by Peter Prasad
“Those goat livers taste like shit. They was much better back on Guam,” Bill said as he looked at Stanley, who barely lifted his head. His only reaction was to pace faster. Jake and Wally watched.
“Wear out the floor, why don’t ya,” Bill snickered. He jumped up. “I got chores. So wait for Doc. He’ll be along.” Stanley stopped pacing and consulted his cell phone for messages.
Bill walked out of the frame. Off camera, Jake heard him clap his hands and yell, “Now we can get on with the show.” He sounded like an Ed Sullivan copycat.
Jake and Wally looked at each other, and laughed. They covered their mouths, as though someone might be listening.
The two brothers stepped out onto the veranda, closed the screen door, and laughed hard for a full minute, their eyes watering. It helped clear the stress and fatigue of the last twenty-four hours. Both took a deep breath. They went back inside and resumed their positions watching the video feed from the air conditioning duct in Semper’s office.
Stanley was speaking to someone off-screen. “Everything is finalized, just awaiting your approval, Doctor.” Semper walked into the screen and sat at the table.
“Alright, then. I’m loading cases for delivery to San Francisco today. I have a wine auction Thursday afternoon. My clientele pays a premium, no complaints. I like cash.” He extended his hand toward Stanley, palm up. “Show me,” he demanded.
“Your eyes only, Doctor.” Stanley bent down to his briefcase and sat up holding a vial of fluid in a screw-top canister. He set it next to Semper. “Please test this. I’m confident you’ll be happy with the results. Dead dogs.”
In an awkward bow-legged posture, Bill passed through the background of the screen, rolling an empty push-dolly, which he rested against a wall in the corner.
Bill opened the storeroom and began stacking cases of Fransec on the dolly. He rolled each load of six cases out the front door. He began moving faster and faster, mumbling to himself.
Stanley stood and began pacing again, speaking to Semper over his shoulder. He fidgeted, pushing his glasses up his nose, scratching, wiping his hair across his head, his hands in constant butterfly. Stanley kept pointing to a pile of receipts on the table and the vial in the sealed canister.
“Those toxins are expensive. I had to steal ingredients. This shit is just not available. No run of the mill supply center has it. I could get fired. I had to dilute solutions to get you what I could. You’re lucky you found me.”
As he stood at the counter, Stanley’s hands passed from one small bottle to another. His hands darted like hummingbirds on hibiscus. He discovered a black lacquer tray with a four-glass set-up. He wiped each glass and refolded the napkin.
“Want a drink, Stanley?” Semper inquired.
Jake watched the scene unfold. He fed the video recording into a data storage back-up unit next to his laptop. It was being fed to the Colonel as well via an Internet hook-up. Hap had a secure surveillance room that could scan for every radio channel and frequency in the region. He had his finger on the pulse of web or wireless communication from South San Francisco to Ukiah, north of Sonoma.
He said the software scanning system incorporated voice recognition, machine language translation, and other goodies from an NSA pilot program. The system scanned for key words and names. “Spook stuff,” he called it. He’d used the system to recover a kidnapped nine-year old girl six months earlier.
Hap was proud of that. “We screwed him before he could screw her,” he’d said. “I drove the bastard off the road into a ditch and into the arms of the police with a helicopter.”
Bottom line, Hap could sit at his desk and tune a dial to hone in on any wireless or Internet conversation he wanted. A text from Hap appeared on Jake’s cell phone. It read: Loud and clear!
Hap was a wired-wizard. He could type a password into his desk-top monitor, buzz all his people on ear pods and automatically align to a single secure channel, for fast private field-ops consulting calls.
Jake’s cell phone number had been added into the system. The secure channel rotated after a single use. Hap had a pal at the NSA who had installed the software, no questions asked, on a ‘Just send a user report now and again’ basis. Jake marveled at Hap’s connections and history. He had Semper fenced on that front.
