He put up at a cheap place on San Pedro Street, with his car in the garage next door and a five-dollar tip in the palm of a rat-faced mechanic with Casey's injunction to clean 'er dingbats and keep other people away.
He did not go out to see the Little Woman, after all.

He had sent her a wire from Goffs the day before, saying that he was prospecting with a fellow and he hoped she was well.

This, after long pondering, had seemed to him the easiest way out of an argument with the Little Woman.
The wire had given no address whereby she might reach him, but the omission was not the oversight Casey hoped she would consider it.

He wanted to be reassuring without starting anything.
Los Angeles with no Little Woman at his elbow was a dismal hole, and Casey got out of it as soon as possible.

As per instructions, he drove down to San Diego, ventured perilously close to the Mexico line, fooled around there for a day looking for trouble, failed to find so much as a frown and drove back.
He headed straight for San Bernardino, which was Smiling Lou's headquarters.