l told Vinney that l had to take a long walk and do some thinking. l'd get back to his folks' house later. On San Gabrial Blvd., a highly-lit, very busy artery serving the San Gabrial Valley and environs. As l walked, l first did a personal situation
inventory: Black suit, dry-cleaned the day before, fresh, this morning shirt, shoes need only a little dusting, wallet has $28. cash, checkbook with sixteen
checks still un-written (un-forged). Mental Attitude: un-bending. That is to say that my thoughts were of continued flight; l had no thought of surrender and l
would not hear advice to the contrary.
At about a mile and a half, l came to a place called "the Cove Dinner House". The building was set back from the street about a hundred feet, providing parking for fifty plus cars between building and street. The sidewalk and adjacent parking area were at the same level and cars in the row nearest the
sidewalk actually encroached on the sidewalk. Parking was valet only. l stood
for a couple of minutes in front of the business next door and observed the operation (the front parking was full, so the valets' work was to the lot in back
and there was no "key shed", so keys were most likely in the cars' ignitions.
When both valets took cars to the back simultaneously, l walked, quickly and directly to the car l had chosen, saw the keys in the ignition, jumped in,started
it and immediately, calmly and deliberately drove across the sidewalk, over the
curb, onto the pavement and, turning right joined the flow of traffic on San
Gabrial Valley Blvd., North-bound.
When l was approaching Santa Barbara,(about a hundred miles from San Gabrial) something made me think to look at the odometer, which l hadn't done
before. lt read 142 miles! So it really was a brand new car, purhaps purchased
that very day. For the owner, that must be very demoralizing. l could only hope
he had a back-up car.
Just south of Santa Maria, l saw a liquor store that had an all-glass front. (doors
and windows, floor to ceiling), which facilitated my next little plan for adding to my cash resources. As l pulled off the hiway l drove right up close to the window area which gave the man at the cash register his best view of the metallic pink,
1960 Caddy coupe that l parked for his benefit and would put it and me in his view as l walked from the car to his counter.
l'm talking, going in the door,"How you guys, tonite?, okay! My old lady never
gets enough booze for our get-togethers, so l get to go shopping in the middle
of the party. There's no damn justice!" This, as l'm gathering a case of beer,two
fifths of Ballentine Scotch, two fifths of Four Roses. One of the guys at the counter comes with a box to help get the stuff to the counter."You have cigars?
Oh yeah,right. Give me six of those". And, as l start writing the check,"OK to
to make this for $50 change?" (Cashier nods) "Thanks guys, have a nice nite.
ln the next weeks l repeated that little scenario (or something much like it) a
number of times in order to keep cash on hand. $50 went a long way,then:
when l reached San Jose, the Caddy's 22-gallon gas tank was almost empty,
but the fill-up cost only $6.75. l only needed to do the liquor store check
cashing about once a week to have enough cash, though there were a couple
of times l made checks with a hundred dollars change, just to see if l could. l
have to admit that while l was doing it, the liquor store act was fun to do, it was only while l spent it that l felt ashamed. l also loved the rush during the car theft and immediately after, up to an hour later but something about driving around
in a near-new Caddy (Especially the '59 Fleetwood Sixty-Special sedan (dark
burgendy w/creme trim that l wanted for my own)failed to provoke shame at
any time. Possibly on my day of judgement?
Returning to Dad and Teri's (Gobbler's Knob) l didn't say anything about the FBI being close behind, (or at least had been) l explained the new pink Caddy, telling them that l took a part-time job as an independent contractor for a vehicle transfer service in L.A. They were pleased for me to have any work and
didn't ask questions.
By the end of December,'59, though it appeared that the FBI was not far behind (or,at least, had been) l had a method for easily taking posession of near-new
Cadillacs (l decided to make them my specialty) and an easy way to get cash. But, l was having no success with finding a way to sell the cars. l knew that so-
called "chop shops" existed which dis-assemble cars and sell their parts, but l
wasn't about to canvas auto repair shops or parts stores to find one that fit my needs.
The personal situation inventory l did on New Year's Day, 1960 found my wallet
holding $870. cash, most of it taken with forged checks from liquor stores, but
some from the glove-boxes of stolen cars. At that time l had five Caddys (not
counting the pink coupe, which became my personal car.) which l involved in
a constant game of musical parking lots: every day, every car was moved to another spot. But l lucked into a temporary storage spot, where the cars could
sit for a week or two at a time. l had stopped by the offices of the Saratoga citizen to visit with Carl. He was with a gentleman whom he introduced as
Bob Culomb. Bob was a building contractor and had come in to place his weekly
ads. For some reason, Bob and l hit it off from the start. We left the Citizen together and Bob offered to buy lunch. He told me that sales of his new housing tract were way off. lt was all but completely un-sold. During our talk, he shared information that alarmed me at first, but then seemed to fit my needs at the time.According to Bob, his family Don, was also the south bay Mafia Don. Before
our lunch was finished, l had revealed myself as an unauthorized Cadillac dealer.
When he learned of my five stolen cars being moved from one parking lot to
another, he offered me the use of some of the garages in his un-sold houses. l
offered him half the proceeds of the sale of "my" cars when l learned how to sell
them. Before that day came to an end, the five cars in my possession were locked in garages at Bob's latest tract of homes. So that either Bob or myself
could access (or move) the cars, if necessary,the keys were kept under a rock
as close to the garage door as possible. By mid-January the number of stored cars had grown to twelve. l stopped thieving cars then, planning to resume when l had successfully sold most of the dozen in storage.
One nite in mid-February l did my liquor store danceand for the first time
(since l had started doing that particular kind of forgery "ok to make this for fifty over?" the cashier said "No". lt was,(how they say) just as well. Only
three or four checks remained of the fresh book of l don't know how many.
l had a little more than $900 cash then, too. And l needed a new source of spending money. Maybe if l started dismantling the Caddys , one by one. lt's
a joke.
Just a few days later, Rita called and said her appearance on Jack Paar was
moved to a week later but she would be at her mom's place in Cypress the
whole week unless her agent gets her a gig in Vegas at one of the Strip hotel
casinos. l'd been thinking to visit cousin Vinney and maybe visit to the KUTY
station manager who had hired me that Friday in December '59. l should
label that one a joke, too. lt's sure not going to happen and didn't.
After a few changes, a newest schedule for Rita's performance was set for
l forget when, exactly in late February. l was there, then but it wasn't happening
while l blew three days.
Returning North, l was about 100 miles from LA when l stopped for a hitch-hiker named Greg. He was going to Salinas and my route would take us thru there. Greg seemed a nice guy and our talking made it easier for me to stay awake. l had had no real sleep for two days. We stopped at an all-night diner
in Greenfield. l parked the metellic pink coupe de ville next to a Greenfield
Police black and white like l owned the thing and Greg and l go in and sit down
within a couple of stools from the officer and order pie and coffee. The officer leaves about ten minutes after we arrived. We weren't long eating the pie and
got on our way in about 15 or 20 minutes. As we resumed the ride north, Greg
(a really good talker, bordering on story-teller). He was speculating about the
love-life of the red-haired, middle-aged woman who was our waitress in Green-
field. lt was all about red. Her red hair,and her skin was bright pink with red
accents. Boils, pimples and bruises all bright red. So, at that moment, the front
of my mind was red. Greg poured it on; "her boyfriend is probably red-on-red
as well....About here is where l made my customary, hourly check of the rear-
view mirror. lt's all full of red,too but in there it takes the form of flashing red
lights. l pull over.
gabrial
No comments:
Post a Comment