I gave Melvin my card. “I’m also available,” I said.
“One more thing,” Diesel said. “Do you have any idea where Oswald might be hiding out while he’s in Trenton? Does he have any hacker friends here?”
“Not that I know about,” Melvin said.
We left the loft and walked back to my car.
“What’s a black-hat and a gray-hat hacker?” I asked Diesel.
“Black-hat hackers are criminals who break into networks with malicious intent. Sometimes for sport, sometimes for personal financial gain, sometimes for cyber espionage. White-hat hackers break into systems with owner permission and perform various services for the owners. A gray-hat hacker doesn’t have the owner’s permission but wouldn’t necessarily be hacking for evil purposes.”
“We’re asking Melvin to be a gray-hat hacker.”
“Yes.”
“Where do we go from here?”
“Drive out of the lot and find a place to watch for Melvin. He’s going to get dressed and help us find Oswald.”
“Do you think he knows where Oswald is hanging?”
“No, but I think he does know one or two of the people in Baked Potato. Probably geek friends, left over from high school. And one of those geeks might be sheltering Oswald. I’m counting on Melvin getting out of his jammies and paying a visit to the number one candidate to have Oswald stashed in his apartment.”
CHAPTER FOUR
I drove out of the Deacon Plumbing lot, crossed Beeker Street, and parked at the edge of a driveway leading to several rows of self-storage units. A half hour later, a dented tan Nissan Sentra with Melvin at the wheel turned onto Beeker.
I followed Melvin to a low-income neighborhood of single-story bungalows and row houses. He parked in front of a row house on Kubacky Street and went to the door. Moments later, the door opened, and Melvin disappeared inside.
“Let’s be sociable, and go say hello,” Diesel said.
I parked behind Melvin’s car and followed Diesel to the door. He knocked and no one answered.
“Probably didn’t hear me knock,” Diesel said. He stepped back and put his boot to the door and the door popped open. He looked at me. “What is it we’re supposed to say now?”
“Bail bond enforcement.”
“Right,” Diesel said. “Bail bond enforcement,” he said to Melvin and a guy who looked close to cardiac arrest.
“Sorry about your door,” I said. “It sort of opened on its own.”
“We’re looking for Oswald Wednesday,” Diesel said. “Is he here?”
Both men shook their heads, no.
“We haven’t met,” Diesel said to the man standing next to Melvin.
“Clark Stupin,” he said. “I live here.”
“And I assume, from all the equipment I’m seeing in your living room, that you’re a hacker,” Diesel said.
“No, no, no. I’m a computer expert. And I like to play games. Computer games.”
“Do you play these games with Melvin?”
“Sometimes.”
“How about Oswald? Do you play computer games with Oswald?”
“No! I swear. Oswald doesn’t play games with people like me. I don’t even know Oswald.” He glanced at Melvin. “We don’t know O.W., right?”
“Right,” Melvin said. “We don’t know him, like, personally.”
Diesel wandered into the kitchen. He checked out the bathroom and bedroom and returned to the living room.
“Oswald isn’t here,” Diesel said.
“Why would Oswald be here?” Clark asked.
“They think he’s in Trenton,” Melvin said.
Clark went bug-eyed. “Get out! Really? Oh, wow.”
“We thought he might have dropped in on you guys,” Diesel said.
“No way,” Clark said. “He doesn’t know us. We don’t exist to him.”
I thought this was a good thing, because from what I now knew about Oswald, I doubted he’d be happy about getting hacked.
“If things change and you bump into him, let us know,” Diesel said.
“You bet,” Melvin said.
“For sure,” Clark said.
We returned to my car and buckled ourselves in.
“What do you think?” I asked Diesel.
“I think they’re in over their heads with Oswald.”
I drove back to the office and parked.
“Now what?” Diesel asked.
“A couple new FTAs came in this morning. I should try to find them.”