That raised Liz’s feminist hackles. “Now, what does that mean?”
“Please,” Phlager said. “Let’s just try to get a semi-coherent record here without a lot of byplay. Professor Sanders, you said there was a double cross involved.”
“I’m getting to it. The paper was bought and its style and format changed. The last tip I got before Kenny so rudely interrupted my labors was that they were all set to begin delivering ten thousand papers daily to at least five shopping centers in the suburbs of two cities. The first deliveries were scheduled for the beginning of the month, which I guess would have been next week.”
Frank got up and poured himself another cup of coffee.
“Bright did intend to start the deliveries, but a source, who is pretty close to the mob, told me it never was his intention to operate a newspaper for any length of time even if Swift’s idea was working. The goodies were just too slow coming in; he wanted a quick cash in.
“You see, Bright was on his way out. To the new young guys he was just another Mustache Pete… out of date and in the way. But they wanted a nice quiet retirement—no bloodshed. So when Gene insisted on one last big hit, they set him up with the cash. They put in a couple million for the Capital Register & Press and the new equipment and gave him a year to pull off his plan.
“It was simple. There are four major dailies in the two areas he was going to hit. He was going to demonstrate to the publishers that the CR&P could cut into their valuable suburban circulation and major advertising.
“When he had made his point, he was going to approach the publishers with an offer to discontinue operations on their turfs for five million bucks each. Then he would have his holding company announce that the project had proven economically impractical and nobody—especially the newspapers that had paid him off—would be likely to ask any embarrassing questions.”
Phlager started to interrupt: “But why wouldn’t the city papers blow the whistle… oh, I see.”
“Sure,” Frank said. “It was a potentially foolproof racket because the victims themselves would be involved in illegal or at least unethical conduct, conspiring to restrain competition.
“Bright planned to sell the CR&P, figuring lots of chains would be happy to bid for a monopoly newspaper in a state capital, and pay back what the mob had advanced him. So he’d come out with at least twenty million in the clear to take care of himself in his declining years. Kenny sort of confirmed this, too. He said this was his last job and that he would get a big payoff if everything went off right.”
“But what about Shiu and Swift?” Phlager asked.
“Shiu was in on the whole thing and also was going to have a chunk of the shakedown money. Swift was going to be left hanging out to dry—mainly because they were pretty sure he wouldn’t go along with the real plan. But Bright couldn’t dump Swift because he didn’t have anyone else to produce a newspaper that would be a credible threat to the publishers he intended to squeeze.”
Frank gestured palms up, signifying he was finished.
“Okay, that’ll be all,” Phlager told the stenotypist.
Liz got up and went over to her father. “I still don’t see why you think they didn’t intend to hurt you. You knew all about their plans.”
“They knew I was on to the first part—moving in on the suburbs. But they had no way of knowing I had wind of the shakedown plan. I think they were just going to cut me loose out in the woods somewhere and be long gone before I told what I did know.”
“Well, we may be able to reconstruct the case with what we have and with your help,” Phlager said. “What’s there to stop Bright from finding himself another Swift and another Shiu and trying again to pull this off?”
Frank smiled. “I really doubt it. My source said some of the boys who bankrolled Bright never did like the idea. I think this was Gene’s last fling. With what happened in the last couple of days, he’ll be lucky if they don’t retire him in the old-fashioned way… a trip to the river in a gunny sack with some concrete blocks to keep him company.”
In the corner, I riffled through the fat sheaf of notes. “Christ, what am I gonna do with all this?”
Frank came over and put his hand on my shoulder. “You’re going to use your experience and judgment, Bob. You’ve got a story, but you’ve got to write it in a way that makes clear what happened without giving anybody an open-and-shut libel case. My question is whether your paper will print it. If not, as I suspect, I know some newspapers back East that will.”
Mary Louise came in to tell Phlager that the pilot of the state plane had called to say we ought to be leaving as soon as possible because a cold front was kicking off some rough weather. It might make for a bumpy trip and difficult landing if we didn’t get ahead of it.
“Half an hour, Bob. I don’t want to get stuck here,” Phlager said.
I called Grace again and gave him additional details about the kidnapping, including that the motive was to keep Sanders from disclosing information he had gathered in an investigation on behalf of a private foundation.
“What was he investigating, Bob?” Grace asked. “We ought to have something in here about that.”
“Jesus, Bill, he was investigating us. The CR&P. Swift and Shiu and the people they worked for. He got it all, but the proof is gone and we’d be going way out on a limb if we use it.”
“Now you know why I just as soon be a noncom instead of an officer around here,” Grace said. “You better talk to Fargo.”
Ah, the original gutless wonder, I thought as I waited for Fargo to come on the line. He listened to what I had to say without interruption.
“Bob, we can’t print it the way Professor Sanders gave it without something to back us up, but this is damned important stuff and we can’t ignore it either.” I could hear Fargo take a deep breath.
“Lets do this. Give Grace an insert saying the investigation Sanders was conducting also was the subject of official scrutiny by the attorney general’s office—and that it had to do with the management and ownership of the Register & Press. Say no charges of criminal activity were pending, but such action was possible in the course of further investigation.”
It was more than I expected from Fargo. “You’ll print that?” I asked.
“Damn right, Bob. I’m no crusader, but if we can’t do that much, maybe it would be a good idea if this paper went belly up.”
After finishing with the story, I rode to the airport with Phlager, Frank, and Liz, feeling better about Fargo and the paper. There were thunderheads in the distance as we drove onto the tarmac, and Liz leaned over and said, “Sit next to me on the plane.” I thought she wanted to hold hands if we got into bumpy weather.
We were off the ground and heading south in minutes. The flight plan was to go first to the university town, drop off Frank and then go on to the capital.
Liz and I were in the rear seats; Frank and Phlager immediately behind the pilot. Liz was quiet for about ten minutes and then looked at me with a serious expression.
“Bob, I told you that you would never have to guess about us. I wanted to talk to you about this before, but Daddy’s kidnapping and all the stuff at the paper… there just didn’t seem to be a good time.”
Suddenly the feeling of contentment I had been feeling vanished.
“I’m not going back to the capital with you. I’m getting off with Daddy.”
I smiled. “Sure, honey, I understand if you want to be with him for a while.”
“It’s more than that, Bob. I’m not coming back to the paper. I went by the journalism school last week while I was in town, and one of the profs mentioned that there was a part-time photographer’s job coming open at the Chicago Tribune. He suggested I apply. I wrote and there was a reply in the mail yesterday. I can have the job if I want it.”