Post by Deleted on Jul 14, 2016 14:01:05 GMT -6
Colonial House Restaurant
Rapid City, South Dakota
Wednesday 7/6/2016 9:19 AM MST
Only two days removed from one of the most brutal matches in my career in St. Louis, and here I am, bruised, battered, and on some wild ass goose chase.
How's everything, sweetie?
Sweet elderly server named Mildred freshens my coffee and checks my status. Unlike half the customers and staff here, she doesn't recognize me. Couldn't even order my waffles and eggs without a couple dozen people bugging me for an autograph. Usually, I don't mind, but, between being sore as shit and waiting for, what I assumed was my brother, I wasn't in the mood to be giving out a bunch of John Hancock's. So, I decided to be lazy and just buy everybody in the place some free drinks and cookies.
Not bad; not bad at all.
Solid meal; made the mistake of ordering grits in a state north of Missouri, though. Can't all be winners. Karl told me to be here at 8:15; not a peep or sight of him anywhere. Almost tempted to walk out after I pay the bill, but then, in walks a delivery driver. Local outfit, not UPS or FedEx, holding a box in his hand.Package for you, Mr. Savage.
Great. Another hoop to jump through. I do the drill; sign, hook the guy up with a tip, and when I open the box...
Another fuckin' BURNER PHONE!! I check the contact list; only one number. I decided this was a conversation I needed to have out of the view of these folks eating their omelettes and gossiping about local politics. Once outside in the parking lot...
*Voice on the other end* Tony, about time you called...
Don't you fucking DARE give me shit, Karl! You've got everybody from Atlanta P.D. to the goddamn Marshall's Service looking for you, the vultures are circling around Savage Solutions, and your son...
Your fucking SON...is out of his wits because dad just up and fucking evaporated. You better start telling me what the fuck is going on, or else, I'ma let the Feds have at your ass!
I could tell my response stung him by the pained grunt over the phone:Suppose I deserved that.
I can't talk right now; got some shit I gotta clear up before I meet you, but...
You remember those storage units we have in Sturgis?
Yeah; those units we have to store shit for the Motorcycle Rally.
There's an old Snap-On toolbox in storage unit 234; the keys are in the box the phone came in. Inside....*huffs*....inside, you'll find everything you need to explain what the hell is going on.
How bad is it?
*pauses* All I'm gonna say right now is this...
Once you look at what I've given you, I....
It's all up to you at that point how you want to proceed. Meet me in Boise, Idaho on Sunday.
Back to present day, in the limo...
What was in the unit, Tony?:Elijah asks impatiently.
I pull out a laptop from its carrying case; an older model Lenovo and power it up.There's a 150 GB file under documents call "ALLAMERICANA.doc."
Eli opens the file, skims some of the contents, and his face turns even paler than usual:Oh, dear God!
What is it?Cass is now waiting for answers with less than Job like patience.
You mean to fucking tell me Karl and Nate were involved in the fucking All Americana scandal?
Ledgers, videos, conversations; the whole she-bang bang! Dad was part of that scam for over a decade.
Eli looks like he's about to stroke out:Fuck bad; this is a disaster!
What the bloody hell is the All Americana scandal?
*****
Lamplight Motor Inn
Boise ID 7/11/15
Back in 1980, Jack Whittaker and a few other bail bondsmen met with members of the law enforcement community from Georgia and South Carolina in some shit-hole bar outside of Augusta, GA called the All-Americana. It was popular because of cheap drinks and the fact it was one of the few places around that had satellite tv back then. They had a pow-wow, and that's how this business got rolling.
One of the worst fucking scandals to hit law enforcement in the South in years.
When I finally met up with Karl, he was a wreck. Looked like he hadn't slept in days, and he was chain smoking Marlboro's like he was trying to break a record. I was familiar with the All Americana fiasco; bunch of bondsmen, local politicians, and cops involved in some real dirty shit.It should come as no shock bail enforcement and law enforcement agents work with each other periodically. It's a relationship that could be described as a frenemy-ship; both sides hate each other, but can't function quite as well without the other. But there some very clear rules about conduct between the two. During All-Americana; those rules got broken, lit on fire, and left to die.
Most major police departments are so backlogged with cold cases and unaccounted for criminals, you could build whole precincts devoted to solving these cases and still never make that much of a dent. That's when Whittaker had an idea...
How about if we help you take out some trash, we all get the cash!
Cops would feed the group case files by the stack; back-dated warrants, cold case, the works. Sometimes, we'd get a bounty out of it, sometimes...
Sometimes, we had to make our own bounty up!
Karl smokes the cig down to the fiberglass filter and chucks it in the shitter, promptly lighting another one and downing a shot of bourbon:A lot of these goons we straight jacked; dope pushers, pimps, hustlers. We'd rob some of them blind. Cash, drugs, guns, goods. I mean, what the fuck were they gonna do, huh? Can you imagine some of those calls to 911...
