There was little on Raszini himself. I had no idea where he even lived; the only time I met him was at a hotel room near LAX.
Then I remembered that the newscast said the FBI had raided his home. And there was video of these men in black SWAT suits with FBI in large white letters across the back breaking into an expensive looking house. But, if they mentioned where the house was, I must have missed it.
Susie often tells me that you can find anything on the Internet. I stared at the computer screen in the corner of my desk. It hadn’t been on since the day Susie put it there and showed me how to turn the computer on. A real, he-man private dick doesn’t need electronics to break a case, just hard fists, a quick draw, and knowing what heads to bust.
Someone once told me that real men don’t eat quiche. I had no idea then what quiche was, and still don’t. Some kind of sissy French food, I think. Well, using a computer to track down a bad guy is sort of the same thing: something a real private dick doesn’t do.
But…
I turned it on and sat there, staring at a blue screen while some kind of important messages danced across it. Then it settled down to a bunch of tiny pictures over a picture of sailboats on a mountain lake. At that point, I realized I had no idea what to do. So I did the only logical thing. Swallowing my pride, I called Ramona into my office and asked her to find out where Raszini used to live.
It took her only a minute to find the answer. She tried to explain to me as she went but the words meant nothing. What the hell is a google? She brought up on the screen an article about the attempted bust on his house. It was sort of like reading the newspaper but you had to point a little arrow at a tiny square and press a button to get the next page. A little digging and I had an address. Fortunately, it was not too far away, just a couple hours drive up the coast to Santa Barbara.
“You think maybe he took Susie there?” Ramona asked me. When I turned to her, I could see that she had been crying. Maybe she and Susie were a little closer than I had thought. Pushing such thoughts aside, I told her the police had already been there and found nothing. But I wasn’t looking for Susie there, instead another person. Someone who just might be able to tell me where Raszini was.
Chapter XVII
Video Taping
“Set those cameras up over there,” Raszini ordered.“Make sure you get good coverage of right here.” He stood back to get an idea of the work area and make sure that the cameras would cover it well. They were digital video cameras, not Hollywood quality to be sure, but very capable of recording a scene in good quality.
When both cameras were established on tripods and plugged in, he told the men, “Bring the bitch in.”
Susie Speed was still naked. Her wrists and ankles were locked quite tightly in handcuffs, so walking was both difficult and painful on her ankles. Her ass displayed some blue-gray bruises and still a bit of redness and swollen flesh from the whipping it had received the night before. She was escorted on each side by a man holding her arm. In the sunlight coming through the skylights, she looked tired, as if she had not slept well, as indeed she had not. She had been left standing in the middle of a room not much bigger than a closet with her handcuffed wrists pulled up behind her. Not enough to threaten dislocation of her shoulders, but enough to keep her wrists hurting and making sleep nearly impossible.
“We’re going to tie her up and play with her a little,” he told them. “But you guys don’t do a good job with ropes, so I brought in an expert. Stella, you’re on.”
From the back of the room stepped forward a woman. Stella was dressed in black leather, a tight fitting jumpsuit usually called a “catsuit”. The stiletto heels of her boots clicked on the concrete floor as she walked with an exaggerated stride, one foot placed before the other, making her
Then I remembered that the newscast said the FBI had raided his home. And there was video of these men in black SWAT suits with FBI in large white letters across the back breaking into an expensive looking house. But, if they mentioned where the house was, I must have missed it.
Susie often tells me that you can find anything on the Internet. I stared at the computer screen in the corner of my desk. It hadn’t been on since the day Susie put it there and showed me how to turn the computer on. A real, he-man private dick doesn’t need electronics to break a case, just hard fists, a quick draw, and knowing what heads to bust.
Someone once told me that real men don’t eat quiche. I had no idea then what quiche was, and still don’t. Some kind of sissy French food, I think. Well, using a computer to track down a bad guy is sort of the same thing: something a real private dick doesn’t do.
But…
I turned it on and sat there, staring at a blue screen while some kind of important messages danced across it. Then it settled down to a bunch of tiny pictures over a picture of sailboats on a mountain lake. At that point, I realized I had no idea what to do. So I did the only logical thing. Swallowing my pride, I called Ramona into my office and asked her to find out where Raszini used to live.
It took her only a minute to find the answer. She tried to explain to me as she went but the words meant nothing. What the hell is a google? She brought up on the screen an article about the attempted bust on his house. It was sort of like reading the newspaper but you had to point a little arrow at a tiny square and press a button to get the next page. A little digging and I had an address. Fortunately, it was not too far away, just a couple hours drive up the coast to Santa Barbara.
“You think maybe he took Susie there?” Ramona asked me. When I turned to her, I could see that she had been crying. Maybe she and Susie were a little closer than I had thought. Pushing such thoughts aside, I told her the police had already been there and found nothing. But I wasn’t looking for Susie there, instead another person. Someone who just might be able to tell me where Raszini was.
Chapter XVII
Video Taping
“Set those cameras up over there,” Raszini ordered.“Make sure you get good coverage of right here.” He stood back to get an idea of the work area and make sure that the cameras would cover it well. They were digital video cameras, not Hollywood quality to be sure, but very capable of recording a scene in good quality.
When both cameras were established on tripods and plugged in, he told the men, “Bring the bitch in.”
Susie Speed was still naked. Her wrists and ankles were locked quite tightly in handcuffs, so walking was both difficult and painful on her ankles. Her ass displayed some blue-gray bruises and still a bit of redness and swollen flesh from the whipping it had received the night before. She was escorted on each side by a man holding her arm. In the sunlight coming through the skylights, she looked tired, as if she had not slept well, as indeed she had not. She had been left standing in the middle of a room not much bigger than a closet with her handcuffed wrists pulled up behind her. Not enough to threaten dislocation of her shoulders, but enough to keep her wrists hurting and making sleep nearly impossible.
“We’re going to tie her up and play with her a little,” he told them. “But you guys don’t do a good job with ropes, so I brought in an expert. Stella, you’re on.”
From the back of the room stepped forward a woman. Stella was dressed in black leather, a tight fitting jumpsuit usually called a “catsuit”. The stiletto heels of her boots clicked on the concrete floor as she walked with an exaggerated stride, one foot placed before the other, making her
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