37

by David Achord

Once they’d left, I went downstairs and stood beside him. He had the file titled Candy-Man open and there were more than a few documents in it. As much as I wanted to look over what he had, it could wait.

  “Alright, get your attention off of those computers for now. You and I are going upstairs and have a talk.”

  “But, I’m busy here,” he protested.

  “I’m not asking, I’m telling,” I said and went back up the stairs. Ronald reluctantly followed and sat with me on the den couch.

  “So, you got on a dating site, huh?” I asked.

  “Yeah.” He spoke in a voice barely above a whisper and kept his gaze fixed on the coffee table.

  “That’s a positive step; you know I want you to be more sociable. Did you check out her bona fides before going out with her?” I asked. “You are perfectly able to run a background check.”

  “No,” he said, giving his head a slight shake back and forth.

  “Why not, Hoss?” I asked in a gentle voice.

  “She seemed nice and, um, I thought she liked me.”

  “She beguiled you,” I said.

  He looked at me funny. “What?”

  “Beguiled, bewitched, bamboozled, inveigled. They all mean the same thing. She used her charm and her sex to deceive you and take advantage of you.”

  “Oh,” he said, nodding. “Yeah, I guess she did.”

  “There are a lot of people like her in this world. Don’t get me wrong, there are nice girls out there, but there are girls like her as well. Did you use protection when you slept with her?”

  His face turned beet red and didn’t answer, which caused me to let out a long sigh.

  “Alright, let’s get you an appointment with your doctor. The sooner you find out whether or not you caught something, the better.”

  “Caught something?” he asked.

  “Yeah, you know, a sexually transmitted disease, commonly called an STD. Messing around with girls like that is risky.”

  Ronald paled. “Oh.”

  I called the doctor for him and made an appointment for next week. We talked some more about the birds and the bees and the ways of the world before we changed the subject to the Candy-Man. We went back down to the basement where he excitedly showed me everything he had found.

  “I started with the names you gave me and researched all of them on my social media search program. I won’t bother telling you how I eliminated the other names, unless you want me to.”

  “No, that’s not necessary. Tell me what you’ve got,” I said.

  “So, according to the drug intel website, Candy-Man number two is also known as Raymondo Calendar. He had only one major drug charge as an adult—felony cultivating of marijuana.”

  “So, he had a grow operation that got busted. Does it say how much?” I asked.

  “It just says it’s a Class-B felony,” Ronald said.

  I searched my memory. “That’s something like over a hundred plants. A pretty significant amount. Did you find out how much time he served?”

  “It doesn’t really say, but three years after the conviction he was posting on social media.”

  I nodded in thought. A Class-B felony in Tennessee was punishable by eight to thirty years imprisonment, so he had a good lawyer who got him a decent deal, or he did some snitch work for the cops in exchange for a lighter sentence.

  “Anyway, he’s on parole until next year,” Ronald added.

  “How did you find out where he lives?”

  “I haven’t, at least, not his exact address. Look at this.” He did some clicking and a picture filled one of his monitors. It was a picture of a Candy standing beside a shiny red corvette and grinning broadly.

  “He posted it on Facebook. Now, watch.”

  I watched as Ronald started manipulating the photograph. He focused on a section of the picture over Candy’s shoulder and enlarged it. The picture became slightly pixelated but I could see a street sign identifying an intersection and a house in the background.

  “I actually used Microsoft Maps, plugged the intersection into the directions, and voila,” he said and clicked on a screenshot. “This is in La Vergne.”

  I nodded thoughtfully. La Vergne was a dent in the road for many years until the population exploded in Nashville and all of the surrounding counties. Now, La Vergne was a thriving bedroom community.

  “What are you thinking?” Ronald asked.

  “I’m thinking of heading down there and introducing myself. Do you want to go?”

  “Oh, no,” Ronald quickly answered. He looked at me like I’d asked him to participate in a ritual goat fuck.