"Help, 911! Some masked guys burst into my house, and took all my coke and guns and beat me down. Oh, BTW, I also have an outstanding warrant out on me. Hurry!" Yeah, right. No surprise then, shortly after said scumbag got his pockets turned out, here comes the boys in blue to haul them in, with enough evidence to stack on even more time. It was win/win for everybody; the bail crews got paid up the ass, the cops and D.A.'s got a taste of the pie and some gold stars for doing such a good job at cleaning up the leftovers out of the fridge. We had guys on our crew who were making 6 figures hardly working. Guys like Jerry Belkin and Mark Connolly were making so much cash off the scam, they had to stash it because they couldn't exactly walk into a bank with hundreds of thousands without raising red flags.
He offers me a shot, but I just stare at him like I'm trying to melt him with heat ray vision:When did it all fall apart?
You remember that little African American girl that got killed back in '94 when 3 bail agents burst into the house in College Park and went bullet hell on the place? Yeah, turns out, they got some bad intel from some dipshit rookie detective and busted into the wrong house. When they started digging into the crew, the cops found out they'd been in contact with PD members on the low-key. The law covered it up. Pinned the whole thing on Whittaker and his guys, a few low level officers and a few monkeys in the D.A.'s office got bit, but, most of the major players with badges and titles got off.
How come pops never got pinched?
You saw the laptop and it's contents; Dad was smart in that aspect. Spent years documenting shit. records, taped conversations, photos. When our crooked ass liaison to the Atlanta PD tried to sweat dad, Nate, whipped out a bunch of VHS tapes with shitloads of cops talking about hitting up crooks, splitting up loot. Dad flat out told him; if we burn, you all burn. I spent years transferring all the content onto digital format.
And Jerry didn't know about this?
If he had, he more than likely wouldn't have pulled this crap. Did he give you a sob story about how his life sputtered after dad and I shit-canned him? Fucking Jerry; he's to lying what Usain Bolt is to the 100m dash! Dad was feeding him dough under the table for years; it was me that finally broomed him off. That fat asshole blew all his cash on broads, gambling, booze, and bullshit get rich quick schemes. And you've got the proof...RIGHT THERE!*points to the laptop*
Jesus, Karl, this is...I...we gotta turn this in to the Justice Department now, man! Get these dirty ass pigs behind bars, shoot down Jerry's fucking deal with the D.A. We can still save our company...
*chuckles incredulously* Save it? Why? Last 30+ years we've been running shit so dirty, our company's got a cancer that can't be fixed. Kid, Savage Bail Bonds is fucked. So, that's why...I gotta do this....
Next thing I know, he has a desperate look in his eyes...
And a Ruger .357 revolver pointed right at my fucking chest!
(TBC)
Rapid City, South Dakota
Wednesday 7/6/2016 9:19 AM MST
Only two days removed from one of the most brutal matches in my career in St. Louis, and here I am, bruised, battered, and on some wild ass goose chase.
How's everything, sweetie?
Sweet elderly server named Mildred freshens my coffee and checks my status. Unlike half the customers and staff here, she doesn't recognize me. Couldn't even order my waffles and eggs without a couple dozen people bugging me for an autograph. Usually, I don't mind, but, between being sore as shit and waiting for, what I assumed was my brother, I wasn't in the mood to be giving out a bunch of John Hancock's. So, I decided to be lazy and just buy everybody in the place some free drinks and cookies.
Not bad; not bad at all.
Solid meal; made the mistake of ordering grits in a state north of Missouri, though. Can't all be winners. Karl told me to be here at 8:15; not a peep or sight of him anywhere. Almost tempted to walk out after I pay the bill, but then, in walks a delivery driver. Local outfit, not UPS or FedEx, holding a box in his hand.Package for you, Mr. Savage.
Great. Another hoop to jump through. I do the drill; sign, hook the guy up with a tip, and when I open the box...
Another fuckin' BURNER PHONE!! I check the contact list; only one number. I decided this was a conversation I needed to have out of the view of these folks eating their omelettes and gossiping about local politics. Once outside in the parking lot...
*Voice on the other end* Tony, about time you called...
Don't you fucking DARE give me shit, Karl! You've got everybody from Atlanta P.D. to the goddamn Marshall's Service looking for you, the vultures are circling around Savage Solutions, and your son...
Your fucking SON...is out of his wits because dad just up and fucking evaporated. You better start telling me what the fuck is going on, or else, I'ma let the Feds have at your ass!
I could tell my response stung him by the pained grunt over the phone:Suppose I deserved that.
I can't talk right now; got some shit I gotta clear up before I meet you, but...
You remember those storage units we have in Sturgis?
Yeah; those units we have to store shit for the Motorcycle Rally.
There's an old Snap-On toolbox in storage unit 234; the keys are in the box the phone came in. Inside....*huffs*....inside, you'll find everything you need to explain what the hell is going on.
How bad is it?
*pauses* All I'm gonna say right now is this...
Once you look at what I've given you, I....
It's all up to you at that point how you want to proceed. Meet me in Boise, Idaho on Sunday.
Back to present day, in the limo...
What was in the unit, Tony?:Elijah asks impatiently.