Jake also knew that seeing the video surveillance would draw Hap into the case, at whatever level Hap was comfortable to play. Jake watched the video feed with the professional interest of a budding private investigator and a curious voyeur. What the frick were these people doing?
Semper picked up the thread of the conversation, barking at Stanley. He adopted a strange tone, Semper’s version of scientist to scientist. Jake studied Semper more closely. He wore a light grey corduroy single front zipper jump suit, black socks, and black boots with extra tall heels.
Jake quickly checked his system; all stable.
Semper stood and shook hands with Stanley. He bent down to a carry-all on the floor and placed a packet of $100 bills on the table. “Five thousand now and I’ll have a certified check for the balance when you come back. Bring your notebooks. I’ll call you with the test results.”
“But I need more,” Stanley argued.
“Not now,” Semper shot him a hard look. “This will keep the wolf from your door. You’ll get the balance after we test this batch. You’re sure it’s the best you can do?”
Stanley reached for his stack of cash and slipped it into his briefcase. “Yes, I assure you. I’ll bring the notebooks next time. Thanks again, Doctor.”
“Wait,” Semper said. “Let’s take a walk among the vines. I need you to increase production volumes for me.” The two men walked out the door.
Jake and Wally looked at each other. Both shook their heads. This was getting complex. Jake decided to bide his time and wait for something really incriminating.
***
Surveillance is a time suck. Jake began to get restless. He confirmed that all recording systems were working and set the automatic controls to voice activation. He turned to prepare for his morning tasks at the dairy. Worst case, he could fast-forward through the video footage later.
He realized his new interests would have to be balanced by the requirements of the dairy. And he needed to keep things fresh with Tanya. He missed her. How nice it would be to tell her everything, but how practical was that?
He’d have to get Hap’s opinion of how to handle it. He left the surveillance set-up on the tabletop. Hungry sheep and pregnant ewes do not watch surveillance videos.
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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Forty five minutes later, the surveillance system flickered on and Wally saw Stanley and Semper return from their walk. Semper poured two glasses of wine.
“This is the base wine, the Shawn Red.” Stanley sipped from his glass. Semper went to the lab counter and returned with three more bottles, with sticky notes taped to each. Wally watched through the pinhead camera.
He poured Stanley another inch of wine from a different bottle. “This is the improved wine. Do you like it?”
Stanley tasted it, sucking every flavor nuance from his glass. “More oak, more alcohol, more tannins, more fruit flavor. You’re using a blackberry juice, I assume.”
“Spot on. Excellent tongue. But it should blend out smooth in a few days.” Semper smiled.
Semper poured an inch of wine in three more glasses, which he left on the table. “Smell them for nose first.” Stanley bent over the goblets and sniffed as instructed.
“You’re accelerating the floral highlights masterfully,” Stanley said. Semper acknowledged the compliment, scientist to scientist.
Wally confirmed that both the audio and video were recording properly.
“Indeed, I am,” Semper said. “I’ve already established an auction price of fifty dollars per bottle. I’m trying to engineer for one-fifty or more.” He smiled.
“What year are you putting on the labels?” Stanley asked.
Stanley nodded his approval and sipped randomly from the three glasses on the table. Semper went on. “It costs me three dollars per bottle, with cork and glass and label, and I can sell it for eighty or ninety. Each container earns me over a hundred ‘k’. I want you to blend and bottle another fifty cases as soon as you can.”
“I’ll have to work overtime,” Stanley protested.
“Indeed you will,” Semper agreed. “You’ll be paid. I propose you come up and work Thursday night. I’ll sweeten our deal.”
“All right, doctor.” Stanley sounded forlorn and distressed. “I’ll work all night. May I suggest you label some of it as Unfiltered. It will explain the richness and add to cellar-life.”
“Risky, but probably what we shall do.” Semper smiled.
Semper’s cell phone rang. He turned away from Stanley to answer it. Wally could only hear and record half the conversation. He knew Jake would review the recording later.