  “Come on, buddy. I could use some help with this. Besides, you need to start learning more about PI work.”

  Ronald protested, but I gently persuaded him and convinced him it would be fun. He finally agreed, but only if I went to the grocery store for him after we were done.

  Traffic was surprisingly light and we made it to La Vergne with ease. With the assistance of Google, we had no trouble locating the street in question. I’d gone a couple of blocks when Ronald gestured excitedly.

  “That’s the street sign,” he said. “And, look at that house, that’s the same house in the picture. This is definitely the street.”

  After that, it was easy to find Candy’s house. Even so, when Ronald spotted it, he gave out a hoot. “There it is!”

  As casually as I could, I drove a half block and parked in front of a townhouse that had a for sale sign in the front yard. I took a moment to look it over, like I was a prospective buyer. At the same time, I’d glance back behind us, checking out Candy’s townhouse. His was a two-story townhouse affair, sand-colored paint, and brown trim. And, there were actually a few potted flowers on the small porch. Most importantly, there was the red Corvette parked under the carport along the side of the house.

  “Act like you’re playing with your laptop and take a few pictures,” I said. Ronald did so without complaint. In fact, there was a hint of a smile on his face. He was enjoying himself.

  “Uh-oh, somebody’s coming outside,” he said.

  We watched as a man exited the front door and locked it behind him.

  “Is that Candy-Man?” Ronald asked.

  There was no mistaking it: the man currently walking toward the Corvette was the same man in the phone video Detective Brannigan showed me.

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Aren’t you going to talk to him?” Ronald asked.

  “I believe I have a better idea,” I replied. Ronald was confused for a moment, but then his eyes widened.

  “Are you going to sneak into his house?”

  “I am.”

  Ronald took a sharp breath. “Oh, shit.”

  When Candy drove by us, he made direct eye contact, which caused Ronald to become flustered.

  “He saw us!”

  “Don’t worry. For all he knows, we’re simply looking at the house for sale,” I said.

  “We shouldn’t do this,” Ronald moaned. “It’s illegal.”

  I gave him a withering stare. I mean, Ronald’s favorite hobby was to hack into the seemingly secure websites of various businesses and government entities, simply to prove that he could.

  “Do you remember that flash drive you gave me?” I asked. “The one with the special software?”

  “The keylogger software?” he asked.

  “Yeah. We’ve never used your latest version. I figure we might be able to try it out on Candy. If he has a computer in there, I’ll try it out.”

  Ronald was nervous, but a slow grin crept across his face, like I told him we were going to wait for the parents to go to bed and sneak a look at the Christmas presents.

  “What if we get caught?” he asked.

  “You won’t get caught. If I do, drive away and call Percy. He’ll know to do.”

  Ronald muttered out an okay. He was nervous, but I could tell it excited him as well.

  I waited until the Corvette drove out of sight, got out, and went to the
back of my SUV. Opening my kit, I retrieved a few items, including the flash drive Ronald had programmed.

  “Alright, have you got the city police frequency?” I asked. Ronald nodded.

  “Good. I don’t see any alarm signs or decals, but listen close and call if a police officer is dispatched. Or if Candy comes back. Or if a neighbor comes snooping. Or any other signs of trouble.”

  “Like what?” Ronald asked. His nervousness was growing, but there was nothing I could do about it now.

  I casually walked down the sidewalk, holding a clipboard in my hand and studying the papers intently. I paused in front of Candy’s home and made a show of confirming the address before walking to the front door. I rang the doorbell and then knocked loudly several times. As I waited, I took note of the door. It had an old lock of a common brand, along with an equally old deadbolt of the same brand. That was good.

  I rang and knocked one more time to ensure nobody was home, and then pulled out a special-made key along with my lead sap. Back in the day, I’d used the sap a few times on unruly drunks. One shot to the part of the jawbone located immediately below the ear and they were down for the count. It was too bad officers were no longer allowed to use them.

