Abruzzi was a textbook psychopath, so it would be very difficult, if not impossible, to find anyone or anything he cared about more than himself. Luckily, because he was textbook, I didn't need to. I could just paint him into a corner. All it would take was a few phone calls.

Abruzzi prided himself on being a military tactician, on the game board and in real life. Unfortunately for Abruzzi, he was a master at a children's game. Computer generated soldiers always do what you tell them, without needing to be motivated. But if Abruzzi thought he had total control over the men on his payroll, he was sorely mistaken. He wasn't even playing with a full deck, pardon the mixed metaphors. This particular scenario, pitting me against Abruzzi, was like sending in chess grandmaster Bobby Fischer to take down the Candy Land World Champion. It's a piece of cake, once I make it past the Gingerbread Stephanie Plum Trees. It's a mathematical certainty. A computer programmer once analyzed the probability percentages in order to create an electronic version of Candy Land for his kids. Turns out, you can win in just 4 turns - Queen Frostine, double purple, double purple, purple, for example. And there are other combinations. Sounds exciting, except this lucky combination only happens about once in 25,000 games. The longest game can take 204 turns with only 2 people. The average is 60 cards in 16 turns. The point being, a single alteration to the rules of the game can have a profound effect on the outcome and the odds.

Now, I set my mind to considering the game Abruzzi was playing, to see how I could significantly reduce his chances of winning.

Eddie Abruzzi was a local loan-shark-slash-slum-lord. Since he didn't work a 9 to 5, he could organize his virtual war-games to last days if not weeks at a time. These were high-stakes games, and the losers were treated to mob tactics such as shortened digits, busted kneecaps, and finally missing body parts, if they didn't pay up.

Abruzzi was already off his game. His enforcer, Leo Klug, was dead, and it's hard to replace a key player overnight. From what Ranger told me, and from what I was reading in the paper, I pieced together that Trenton Police Detective Joe Morelli, aka Stephanie Plum's other lover, suspected a drunk driver had run over Klug and fled the scene. At least, he had proceeded with his investigation based on that assumption. From what I knew about Helen Plum, Morelli wasn't wrong. I'd read the Rangeman garbage-bag recon reports. Some weeks were better than others, but on average, Helen went through three bottles a week. And I had seen for myself the half-full bottles of hooch hidden in Helen Plum's kitchen cupboards. I tagged along when Ranger set up surveillance on Stephanie's childhood home "for her own protection". Frank Plum may have had a few beers, but I suspected he only tossed back hard liquor at the lodge. I couldn't see him hiding the bottle behind the iron and spray starch. Morelli may have suspected the truth, but he was usually a stand-up guy. No one should do time for ending a slime-bag like Leo Klug. He'd been known as Klug the Slug after being sent to Juvie for exposing himself to ladies in public restrooms all over town. His reputation had not improved over time.

OK. Back to Abruzzi. This guy was not only crazy, he was superstitious. Some time ago, his eye fell on a military medal rumored to have belonged to Napoleon Bonaparte himself. No telling if the story was true or not. That doesn't really matter. What matters is that Abruzzi believed it. The guy that owned the medal refused to sell, so Abruzzi had him eliminated from competition, permanently, and awarded himself the medal. I'm not sure if it was before or after making this acquisition that Abruzzi began dressing as Napoleon while gaming and with women. Again, that detail doesn't matter. What matters is that Abruzzi engaged in such wildly insane behavior without shame or regret. There's your first clue the guy's a nut job. The second clue is that he actually believed the medal made him invincible while he was wearing it. No kidding. I'd have loved to sell this guy some diamond dust that would turn him invisible. It would have been the Emperor's Clothing all over again. But I didn't have time to indulge in my usual antics because Stephanie Plum was involved.

As I've said before, Abruzzi prided himself on being a military tactician, in the game and in real life. In truth, he was an idiot. And a proud idiot, convinced people feared and respected him. He didn't realize he had surrounded himself with morons and imbeciles. He thought he was king of the world, rather than king of his own warped little kingdom. In reality, he'd placed himself in an impossible situation.

First, he believed his power had been stolen, and by a little girl no less. In his mind, he could not possibly afford to fail in recovering the medal. It was his by right and destiny. It was his connection to greatness. He was incapable of letting it go. And why should he? In his mind, this little girl and her mother were no match for him. He'd already killed her father. He wouldn't be happy until the entire family was dead. Only that would satisfy his ego and bolster his reputation. After all, that's what Napoleon would do.

