By The Hermit....

"Why you asking 'bout old Gramps?" The waitress had red hair that came from a bottle, make-up that came from the dime-store and eyes that would never smile again. She wiped away an imaginary spot of dirt from the counter in front of me and said, "Well Cop, I'm waiting...and don't try to give me no crap, I can smell a cop across the street."

"I just need to talk to him," I answered, trying not to get pissed, "his real name is Charlie Jardin and I believe he used to own that industrial building across the street. The one with the old Jardin Industries sign."

"Gramps? Go on, you're kidding. Gramps is one of the street people. He's been coming in here every morning for the last six months. He stays outside until he panhandles a buck, then he comes in, has his coffee, a toasted English-muffin and reads my newspaper. Naw! You got the wrong guy. Besides that, old Gramps is either dead or in the hospital because he ain't been around for about three days, now." She took the corner of her apron and wiped her eyes. I said,

"I guess you sorta liked the old guy." She just nodded. "Did he ever say anything about moving away or taking an ocean cruise or anything like that?" She glared at me and got out of her sad mood by turning on me...

"Look you, I've been doing all the answering, and you've been doing all the questioning, now I want to know what this is all about. Gramps did tell me where he'd like to live, but I'll sure as hell not tell you another word until you clue me in on why your looking for Gramps."

"Okay, but I don't want to talk here. Did you know that Gramps lived right across the street in that old abandoned factory?" She shook her head, no. I flashed my Treasury Department badge, holding it so only she could see it. "Before I tell you why I'm here looking for him, I'd like to take you up there and show you how your supposedly poor, old street-person was living. If you don't see his home for youself, you'll never believe my story." She said that she would be off shift in an hour, so I ordered and had dinner while I waited.

As we walked across the street and entered the property through a hole in the fence, I swallowed several times and commented, "You oughta tell your cook to not use so much damn salt. Everything I ate had way, too much salt on it."

"Nobody twisted your arm to get you to eat, did they? Maybe, the cook don't like cops any more than I do." She lapsed into a sullen silence until we arrived at Charlie Jardin's office on the top floor. Once inside I flipped on the lights. The windows had heavy drapes drawn tight keeping any light from escaping.

"This office is the only room on the property that has electrical power. The cables come in via a buried tunnel and up between the walls, so there's no way to determine the source." I could see her looking around at the vast array of computer terminals that filled one side of the room.

"Amazing, isn't it? Old Gramps has kept himself quite busy these past three years. He closed down the plant three years ago because of the unions, high taxes, and all the regulations...you know, the Workman's Comp. insurance, Fire inspections, Cal. Osha, Fed. Osha and the EPA. He declared bankruptcy and then dropped completely out of sight. Hasn't filed a tax return in three years. We just recently learned he was living on the street."

"Well, I hope you people are proud of yourselves. First you ruin the man, drive him into bankruptcy and now, you are hounding him out in the streets. What next, put him in jail for living in this empty old building, or for stealing electricity?"

"Nope Red, worse than that -- he's been using these computers to hack into federal and state financial institutions and transfer funds to his favorite charities all over the world. The old bastard is a clever genius. We've been trying to catch him for two years, and it was only recently that we were able to locate this room. Most of these computers control remote servers in other countries that relay signals through mirror sites to the URLs where he does his hacking. Damn, I'm thirsty Red, you and your salty food."

"I hope you die of thirst you rotten bastard," she shot right back, "I'm just glad he got away before you got here to arrest him. If you think I'm going to tell you where he went, you can just forget it!" She started to leave, but I managed to get to the door and block her departure.

"Get back over there and sit down -- you're going to tell me where he went, or you're never going to leave! Do you understand me?" She looked around and made a mad dash for the door at the other end of the room. She jerked it open and shrieked as the body fell out of the closet and landed at her feet.

"Oh my God, who the hell is that? That's not Gramps..." and she started to cry.

I took the Treasury Department badge and laid it on the dead body. "Simple," I said with a grin, "it's the owner of that badge. He didn't want to answer my questions either, but I did get a lot of information out of him before he went and died on me. I hope you're made of stronger stuff, 'cause I really do like the questioning part. Damn, I'm thirsty. Didn't that old coot keep anything to drink around here?"

She stopped crying so abruptly it startled me. She turned and actually grinned at me.

"I'll tell you what you want to know, if you promise to do the questioning part anyway, 'cause it may surprise you, but I sorta like the questioning part, too. But first, if you ain't the Treasury guy, who the hell are you, and why do you want to find Gramps?"

I wasn't figuring on letting her live anyway, so it wouldn't hurt to tell her.

"Well, everything I told you about Gramps was true, but in addition to screwing around with the IRS, the EPA, Osha, Workman's Comp insurance and the union's general fund -- Gramps decided to stick it to organized crime, the Nevada Casinos and the drug cartels.

"He started moving funds around and when he'd get some one's finances so snarled up that even a Philadelphia lawyer couldn't figure them out, He'd call a `We Tip' number and inform in the name of a boy scout troop or a cancer research group, so they would get the reward for blowing the whistle on the tax evader. You can imagine how much trouble he caused in the last three years."

She had a big appreciative grin on her face and just couldn't wait to speak,

"Golly, the more I hear about old Gramps, the more I love the old goat. He was really something -- wasn't he? Oh yeah, while you were talking, I heard that grey filing cabinet start humming then it quit. Sounded more like a refrigerator than a filing cabinet to me."

I took the Treasury Agent's handcuffs and cuffed the redhead to the chair. When I opened the filing cabinet, I almost drooled, I was so thirsty. The phony door swung out from the side revealing a well stocked refrigerator. There was a six-pac of beer, a six-pac of cola and a large pitcher of what looked like old iced-tea. Not knowing how old the tea was and not being a boozer, I opted for an ice cold cola. I popped the top and took a couple of deep satisfying swallows. It tasted a little flat, but it was sweet and cold, so I drank about half the can before turning back to ask her for the last time...

"Now, do you start telling me where he went, or do I start removing some choice parts of your anatomy.?" She grinned like a schoolgirl and giggled,

"Keep talking like that, and I'll tell you everything I know. First, this is the second time I been up here, not the first. The first time was when Old Gramps brought me over here, and told me he had bought the restaurant in my name. He said he wanted me to have it because I always treated him decent. He told me he was going to go live on an island he had found down in the Gulf of Mexico -- somewhere off the coast near Gulfport Mississippi." I felt a sharp pain in my gut, but shrugged it off in my excitement.

"Did he say if it had a name?" I demanded. She shook her head, no.

"He explained that some men would come looking for him, and that they might get really rough if they even thought I knew about him. And he warned me...never, never to drink anything, if I ever came back up here after he left. He said he was leaving some surprises for some smart asses who were out to collect on his contract. You don't look too good, mister! You sick or something?"

"I stuck my finger down my throat and tried to puke, but I knew it was too late. My gut was on fire, my eyes wouldn't focus and I was getting weaker by the second. I took one faltering step toward her and fell flat on my face, but I didn't feel it......

By the time the redhead squirmed around enough to reach the handcuff keys, she was winded. She knew she still had a full nights work ahead of her. She hadn't planned on two bodies and the basement was five stories below.

--------------------------

It was pouring down rain and every customer that entered left a good sized puddle by the coat rack. From the looks of the sky, it wasn't going to stop soon. She barely looked up as the tall stranger in the grey raincoat hung up his coat and umbrella and slid onto a stool in front of where she was standing, watching the evening news.

"Have you seen anyone who looks like this, hanging around lately?" He asked, as he slid a picture of Gramps across the counter toward her.

"Oh, you mean Gramps?.........."

[END] Maybe?