All Eggs in One Basket

353.

We are there in three minutes. As she advised her house was one block away, an easy find by its color and BLM sign in the front yard. Beth was waiting for us in the driveway. Distraught and smoking a long, thin cigarette, she goes right into her dissertation without as much as an introduction or a request for identification.

"I walk past that house almost every evening as part of my weight-loss program," she begins, "it is owned by a group of investors, hedge fund traders I hear, but run by a slimeball they always called 'Jewels'. Mostly been on Airbnb, but since the dampendic hit, it has been empty - except for the almost daily comings and goings of the thugs I think are part of the River Kats militia gang."

"Why didn't you call the police and report suspicious activities?" Mustang asks.

Beth drops her smoke and crushes it beneath a pair of well-worn Nike hightops. With her head still down addressing the fire prevention, she almost whispers, "I got an outstanding warrant."

"You recorded some license plate numbers?" I add, reinforcing the issue that should she cooperate the warrant will remain a secret between us.

She reaches into her sweatpants pocket and lifts a piece of paper that has been torn from a spiral bound notebook. There are three California plate numbers and a quick identification of the vehicles they were pulled from.

"Anything else you can tell us about the people involved?"

"That is about it, I've been too scared to walk up to the house, they all looked like bad news dudes, ya know?"

I nod in understanding, and am about to thank her and get on with our police work when she grabs my arm and asks about Blinky, her missing cat, adding that there has been several of her neighbors who have had their cats go recently missing as well.

"Still missing I'm afraid, but we'll keep eyes open, thank you for your assistance, you have been a great help."

We turn and head back to the Escalade. "Where to?" Mustang asks firing up the rig. "State Capitol, on the double."

We screech away and I grab my cell to call Julie in DC. "Issue a red alert for the greater Sacramento area and I recommend consideration to issue a Capitol building evacuation," I advise, "but first I need you to run three Cal license plate numbers stat."

We are freeway Northbound as Julie mines the data. "Why would they leave the poster on the wall?" Mustang asks passing what appears to be a distracted driver at the wheel of a lime-green Kia Soul.

"My guess is one of three reasons. One: They forgot to take it down when scrambling for closure. Two: It represents a macabre trophy, I think the cats were victims from live hunting drills, or Three:…"

Julie comes back on to inform us that all three vehicles are registered to a Sacramento company doing business as RKA & Associates. "I ran that and looks like a shell fronting in junk bonds and hedge funds." She reports, "POC is somebody we have on radar, one Jules Hampton, I got his number right here."

"I got it. Text me the license info and please issue the alerts, thanks."

"And three?" Mustang asks.

"Three is that they think this is a game, and have gone to great lengths to set up an ambush, leaving us a few clues, bread crumbs along the way as bait."

"But not that they are actually intending to carry out a strike as domestic terror on the capitol?"

"OK, four then. THAT would be the easy one."

"What's the plan?"

"We're going to use the evac as an excuse to spring Shoemaker and Sheener. Unless something turns up with Hampton, that looks like our best bet."

"Putting all the eggs into one basket?"

"Exactly, and we're going to follow that basket like a hungry fuckin' honey-badger," I say, finishing with an apologetic, "Sorry."

"Don't be. This has to work."