22 Caliber - A Stephanie Plum-inspired Story

Chapter Four

I called Vinnie and reported in. "What do you mean you don't know who it is yet? This guy will kill me. Remember, no Vinnie, no bail bonds office, no job for you. I gave you a job when you needed it most. Now you need to help me in return." He hung up. It was only partially true. I blackmailed Vinnie into a job a few years before and, for some reason, I was still working for him. I didn't know why. It wasn't the pay and it wasn't the job security. There was something about the job I liked though. It may have been because I got to make my own hours; it may have been because I wasn't chained to one spot; or, it may have been because I didn't have to wear pantyhose. Whatever it was, it worked for me.

We drove fifteen minutes into North Trenton to visit Vicky Trimble, owner of a bull mastiff named Duchess. Like me, Vicky grew up in the Burg and had since moved out. She just moved out further than I did. She was a couple years ahead of me in school, so I didn't really know her. More Morelli's and Connie's time period than mine. We found the street and I counted houses. We parked two down from a modest red-brick single detached home. No Hallowe'en decorations here. The cracked walkway that led up to the orange door intersected a weed-infested lawn dotted with brown piddle patches. It was definitely the home of a dog and, judging by the size of the patches, a big dog.

Ranger again sat for a couple of minutes and assessed the vibe of the neighborhood before he got out of the car. Quiet. Kids still at school; owners still at work. It was a working neighborhood with double-income families struggling to survive.

We walked up the crumbling steps to the house. We could hear Duchess barking inside as she raced to the door to protect her turf. Vicky opened the door, one hand on her dog's head. The dog was huge. I've seen horses smaller than the giant facing me through the half-opened door. I took solace in the fact the dog looked happy, with drool hanging down from the sides of her mouth – but I took a step back just in case.

"May I help you?" Vicky asked. I looked at Ranger. He introduced us and told Vicky that we worked for a security company that represented Vincent Plum. With this, Vicky's face turned white and her hand tightened on Duchess' collar. Duchess growled low in her throat.

"I don't want to talk about Vinnie" she stated. Ranger continued anyway. "Vinnie received a blackmail threat this afternoon from someone. We don't know who. We were wondering whether you received a similar threat." Vicky looked at us in a panic for a long minute as her mind debated the wisdom in trusting in us. Duchess stopped growling, leaned over and sniffed, then licked, Ranger's hand. This seemed to be the deciding factor. Vicky opened the door wider and invited us in.

As Vicky told us about the blackmailing, panic overtook all rational thought. In her panic Vicky started to babble. "I can't have this go anywhere. I can't have the video leaked. The Humane Society will take my dog away. I've been frantic all afternoon. I can't lose Duchess. She's my baby! Even the money Duchess brings in by her special games won't cover the amount I need to meet the blackmailer's demands."

"How much are you being blackmailed for?" Ranger asked.

"One hundred thousand. But I don't have it. There's no way I can get it. Duchess eats a lot and money doesn't grow on trees, you know."

"Did you get your blackmail threat by email?"

"Yes, do you want to see it?" Vicky offered.

"Even better would be if we can have your email and password information so we can trace it." As Vicky wrote out the information we fished out business cards to leave with Vicky. As we turned to go I said "One last question – just out of curiosity, how did you make Duchess do those things in the video?"

"Peanut butter" she answered.

Eeuww.

"Now what?" I asked as we got in the car.

"Follow the crumbs, Babe." Ranger called the Batcave. He listened for a couple of minutes, and then hung up the phone. "All three emails were sent at the same time and originated at the Internet Café on State Street. Let's look at security tapes."

The Internet Café was a downtrodden coffee shop located near the intersection of Empire and Stark. This area of Stark is not the worst but not the best – bad enough that you'd think twice about walking outside at night; not bad enough that you'd have to worry about your car missing when you came out of the store.

The Internet Café was an establishment desperate to earn money in whatever way it could. At the cash you could purchase coffee and cookies, mints and ammunition, fun-loving women and forged identification. It did not look like a place that would be willing to share their security tapes.

Ranger introduced himself to the store manager and quickly flashed some identification. I hoped the manager wouldn't look too carefully at the credentials – I knew for a fact the credentials, like mine, were purchased over the internet rather than being issued by a formal licensing body. They were periodically useful, however, as many times people tended to be impressed by a badge.

This was not one of those times. When we asked for the security tapes, the manager laughed. "Give copies of my tapes? You've got to be kidding. How would my customers feel if they knew I was passing information to you? I'd lose the element of confidentiality I'm known for. I'd lose their respect. I'd lose my business. Get a warrant."

Ranger looked steadily at the little worm. "You can do this two ways – you can share the information with us now and I will close my eyes to the fact you are supplementing your income through illegal gun trade, or I can phone the police and have them take a closer look at the items behind your counter." The manager blanched. Apparently illegal gun trade heavily supported his business.

"We don't need to involve the police, now do we? I'm sure we can come to some kind of agreement." Ranger lips twitched into a small smile. The manager took us into his office in the back. "What exactly are you looking for? We only save our tapes for two days before they are recycled. I'm not sure if I can help you even if I tried."

"That's okay," I said, "We are only looking for the period directly before lunch today." The manager cued up the tapes. They were grainy after years of copying and recopying. Ranger and I watched the time stamp, fast-forwarding towards noon, the time Vinnie, Joyce and Vicky received their emails. When 11:55 appeared, we slowed down to regular speed. There were 6 people using computers at that time. My jaw dropped – one of the users was Mario Morelli! At least I knew he was around town. I didn't recognize any of the other users. I looked at Ranger. He gave an almost-imperceptible shake. He didn't recognize anyone either.

We asked if the manager knew any of the customers. He said he didn't, but I wasn't sure I believed what he said. He seemed pretty determined to protect his customer's confidentiality. Just in case, Ranger asked for copies of credit card receipts for the hour before and the hour after the time the email was sent. This was a no-go, as it seemed everyone paid cash to use the computers. I guessed this was another under-the-counter income line hidden from the IRS.

Ranger paid twenty dollars for the copy of the tape. The manager looked happy to see the money and whisked it into his pocket before Ranger could reconsider. We took our tape and left the building.

"I have a meeting this afternoon, Babe. I'll take the tape into Rangeman and see if Rafael can clean it up. I'll be free for dinner if you want to join me at my place. How about six?" I nodded. Ranger lived on the seventh floor of the Rangeman building. His luxurious apartment was looked after by Ella, his housekeeper. In addition to cleaning his apartment, doing his laundry and otherwise making Ranger's environment a civilized one, Ella provided a gourmet dinner every night Ranger was in town. In comparison, my standard dinner was a peanut butter and olive sandwich. And after my conversation with Vicky, I might not eat peanut butter again for a very long time.