“Koch Semper here.” Semper waited. “Yes, that’s right. Yes. Werner, thank you for getting Fransec into the wine auction.” He paused.
“I’ll be there Thursday. No, we shouldn’t speak to each other there. Keep some distance.” Semper paused again. “We’ll confirm plans in a call Wednesday.” He paused and listened.
“Correct, Werner. We’ll move on this when he attends the Taste of Sonoma event. We’ve covered every eventuality, all untraceable back to you. I look forward to your governorship.” Semper hung up.
Wally took notes. Then he called Jake, sputtering with rage. “Semper has a wine auction in the city Thursday. And he’s planning something at the Taste of Sonoma event. Sandy’s been invited to bring cheese to it. Some guy Werner just called Semper. The lab guy is helping him cook the wine. Check out the video when you get back down here. Semper is helping this guy Werner’s political career. They’re all assholes. Making tons of money. Fricking morons.”
Jake recalled a photo of Semper shaking hands with Werner Belesto, the Lieutenant Governor. Those two could be hooked up.
Belesto might be able to make some of Semper’s legal troubles disappear. Semper’s pushiness with Stanley suggested he needed to raise cash fast. He could be conspiring with Belesto to bribe the Governor.
He’d remember to run that idea by Hap. Jake didn’t know the name of his own U.S Congressman. Politics didn’t float his boat. But it looked like a PI didn’t have that luxury. He was learning fast.
Sandy had mentioned that the Governor would be attending the Taste event. Jake needed a way to get in. He’d better attend the San Francisco wine auction as well. So he was in the middle of things he didn’t understand, and expanding to retail cheese. “Stay flexible,” he muttered to himself.
Wally turned up the volume on the surveillance audio and placed his open cell phone next to the speaker. Together he and Jake listened to the conversation between Semper and Stanley.
Semper: “You’re confident on our special project?”
Stanley: “Tested and perfected, I ran toxicology screens on two lab dogs after injecting them. This is fast-acting. It immediately shuts down brain functions and caused respiratory failure. It mimics a severe seizure, entirely fatal. A dosage of one hundred cc’s will give you the desired effect.”
Semper: “All that to kill a dog?”
Stanley: “Yes, you need that much. At a hundred cc’s it might kill an elephant.”
Semper: “Can it be absorbed through the skin?”
Stanley: “No. Injected or swallowed. The blood stream is the delivery mechanism to the brain. If it’s swallowed, you’ll see impairment within minutes. Death within five minutes. As I said, it presents as a severe seizure.”
Semper: “And what did the tox screen reveal? The liver biopsies?”
Stanley: “I enhanced the formulation with a nicotine compound for rapid transmission across the blood-brain barrier. It’s absorbed into brain tissue and slams shut the central nervous system. No trace in the liver. Some trace in the blood for twenty minutes.”
Semper: “You’ll bring your notebooks Saturday. No, let’s do this Friday night.”
Stanley: “Yes, sir.”
Semper: “All workbooks and notes on the formulation?”
Stanley: “I’ll get my notes updated and deliver in a day or two.”
Semper: “Excellent. See you Friday.”
Stanley collected his briefcase and walked toward the door.
Wally spoke to Jake. “Looks like the conversation is over. What kind of bad ju-ju are these guys cooking up?”
“Don’t know yet.” Jake leaned on his shovel and looked out across the dry grass in the meadow. This criminal network had more loose ends than a sheep skin.
He reviewed the facts: He had video-proof of a scheme to adulterate the new batch of Fransec wine. He had Wally’s two lab reports. It looked like he could prove adulteration.
But there was something much deeper to uncover here. It sounded like Semper was financing the creation of a poison that mimicked a severe seizure. If it didn’t show up in the livers, why had they been harvested from the goats? Had he changed his formulation? But why? No pack of wild dogs ran on Semper’s property.
So who were the targets? Jake had a coked-up wine cook and several wild cards.
And a gun-packing van driver. If Bill was the goat-ripper, then why was Semper going to all that trouble?
