Chapter 3

Noon, Wednesday

The first thing Steve remembered was feeling the cold. His apartment was never this chilly. His eyes were sealed shut from exhaustion, chloroform and a punch square in the face. He managed to pry his right eye open and saw nothing but a light tan vinyl that seemed to filter the sun.

Rolling over and wrapping himself as tightly as he could in the blue blanket, Steve finally opened both eyes as it slowly occurred to him that he wasn't home. He was in a small tan pup tent; still dressed only in his pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. His feet were bare, and he felt the chill all the way to his bones. His face ached. As he lifted his hand to feel the soreness, he touched the swelling and dried blood around his nose.

With little memory of the night before, Steve sought to remember just how he ended up where he was. He was asleep and the phone rang. Dad, he thought to himself. Something about a debt he owed and me being taken for ransom. Damn.

At the memory, Steve's stomach did a flip, but he knew that the only way to freedom would be if he kept his wits about him. With the tent zipped shut, he crawled to the front and gently stuck is finger at the top where the zipper tag was and pressed down only about a half inch. He was then able to look out the small hole to what was directly in front of him.

Much to his surprise, he was at a campsite. To the left, he saw a dark, late model sedan parked in the grass. In front were several trees and then to the right, he saw two men, sitting at a campfire and drinking coffee. For the moment, he was not ready to let his captors know he was awake.

Clark Smith had left his son's apartment and walked to the car he drove from Tijuana. He figured whoever owned the car had now filed a stolen vehicle report with the local Mexican policia. Add that to my list of problems, the older man surmised.

Having pocketed his son's car keys while inside the apartment, Smith contemplated ditching his stolen, hotwired car in exchange for his son's more appealing ride. But while Mike was on his way back to the station, Smith knew he was still being watched by representatives from the casino. He gave Steve's sports car a long look before he drove away in the car he brought.

The Porsche had always been a sore point with him. While he didn't see Steve often, after the young man learned to drive, Smith returned to Modesto with an older model Nash Ambassador. Smith had anticipated pleasing his son with the gift, but for reasons he never understood, Steve was cool to the car. A few years later, when Smith came back to visit, the Nash was gone and replaced by the newer Porsche.

Shaking himself back to reality, Smith focused on the arrangements he made with Mike to stay at a particular hotel down in The Castro area. Knowing that he was being watched, he checked in and was given a room with a view and a phone. His only job was to sit by the phone and wait.

Norm Haseejian was sent to the hotel after the fact and placed a tap on the room's phone. He took up residence in a connected room to keep track of Smith and his calls. The tracing equipment allowed for another phone in the room and would be invaluable once Smith got the call.

Mike Stone knew that no one could be seen with Clark Smith. As Steve's father was being watched, he too would need to keep his distance. He reported back to Rudy all that had occurred, and the two men discussed strategy around rescuing Steve. Since this was one of their own, Rudy contacted his superiors as well as the mayor for their input.

Mike's next job was to connect with the police in Las Vegas and report what happened. He inquired about Little Monaco. While the information the police provided to the detective was sketchy, the Vegas police offered to investigate further and take Mike or one of his men to the casino, if needed. Mike decided to accept their offer and sent Dan Healy.

Mike also sent an investigator to Steve's apartment without the fanfare of a marked vehicle in order to take prints and find any physical evidence that would help with the rescue of his partner.

After all that was done, Stone reflected on the story that Smith had shared. Just two weeks ago, Steve's father was playing poker with a couple of ringers at Little Monaco. They lost a couple of hands and Smith's confidence grew. After his rivals flashed some cash, Smith felt like he was home free and increased his wager. Smith had raked in fifty thousand dollars, but then was challenged to bet double or nothing. With a credit line established with false documents, he recklessly went for it and lost.

In hindsight, he said it was the oldest scam in the book. His poker rivals must have been observing Smith and how he behaved at the tables for days. He played right into their hands.

It wasn't the first time Smith had gambled away substantial money. As Clarence Stratton, he had lost thousands at other venues and was eventually forced to change his name.

Mike shook his head at the thought. Steve had never talked much about his parents. The senior detective knew that he grew up with his grandparents after his mother died, but Steve had simply never mentioned his father before.

While he didn't want to pry in the young man's personal life, now was the time that any privacy concerns would be set aside. He knew Steve was born in Modesto and from there, he contacted the Vital Records department to secure his birth certificate. Obtaining Clark Smith's real name from what was listed on the certificate could be helpful to Mike as he sought to find out more about Smith's life and contacts.

An hour later, Mike had the certificate in his hands. "Charlie Stakowski," Mike announced to Bill Tanner. "Bill, I want you to run everything you can on Stakowski: from birth to the present. I want to know his acquaintances and who might know more about the kind of trouble he got into in Vegas."

"On it, Mike," Bill replied.

The phone rang and both Smith and Haseejian jumped. "Keep him on as long as you can," Norm whispered as he turned on the tracing device.

"Hello," Smith answered.

Petit Jones responded, "Okay, you found yourself a hotel. No cops, Smith. I'm warning you. Just you and me. If you play your cards right, you'll have your son back by Friday afternoon."

"What do you want me to do?" Smith asked slowly.

"I want you to get the fifty thousand dollars you owe the casino. It should be in cash – twenties, fifties and hundreds. Bundle it up and put it in a travel case. I'll call you back by noon tomorrow with instructions for the drop. You have the cash there by noon on Friday or your son dies."

"Can I get a hold of you?"

"Are you crazy? No way. You get the cash together and then you sit tight for our instructions. We'll be watching you, Smith."

Norm scribbled a note to Smith for him to read to the kidnapper. "Can I speak with my son? I want to know he's okay," Smith read.

"He's not here. A couple of the boys have him. Don't worry, they're taking real good care of him. He'll get something to eat and then at some point, like I promised, they'll take him and break a bone. Could be his arm, his leg, his jaw, I don't know. I'm sure they can be creative."

Haseejian suppressed a groan. These guys mean business. He wondered quietly if they would let Steve go even if they got the ransom money.

"There's no need for that. He hasn't done anything. You'll get your money, just don't hurt him."

"Just get the money. If you don't have it by Friday noon, he's dead." Smith heard nothing more but a click.

Haseejian turned off the tracing equipment and then called in to the operator to see if they were able to track the call. Within minutes he got the location of a phone booth only three blocks away. "Did you recognize this man's voice?" Haseejian asked.

"No, I don't know who it is. I couldn't begin to tell you. Bennett has a number of henchmen."

"Who's Bennett?" Haseejian inquired as he called in to get unmarked units over to the payphone where Jones had placed the call.

"He's the man who runs the casino."

Marfisi looked at his watch and the looked over to the tan tent. "I guess it's time to wake our guest," he mused to his partner, Jack Bain.

"What are you going to do?" Bain asked.

"For now, I'll let him eat and take a leak."

Marfisi walked over to the tent and unzipped the front. Inside he found Steve curled up with the blanket pretending to be asleep. "Hey, you. Time to get up."

Steve groaned and then felt Marfisi grab him with both arms as he tried to drag the young detective out of the tent. "Let's get this over with," he added. "Go over there and get something to eat. And if you have to go, do it by the tree over there."

The cold compounded by the length of time since he last went to bed meant that his bladder was about to burst. He walked over to the tree and quickly did as needed.

"Can I have some water?" Steve asked. They handed him a cup and he quickly washed his hands.

Bain shoved a plate his way with a lunchmeat sandwich and another cup of water. Still feeling a little weak, Steve sat on the grass and had his lunch.