I pull out a laptop from its carrying case; an older model Lenovo and power it up.There's a 150 GB file under documents call "ALLAMERICANA.doc."
Eli opens the file, skims some of the contents, and his face turns even paler than usual:Oh, dear God!
What is it?Cass is now waiting for answers with less than Job like patience.
You mean to fucking tell me Karl and Nate were involved in the fucking All Americana scandal?
Ledgers, videos, conversations; the whole she-bang bang! Dad was part of that scam for over a decade.
Eli looks like he's about to stroke out:Fuck bad; this is a disaster!
What the bloody hell is the All Americana scandal?
*****
Lamplight Motor Inn
Boise ID 7/11/15
Back in 1980, Jack Whittaker and a few other bail bondsmen met with members of the law enforcement community from Georgia and South Carolina in some shit-hole bar outside of Augusta, GA called the All-Americana. It was popular because of cheap drinks and the fact it was one of the few places around that had satellite tv back then. They had a pow-wow, and that's how this business got rolling.
One of the worst fucking scandals to hit law enforcement in the South in years.
When I finally met up with Karl, he was a wreck. Looked like he hadn't slept in days, and he was chain smoking Marlboro's like he was trying to break a record. I was familiar with the All Americana fiasco; bunch of bondsmen, local politicians, and cops involved in some real dirty shit.It should come as no shock bail enforcement and law enforcement agents work with each other periodically. It's a relationship that could be described as a frenemy-ship; both sides hate each other, but can't function quite as well without the other. But there some very clear rules about conduct between the two. During All-Americana; those rules got broken, lit on fire, and left to die.
Most major police departments are so backlogged with cold cases and unaccounted for criminals, you could build whole precincts devoted to solving these cases and still never make that much of a dent. That's when Whittaker had an idea...
How about if we help you take out some trash, we all get the cash!
Cops would feed the group case files by the stack; back-dated warrants, cold case, the works. Sometimes, we'd get a bounty out of it, sometimes...
Sometimes, we had to make our own bounty up!
Karl smokes the cig down to the fiberglass filter and chucks it in the shitter, promptly lighting another one and downing a shot of bourbon:A lot of these goons we straight jacked; dope pushers, pimps, hustlers. We'd rob some of them blind. Cash, drugs, guns, goods. I mean, what the fuck were they gonna do, huh? Can you imagine some of those calls to 911...
"Help, 911! Some masked guys burst into my house, and took all my coke and guns and beat me down. Oh, BTW, I also have an outstanding warrant out on me. Hurry!" Yeah, right. No surprise then, shortly after said scumbag got his pockets turned out, here comes the boys in blue to haul them in, with enough evidence to stack on even more time. It was win/win for everybody; the bail crews got paid up the ass, the cops and D.A.'s got a taste of the pie and some gold stars for doing such a good job at cleaning up the leftovers out of the fridge. We had guys on our crew who were making 6 figures hardly working. Guys like Jerry Belkin and Mark Connolly were making so much cash off the scam, they had to stash it because they couldn't exactly walk into a bank with hundreds of thousands without raising red flags.
He offers me a shot, but I just stare at him like I'm trying to melt him with heat ray vision:When did it all fall apart?
You remember that little African American girl that got killed back in '94 when 3 bail agents burst into the house in College Park and went bullet hell on the place? Yeah, turns out, they got some bad intel from some dipshit rookie detective and busted into the wrong house. When they started digging into the crew, the cops found out they'd been in contact with PD members on the low-key. The law covered it up. Pinned the whole thing on Whittaker and his guys, a few low level officers and a few monkeys in the D.A.'s office got bit, but, most of the major players with badges and titles got off.
How come pops never got pinched?
You saw the laptop and it's contents; Dad was smart in that aspect. Spent years documenting shit. records, taped conversations, photos. When our crooked ass liaison to the Atlanta PD tried to sweat dad, Nate, whipped out a bunch of VHS tapes with shitloads of cops talking about hitting up crooks, splitting up loot. Dad flat out told him; if we burn, you all burn. I spent years transferring all the content onto digital format.
And Jerry didn't know about this?
If he had, he more than likely wouldn't have pulled this crap. Did he give you a sob story about how his life sputtered after dad and I shit-canned him? Fucking Jerry; he's to lying what Usain Bolt is to the 100m dash! Dad was feeding him dough under the table for years; it was me that finally broomed him off. That fat asshole blew all his cash on broads, gambling, booze, and bullshit get rich quick schemes. And you've got the proof...RIGHT THERE!*points to the laptop*
Jesus, Karl, this is...I...we gotta turn this in to the Justice Department now, man! Get these dirty ass pigs behind bars, shoot down Jerry's fucking deal with the D.A. We can still save our company...
*chuckles incredulously* Save it? Why? Last 30+ years we've been running shit so dirty, our company's got a cancer that can't be fixed. Kid, Savage Bail Bonds is fucked. So, that's why...I gotta do this....
Next thing I know, he has a desperate look in his eyes...
And a Ruger .357 revolver pointed right at my fucking chest!
(TBC)