His second problem was that the little girl in question happened to be the granddaughter of Stephanie Plum's parent's next door neighbor. Yeah. Of course she was. Everyone in the Burg is connected somehow, by birth, marriage, or proximity. So, Stephanie got involved, and then Ranger got involved, and now I'm involved. We were not subjects of Abruzzi's dim-witted little kingdom, but Abruzzi didn't seem to understand that. If he did, he would not have made mistake number three.

Abruzzi's third problem was that he'd had one of his men toss a Molotov cocktail into the bed of Ranger's truck. What an idiot. Ranger is known for his top-of-the-line, fully-loaded vehicles, so an assault to Ranger's personal transportation is the same as slapping his cheek with a glove and challenging him to a duel, and everyone knows it, including Abruzzi's men. The aforementioned morons and imbeciles would need to choose sides. Ranger would answer the insult. Everyone knew it. And few of Abruzzi's men would relish the thought of getting caught in the crossfire. Death was one thing, but if they were injured, they would no longer be useful. They should have learned a lesson from Leo Krug. Any man down would be discarded, probably without pay. This practice of reserving resources may work on the computer gaming model, but on the streets, that's no way to build allegiance. Abruzzi didn't know it yet, but he was on his own.

Having studied the set-up and speculated on the percentages, I determined that Abruzzi could only continue playing this game for two more weeks, if Ranger and I let him. Even without our interference, Abruzzi was a dead man. He could die at the hands of his own men. He could be eliminated by his enemies. He could meet an untimely end due to his involvement in Stephanie Plum's bizarre sphere of influence. Or, he could die by Ranger's hand. The only way to guarantee a quick and painless death would be to take his own life, which is what any sane man would do. Of course, we were not dealing with a sane man. In this case, the obvious needed to be pointed out to Abruzzi, clearly and concisely. That's where I come in.

I made my first move. I have been around the block a few times, and I've amassed a rather impressive little black book. Encrypted, of course. Ranger already knew the back rooms where Abruzzi had been conducting business the past few years. I happen to know the bar maids. One call lead to another, and another. "Abruzzi is vulnerable. He lost his medal to a little girl. Someone with a grudge is sure to take him out now. How can he save face? By killing a little girl?" Translation: "Don't let Abruzzi in the club, it might get shot up, pass it on." Within an hour, Abruzzi was persona-non-grata from Jersey to Atlantic City.

If you make a street thug a laughing stock, it's a sure thing his life-long enemies will come knocking at his door. Being bested by a little girl. Yeah, that'll do it. Rangeman had eyes on Abruzzi's building, from a roof-top cam a half mile away. It only took an hour before Abruzzi was rousted from his nest by Jimmie Smalls, a local bookie that had lost business to Abruzzi. I'd heard a rumor that Abruzzi had also evicted Jimmie's mother after unsuccessfully attempting to extort protection money from her. That story rang true from what I was seeing. Jimmie brought some hired muscle with him. I watched the brief exchange of gunfire followed by Abruzzi's hairsbreadth escape on a secure monitor in Ranger's office. I didn't have an office. Ranger wasn't there. He left when we saw Jimmie's men pull up across the street. Ranger was making a timely appearance at Trenton PD with a skip we'd been keeping on ice in the holding cells for the express purpose. Keeping an FTA prisoner overnight, $50. Capturing Abruzzi's shocked expression, including electronics and labor for monitors on five of his buildings, $1,550. Eliminating Ranger from the list of possible suspects, priceless.

Abruzzi was taken by surprise. He didn't have time to gather his cash. Minutes after Abruzzi escaped, Jimmie Smalls proudly marched back to his vehicle with a large duffel bag filled with the spoils of war. Smalls and his crew were long gone by the time the cops showed up. I played the tape back. Abruzzi was armed. A Glock was clearly visible in his right hand. Good. Abruzzi was on the run now, alone, with very few places to hide. He would have to lay low in one of his own buildings. Which was right where I wanted him.

I signed on to the Rangeman Network using Ranger's computer and pulled up the "activate camera" application. This baby is one of my favorites. Ranger left me the cell phone number Abruzzi had given Stephanie earlier, when he was pressuring her to give up Annie's whereabouts. I punched in the number, but saw only blackness. The inside of his pocket, no doubt, but there was audio. I heard the sound of a car engine. And swearing. Abruzzi was upset, and he still seemed to be alone. Good. I waited patiently. The car stopped. He got out. He talked to a door man, giving instructions that no one was to know he was in the building. He told someone to put the car in the garage. He took an elevator to what I guessed was the third floor, judging by the time it took. He entered a room, slammed and locked the door.