  The key was what is known as a bump key. I had placed a small O-ring at the base of it. I inserted the key, applied a slight amount of twist, and then began thumping it with my sap. Both locks opened within seconds.

  I pushed the door open, the hinges squeaked slightly, and I waited for either someone to start screaming, or for an alarm to go off. Neither happened. I walked in and closed the door behind me.

  “Hey, Candy, it’s me, Tommy!” I bellowed. I was met with silence, which I hoped was also a good sign.

  The door entered into a small foyer, which immediately opened up into the den. I stood there a moment, making a visual assessment while I waited to see if anyone appeared. After a minute, I made a quick search of the ground floor. Den, kitchen, closets, half-bath. The place was neat, tastefully decorated, a few African-American prints adorned the walls, along with some photos of a cute little girl. I estimated the square footage at twelve hundred, which in the Nashville area meant this was an economy home, lower to middle class.

  The only item catching my attention was a laptop sitting on the kitchen table. I took a look at it and saw Candy was still logged in. Perfect.

  I had a lot of items in my PI kit, most of which I’d probably never use. I thought I’d never have the opportunity to use the flash drive, but now here I was. Pulling it out, I plugged it into the USB port. In a couple of seconds, the screen went blank, and then the command prompt came up. I typed in the command line that Ronald made me memorize. A bar graph appeared, along with a timer. It was going to take between five and ten minutes. I made my way upstairs.

  Once reaching the upper floor, I paused at the head of the stairs and listened for any movement. The stairs ended in a small hallway that ran perpendicular. On each end was a bedroom. Directly ahead was a full bathroom. The bedroom to the left had children’s clothes and bed sheets with cartoon characters on them. I started with the other bedroom.

  This room was obviously decorated by a single man. There was a queen-sized bed fitted with maroon satin sheets and there were lava lamps on each nightstand, along with an incense burner. The nightstands’ drawers contained condoms, lubricants, and what not. He also had a couple of vapes along with what smelled like honey oil.

  The closet was neatly organized and there was a stack of shoeboxes. I performed a quick but thorough search. I did not find anything illegal, nor did I find the body of Telisha Thompkins stuffed in a suitcase, but three of the shoeboxes were full of money. I guessed about a hundred grand, to be precise.

  To claim I was not tempted would be a lie. I looked at the money a little longer than I should have before I placed the tops back on the shoeboxes and put them back in place. I was a lot of things, but I wasn’t a thief. I mean, I was in this man’s house illegally, and if I was caught, I’d be charged with burglary, true enough. But I wasn’t a thief.

  I double checked a few more hiding spots before heading back downstairs. The bar graph indicated seventy-five percent was downloaded. Ronald texted me, wondering if I’d been shot or arrested. I responded all was good and I’d be out in the next five minutes. I used the time to check the cupboards and plastic containers in the freezer, but came up with nothing.

  There was a beep from the laptop. I looked over and saw the homepage back on the screen. Ronald’s imaging program was complete. I put the flash drive in my pocket, went to the front door, and opened it slightly. I looked through the crack, and seeing nothing wrong, I exited, closing the door behind me. I locked the doorknob, but couldn’t do anything about the deadbolt. I only hoped Candy-Man wasn’t overly suspicious.

  Ronald was paler than normal and wide-eyed when I got back into my SUV.

  “How’d it go?” he asked anxiously. I explained everything as I started up and drove away.

  “Oh, wow, you really did it,” he said.

  “I hope so. Let me ask you something. I didn’t see any surveillance cameras, but if he had one or two hidden, it’d make sense he could access them from his laptop, correct?”

  “Um, yeah, and his cell phone if he has a setup like you do,” he said, and seemed to have a thought. “Give me the flash drive.”

  Ronald plugged the flash drive into his laptop as I drove. I hit a pothole, which caused him to flash me a look of annoyance. I got the hint and stopped in the parking lot of a local Burger King. Ronald’s fingers flew across the keyboard.

