Page 29 of Warpath

Email. No password protection. Nothing except an icon on the desktop. I click it, it sends and receives. I sift through the folders and un-emptied trash can.

Now here’s something. Clarence T. Petticoat is being blackmailed.

12

CP—the usual time and place next week. The price is up to thirty K to buy silence. I strongly encourage you to make the right decision. Failure to do so will result in the police discovering your immense culpability; meanwhile I walk away scot-free.

God bless.

Scrappy-Doo

Rapist. Usual time and place. The price is up. Petticoat’s been paying him for a while, and some good chunks of change if it’s gone up to thirty thousand. Buying silence and immense culpability. I walk away scot-free. If it is the rapist, he’s already walked away scot-free. Why come back now and risk it all? Greed. Simple greed. Scum rob each other every day for enough pennies to make a cover charge and dollops of low-grade dope, let alone hefty sums like these. But what culpability does Petticoat have in his wife’s rape? Surely he didn’t arrange for the sexual assault to occur. Especially with him being present.

It could be that when it went down Petticoat didn’t fight and instead just let it happen. I can see him being a pussy like that. Or maybe he didn’t want to help. He might have, essentially, thrown her to the wolves. Or maybe he hired a hit man for his wife who didn’t kill her. Instantly, anyways. However it shakes out, this sheds a lot of light.

The email is from a cheap domain email server that could be run by anyone, anywhere. I do a search for any others. None. Deleted. I right-click the email itself and select options. I find the IP address the email was sent from. There are websites that trace IP addresses as far back they go. True hackers and other savvy folks have ways to run the address around enough to effectively disguise it beyond the layman’s capabilities. I’m not a PC genius but I have some tricks.

I run the IP address through a couple of tracing sites and they all show up with the same registered telephone number. Could be a Smartphone, but any blackmailer who has the playbook down before he steps foot in the game will use some anonymous third party hardware to do this. Using one’s own phone—except a throwaway—will be traceable. Any blackmail sent from an email address that isn’t something like [email protected] X Mail is suicide.

I plug the telephone number into a search engine. It comes back to a business. Net café. Corner Bistro. I call it, if for nothing else just to make sure it’s not a front. Blackmailing for this much money doesn’t put something that extensive out of the realm of possibility. One only has to register the number to a name and put it on a search engine. No one says it has to exist.

Female voice: “Corner Bistro, how may I help you?”

“Hey,” I start, making something up on the fly. “You guys have hot sandwiches and wireless Internet, right?”

“Yes, we do.”

“Great. Where you at?”

“Corner of Forty-sixth and Sweet Gum. Corner Bistro.”

I hang up. Go back out to the car. Get a listening device and some computer software an associate gave me.

Back inside I rig the listening device to the computer. There, it has a power supply and that won’t run out like a cell phone battery will and it conceals better. I install the software that will enable me to remotely have access to Petticoat’s desktop. Now I can fish through his emails without breaking into his office every time.

I re-open the latest blackmail note and hit reply. I type:

Scrappy-Doo:

Let’s do it early. Got stuff to do on the usual day. I’m not meeting at the usual place, though. For thirty K you can adjust to my schedule. Thursday morning, 9a.m., the comic book shop on 20th and Grand. I’ll be at the city bus stop in front. Don’t bother trying to change it. You’re starting to not be worth it.

CP

That should do it. Hopefully this guy will take the bait. And be slightly pissed. Blackmailers—like most criminals—desire cooperation and respect over most else. Bank robbers might not be opposed to killing someone during a heist, but it complicates things immensely. They’d rather folks just pile money into a bag and stay face down on the linoleum. Same thing here. The blackmailer will not take lightly to his arrangement being changed. Complications. Sudden alterations leave little room for planning on his part, and control goes out the window. For all he knows Petticoat is luring him into a trap.

And of course, it is.

I pack up and go. Corner Bistro. Eyes peeled.

13

Stakeout.

I’m parked across the street from the Corner Bistro in a shady spot. Here a gentle shadow rests across the vehicle and keeps the worst of the spring sun at bay. Windows down let just enough of a cool breeze inside. God is in the little things. I’ve sat in plenty worse spots on sweltering days for a week or more at a time, looking for something that never arrived. So this is quality.

I have Petticoat’s email opened up on a tablet riding shotgun. If and when the bad guy replies, I’ll have it.

I’m gambling on a few things here, just because they’re all I have. The bad guy can check his email from anywhere, but he’ll be more discerning when it comes to sending one. I’m gambling that he comes here to do it. If he doesn’t, I’m shit out of luck. Why this place is anyone’s guess. Our rapist might not drive and this is the closest place within walking distance. He might work here or is dating someone who does. He might just like their brew.