Finally, a glaring light appeared on the screen. Abruzzi's face swam into view for a second, reflected in the glass overlooking downtown Trenton as he searched for a number on the phone. He muttered "Emilio's" as he dialed. Emilio's was one of the bars with a back-room establishment I'd called earlier. They would probably recognize the number. It was going on six in the evening. They were open for sure. No answer. He tried again. Straight to voice mail.

While Abruzzi was standing in the window, I searched the other dedicated camera feeds until I found him on the fourth floor of an apartment building. The camera was labeled "Building Two". This made me smile. Ranger had good instincts. Abruzzi's next stop would probably be "Building Three".

He dialed a couple social clubs. When he finally succeeded in reaching a live person, he got an ear-full from an elderly man who misunderstood the gossip about the girl. He was going to town, cussing Abruzzi for being a sex offender.

"What the hell is going on around here?" Abruzzi bellowed to no one in particular as he disconnected the call.

While he cursed and complained, he searched for another number, this time pointing the camera down as he dialed. He had his wallet laid out on the counter next to a jigger of Scotch. I took a screen shot and zoomed in. A couple gold card numbers were visible, his driver's license, and I recognized the scarlet border on the edge of a local Madam's calling card. I took the opportunity to make my second move. Rangeman already had Abruzzi's Social Security number and other pertinents on file. A little over a year ago, a bench warrant had been issued on an unpaid parking ticket. It only took a few minutes for me to report the credit cards stolen. New cards would be issued, but he wouldn't receive them until next week. I informed the madam of Abruzzi's situation via one of her girls, thinking it a more natural method of dispensing reliable information, as well as relieving my own tension. The price for a verbal rapport sexuel, $150. Money well spent, let me tell you. Especially since I put it on Abruzzi's cancelled gold card. The Madam would pay close attention to what the girl had to say when the charges were reversed. No more nookie from this cookie.

Abruzzi had calmed down. I needed to stir him up again, keep him anxious, unable to rest. I quickly memorized the credit card numbers, permanently cleared the data from Ranger's computer, and borrowed the green Explorer from the Rangeman garage.

I made my third move. I called Abruzzi on a burner phone while circling Trenton on the highway, so the signal was bouncing off several signal towers. I didn't bother trying to bounce the signal around the globe. No one would be tracing the call anyway.

"Yeah?" Abruzzi growled when he finally picked up.

"Game on," I cooed into the phone.

"Jimmie, you sick little bastard. I'm gonna kill you," Abruzzi hissed, drawing out each syllable with menace.

"You and what army? Seems like you're running low on protection. You alone?" I asked, letting my Cuban accent slip out on purpose.

"Manoso," he croaked, assuming I was Ranger.

"You wish," I said with a purely Jersey accent, taunting him, my wicked smile being conveyed by my voice.

That caught him off guard. He was silent, calculating his response.

"You're in a tight spot," I suggested, my voice forceful, planting the thought deep in his mind. "Trying to kill an innocent child. Pre-meditated. After forcing her to watch her father murdered. And what about her mother? What will you do to her mother before you decide the girl's telling the truth? Oh, my," I said, suggestively. "Most of your employees are ex-cons. Won't take kindly to that. And all to recover a worthless piece of tin. You're the sick little bastard. You'll be lucky if your men don't kill you themselves."

Silence.

"You're dead. Think anyone will miss you?" I asked, letting that idea creep into his mind. "Nah."

More silence. He was thinking hard now.

"I've got a lot of powerful friends in this town," he spat back.

"Name them."

"Who the hell are you? You know who you're dealing with, pal?," he asked, trying to sound menacing, but falling short.

"Oh, I know who I am. And I know exactly who I'm dealing with. The question is, do you know who you are?"

"Say what?"

"You think no one's noticed you're crazy? Dressing up like a historical figure? That's something you see in the loony bin. Don't you ever stop and think about what that looks like?"

I count to three, and hit him again.

"Superstitious, crazy…they call that eccentric. Those things are easy to overlook for money. But murder, that takes more money. And you have enough money even for that. Enough money to pay a bear and a rabbit to do your dirty work. But, they can't spend the money, cause they're dead. Wasn't Leo Klug your right hand man, your trusted confidant? You were so close. But the moment he failed you, you left his body to rot unclaimed at the morgue. And he's not the only one. So much for loyalty. Your men know what to expect from you now. I'll bet they're open to new opportunities, if you know what I mean. Bountiful new opportunities."