  “Uh-oh. Yeah, he has a camera covering the front and back doors,” he said. I watched as he brought my image up on the screen.

  “Well, it’s a good thing I’m wearing a fedora,” I said. I had it pulled down at an angle, effectively hiding my face.

  “What should I do?” Ronald asked.

  “Can you delete it?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, but he’ll be able to tell some footage was deleted.”

  “Who cares, he won’t know it was us, right? Delete it.” It took him less than thirty seconds. I pointed at the restaurant.

  “I’m a little hungry. Do you want a burger or something?” I asked.

  Ronald made a face. “I don’t eat hamburgers. I’ll take a coke though.”

  “So, what exactly does that software do?” I asked. I held off on ordering a burger and instead got us both a large coke. I wanted to go sit at a table, but Ronald adamantly refused, citing a well-known lack of hygiene in all fast food restaurants. So, we sat in my car.

  “It’s a type of spyware. Me and a couple of online friends created it. As long as he has Wi-Fi, I can access everything on his computer. Plus, it has a keylogger program. We can access everything he has on his hard drive and whatever he types.”

  He took a sip of coke and looked at me in awe. Like I was a bigger than life hero or something. “I can’t believe you actually broke into his home.”

  “That’s between you and me only, right?” I warned.

  “Oh, of course, but man, that’s incredible. I could never do anything like that. You know, you’ve done things I only dream of,” he said.

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “Dang, Thomas, don’t you know? You’ve been in gunfights, you’ve arrested dangerous criminals, you sneak into a stranger’s home like it’s no big deal. Is that the first black bag job you’ve done?”

  “I’ve done a couple,” I admitted.

  Ronald nodded, like he already knew it. “And you were in a war when you were in the Army. Desert Storm, right?”

  “I was in the ass end of it. Not a lot of combat at that point.” I didn’t mention a shit-hole city called Fallujah where I nearly got killed a couple of times.

  “But you still saw combat,” he said. “And, you got a silver star or something.”

  I gave a reluctant nod. “Or something.”

  “And there’s stuff about you I don’t even know about, I’m betting. Y
ou’re like a regular James Bond, or something.”

  I chuckled. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

  He glanced up at me from his computer. “How many people have you killed?”

  I gave him a look. “Ronald, do you want to know what my greatest achievement was when I was on the force?”

  “What?” he asked.

  “It has nothing to do with how many people I might have killed. Nope. Something altogether different. One night, I had the task of delivering a death notice to a young man who was scared to death of interacting with the outside world except when he was online. When I told him that his parents had been killed by a drunk driver, he had an anxiety attack and locked himself in a closet.”

  Ronald broke eye contact and hung his head.

  “I could have walked out of that house and left him there, but I didn’t.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Ronald said in almost a whisper.

  “No, I didn’t. I sat on the other side of that door and talked to you the rest of the night. Do you know what happened?”

  Ronald looked up. “I finally came out.”

  “You did, but more than that happened.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “I found the best friend I’ve ever had,” I answered.

  Ronald looked surprised. “I’m your best friend?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “But I thought Percy and Mick are your best friends.”

  “They are close friends, sure, but you’re my best friend.”

  His expression was a combination of surprise and adoration. I held up a fist, and after a moment, a childlike grin emerged and he gave me a fist bump.

  “I hope your spyware works,” I remarked as I finished my coke.

  “You should know by now to never doubt me when it comes to computers.” He clicked on something and pointed. “He has a Tor account. That should be interesting.”

  “What’s a Tor account?” I asked.

  “It’s an ISP for accessing the dark web.”

  “I’ve heard of the dark web, but I’m not so sure what it’s all about. What’s so special about it?”

  “You can operate in virtual anonymity through it, although it’s rumored the NSA actually runs it. He’s probably a member of some online drug sites. He’s a drug dealer, right?”