lou got crunched when he tried to run from a police car, after he sat on the husbands car; they had him tagged straight away, and she spotted me almost straight off, and I have been doing this routine for years, boss. It's no good trying to establish any sort of a pattern with this pair, if we're gonna hit either one, it'll have to be an impulse shot, or a driveby!"
"O.K., Walt, leave it with me. I'll be in Detroit in a day's time myself, so meet me at the airport, I'm on the ten-thirty arrival, and we'll talk further, okay?"
"Okay, boss, seeya tomorrow!"
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Howard Elstein, Joe's college friend, was a man who planned his work, and indeed his life, so as to allow for as few surprises as possible. Apart from a few medical emergencies, which he grudgingly accepted as due to the frailty of humankind, and had insured against, he had been successful in avoiding surprises, mainly due to diligent work, and not leaving anything to chance. The simple fact that his wife, who indeed loved him dearly, was regularly driven berserk by his methodical, pedantic approach to all life, did not worry him in the least, as he put this down to feminine frailty. He was therefore astounded to receive a curt summons to appear at the Chicago offices of the S.E.C., to meet one Herbert Agnew, the Senior commissioner.
He slung his jacket over his shoulders, and walked the three blocks to the downtown office, and after a very short wait, was ushered into Agnews' office, where he was offered a seat, and asked, by the commissioner, what his business was, in enquiring about the working policies of a Detroit based Pension fund. His mouth open, he started to explain that he was simply doing a favour for a friend, when he was cut short by Agnew.
"I must ask you to refrain from any further investigative calls, no further contact should be made to any of the Management firms, or the Audit companies which are related to this fund!"
"But all I did was make three calls which were to help an old college buddy of mine clear a small problem of his mind!" retorted Howard, "is Joe under inves
tigation, because he should be so informed, in terms of your own legislation!"
"Mr. Elstein, can I not persuade you that it would indeed be in Mr. Kozcinski 's best interests if you were to remain dormant in this affair? We have an ongoing investigation, which relates, in part, to the Continental Fund, and we cannot allow any of the main participants to be warned that we are even looking any where near them, otherwise all the evidence may well disappear in a shredding machine. Certain irregularities have surfaced, and we are only just starting to poke into the fire. All we wish you to do is to call your old college friend, and say that to the best of your knowledge, everything in the Continental Pension garden is lovely!"
"You want me to lie to an old buddy?"
"No, Mr. Elstein, since you do not know different, you would not be telling a lie, just not all the truth!"
All the way back to his own offices, Elstein grappled with the thorny problem which had been dropped in his arms. "If," he mused, "I tell Joe everything is great, and it ain't, he will never forgive me. If I say there is an investigation going on, it may endanger the whole match; shit, which way should I shoot?"
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Unfortunately for Commissioner Agnew, his own organisation was less than watertight, and a payphone was used to contact the man who sat, like a spider at the centre of a web, in his office on Battery Park in New York. "Mr. Soncini, can we both talk, Dominic here, it's sorta urgent?"
Continental Attack: Murder and Mayhem in Detroit's Auto Industry Page 18
