Look Alive Twenty-Five (Stephanie Plum 25)

Ranger knocked twice and announced himself. No answer. He picked the lock and opened the door.

I looked around and thought this is the way a marginally successful man lives after paying off three ex-wives. Small dated kitchen, combined living and dining room, one bedroom and one bathroom. The furniture was inexpensive and utilitarian. The exception to this was a large, elaborately carved mahogany desk that occupied the area designed for a dining table. I suspected this was the one piece of furniture he’d kept from the divorce settlements.

We searched the condo, and came to the desk last. The top was a mess of loose papers, sticky pad notes, takeout menus, and candy bar wrappers. There was a charger and cleared space for a computer. The loose papers and notes weren’t helpful. A reminder of a haircut. A band contract. A party invitation. Drawers contained the usual assortment of paper clips, pens, antacids, rubber bands. The file drawer was devoted to pornography. I suppose the pornography was less expensive than acquiring a fourth wife.

“I don’t see an external backup, but he has six flash drives,” Ranger said, pocketing the drives. “Let’s hope we get lucky.”

We left the condo and drove back to Rangeman. Ranger plugged the drives into his computer, and the third one contained several short videos. There was an interior of the diner with Raymond, Stretch, and Dalia at work. The camera panned to a third man. I knew from photos that this was the first kidnapped manager. The video that followed was of the manager taking the garbage out. This was one of the YouTube videos. The next video is dark with a spotlight on the manager’s face. He has a number tattooed on his forehead. He’s unresponsive. The next video is Waggle with a meat cleaver in his hand. He’s making chopping motions, and he looks completely insane. The last video is back at the diner and Dalia is serving a customer. The camera pans in, and we see what appears to be a penis in a hotdog bun.

Ranger pulled the flash drive out of the computer. “This answers some of our questions,” Ranger said.

It took several beats for me to find my voice. “Do you think it’s real?” I whispered.

“Probably not.” Ranger grinned. “The size is optimistic.”

“The size is frightening,” I said. “The whole series of videos is frightening.”

Ranger ran through the remaining flash drives. Two were empty and one contained two short videos of Waggle taking the money and the passport out of the safe.

When I first saw the videos of the five men being kidnapped I thought they were the product of a freak who wanted to brag about his crime. Now I was thinking the snippets I saw today might be made by a freak who wanted to show he was a videographer.

People working in a diner. People mysteriously disappearing from the diner. Crazy meat cleaver guy chopping. People’s parts returning to the diner. The crazy meat cleaver guy withdrawing his money and passport and presumably getting out of town.

Not necessarily a movie I’d want to see. I was more a rom-com, sitcom, and cartoon kind of person.

Ranger put the six drives in his top drawer, pushed his chair back, and stood.

“Are you going to share the drives with the police?” I asked.

“I’m going to return them to Skoogie’s desk later tonight. The police are on their own to find them. Would you like to ride along?”

“I can’t. Lula and I have a job to do.”

“Does it involve waiting tables and making sandwiches?”

“No! I’m helping someone with pet transport.”

We were in Ranger’s fifth-floor office with the door closed. The office was small and private, and Ranger was very close. He leaned into me, I took one step back, and I was against the wall.

“I could work around the pet transport,” he said.

I meant to say no, but it sounded more like “mmmm” when it came out of my mouth.

Ranger kissed me, and it was electric. ZING! The heat went from my lips to my toes and hit all the good spots in between. His hands slowly slid over my body, finding their way under my knit shirt.

“We should move this upstairs,” he said.

“Um,” I said.

“Um?”

“Here’s the thing . . .”

“I hate when you start an explanation like that,” Ranger said. “It’s never good news.”

“Kissing is cheating a little. I can deal with it. If we go upstairs it’s going to be cheating big-time.”

“Someday when we have more time, we need to discuss your moral compass and its reluctance to always point north.”