He wasn’t ready to take this to a prosecutor. Jake was speculating with too little data. Wine, poison and maybe murder, plus a link to large tax avoidance and environmental issues with pending court cases. How did it all tie in?
He stopped himself. ‘Just follow the money’ had been Deep Throat’s advice. He liked that movie, All The President’s Men. He had a lot to learn. And the sheep manure was not going to move itself.
On his way down from the barn, he stopped in at the cheese house and spoke to Sandy. He and Wally had agreed to keep Marco and Sandy in the dark about their extra-curricular interests. They were too busy for worries, but Sandy was happy to have him come to help at the Taste event.
Jake drove the truck over to the Ramirez service station to fill up the tank. Audra was behind the counter when he paid for the gas and bought a six-pack of Lagunitas IPA and two bottles of Sonoma organic whole milk. She remembered him.
“How are you doing at the dairy, Jake?”
“We finished the breeding. We’re waiting for a crop of new lambs now.”
“You see anything more about those dead goats?”
“Well, I found one by our road and called Tim Stoddard to haul it away. He thinks, maybe, it’s just a high school prank.”
“I doubt that,” Audra said. “I think it’s a serial killer just warming up to go on a rampage.”
Jake laughed. “Too much drama, Audra. We’re not that evil out here in Sonoma dairy land.”
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CHAPTER TWENTY- FOUR
Semper sat at a booth in the back of Ambiance, a Santa Rosa bistro. He waited for his lunch meeting to arrive. The little Latino attorney was late. Semper had specified ‘noon sharp’. He had set the hook and the attorney bit. Now it was time to begin client obedience-training. Semper ordered for two and sipped his water.
He liked to wrap up his deals at the bistro. He’d slipped the maître d’, a personal friend, $100 to fawn all over his wines. The maître d’ always took the half-empty bottles home. It was a tidy relationship.
He looked out the window and fantasized about his future wine tour of Europe. If he found a good base wine in Italy, he’d blend it for the California palette on one side of the ocean and for the European palette on the other. Semper knew it was his richest idea yet and he was supremely confident he could do it.
He’d reward himself with a holiday treat – a cute butt-boy from North Africa. He could rent one for six months and send the little mo
nkey home with a sore ass, new clothes and a $5,000 check for school fees.
“Dr. Semper, so good of you to see me again so quickly. My clients appreciate your earnestness. Gracias, patron.” Semper snapped out of his fantasy.
Senor Xavier Cristobel walked toward Semper with his hand extended, lugging a fat brown brief case. The natty little man was an inch shorter than Semper, and 30 pounds heavier, stuffed into an off-the-rack blue suit. His open-necked shirt accentuated his three double chins. He spoke excellent English in a melodious accent.
How could a man get that much pomade in his hair? He must need a clean pillow case every night. Semper found the attorney more than mildly distasteful, but he covered it well.
Cristobel had approached Semper first. He’d graduated from UCLA Law and now closely managed a fund for a group of wealthy Panamanians, with partners in Bogotá, Columbia. As he’d told Semper, he made long-term fiscal investments, usually in California. He liked to do three deals a year and have four months in the sun with his family, probably by the beach in southern Peru this year.
His investment group had been looking for the right winery to purchase for some time. Semper had no doubt that Cristobel represented a drug cartel. But he didn’t care. He was growing tired of waiting for Belesto to make his move. He wanted options.
Semper stood and greeted his lunch date.
“Senor Cristobel, you do me the honor.” Semper tapped his heels together under the table and bowed. These people harken back to an old world order, he thought, and do business like Byzantines. Semper knew the routine. “Please join me.”
The Latin attorney had used a higher honorific; the good doctor was ‘patron.’ How nice, Semper thought; he knew at least that much Spanish from high school. The two men exchanged a lingering hand shake, before Semper broke the grip with a dismissive shake of his hand. Instinctively he reached for a white linen napkin to wipe his hands. He smiled, sat down and took a sip of water.