"Are you saying there's a price on my head?" he choked.

"You know, it's bad enough that you went after the girl. But then, you threatened a bounty hunter with an impressive record for tripping over dead bodies. This girl is intimate with a Trenton police detective, and on friendly terms with a dozen or so other cops, not to mention she's related to Mayor Joe Juniak. Did you know that when you kidnapped and tortured her? I'm gonna bet you didn't do your homework. And you took her sister, too. That upped the ante. But you lost them, didn't you? Bested by a couple of Bettys. And to top it off, you spit in Manoso's face. There's a target painted on your back so big that you couldn't possibly pay any of your associates to remove it."

"You wish," Abruzzi growled.

"3555-2626-7425-1255. Cancelled. 4555-2377-1495-6384. Cancelled. NJ 45235174. Revoked. 800-555-1969. Good luck with that. And I'll just bet your having a hard time reaching your business associates this afternoon."

Rapid breathing on the other end. He recognized those numbers. OK, I was bluffing about the revoked driver's license, but the other three were easier to confirm, and he'd believe it. Now he couldn't call the cops. He would assume he would be arrested for an outstanding warrant thanks to Stephanie's cop connection.

"Shall I go on? You're a dead man, Eddie." I said slowly, conveying the message that his death would be even slower.

I could hear the mental toilet flush as so much that Abruzzi had built was whisked away, leaving him exposed with his pants down.

"What do you want?" he asked, suddenly the sweet soul of cooperation, as if I were offering him an alternative. He was ready to listen now.

"Me?" I smiled so wide he could hear it. "I want to watch."

Abruzzi threw his phone against the wall, smashing it and effectively disconnecting the call.

Check. But not quite checkmate.

His mind was surely racing now. Whether or not he recovered the medal was irrelevant. Either way, he had already lost face. He would never recover his "empire". At least, not in Jersey. Whether he believed I was Ranger or not didn't matter. Right now, Abruzzi would assume Rangeman knew where he was holed up, and he was considering all the ways we could make his death look like an accident. Gas explosion, electrocution, fire. But more likely, as local lore would lead one to believe, Abruzzi would be abducted and shipped to a third-world country, where, if he survived the trip, he would be tortured to death, never to be seen or heard from again.

At this point, Abruzzi could come to only one conclusion. He was about to fight his own Waterloo. Who would be loyal to him? Who could he trust? Who could be controlled? Paranoia should be gripping him now. His most capable henchmen would be able to overtake him. His hired muscle could be compromised. That only left him with a few crack heads and degenerates. He'd have to make due. He needed to keep moving. But first, he needed money.

I was back in Ranger's office, watching the cameras on building two with Ranger beside me. I was sure Abruzzi had items of value in his penthouse that he could quickly turn to cash. I dialed up the three most likely local fences and caught one on his way up to see Abruzzi. After being brought up to speed on Abruzzi's unfortunate position, with particular emphasis on the part about a pissed-off Morelli being involved, the fence cancelled the meeting and a notice was posted on an exclusive internet bulletin board. Now, Abruzzi couldn't even afford to show his face at a pawn shop. A good fence would know the value of goods is directly proportional to the need. If Abruzzi went himself, he was in danger of losing his life. If he sent a loser, he was in danger of getting shafted by the fence. He was going to get very little on the dollar either way. And on top of all that, he'd have to trust the crack head or degenerate to bring the money back to him. Not likely. Still, he had to try.

Within an hour, we counted three couriers, each taking a different route. None returned. By midnight, the stark reality of the situation had dawned on Abruzzi. We could see him through the lobby doors on the camera. He'd decided not to stay the night in the building. He had his car brought around, then thought better of driving it. He paid the attendant to circle the block ten times, just to be sure it was safe to drive.

While Abruzzi's car was still circling, I got back in the Explorer and made for his building. I was tailing Abruzzi as he got behind the wheel and tore away. I had a scanner running that could intercept his calls and give me his new cell number while he was on it. Took a few minutes to isolate his signal, but I got it. We drove around aimlessly while Abruzzi dialed one building manager after another. I got Abruzzi's new number. Abruzzi's calls almost always went to voice mail. When they didn't, the person on the other end pretended they couldn't hear due to bad reception and hung up. Finally, Abruzzi started looking for a place off the grid to spend the night, someplace he considered safe. Each time he circled a hotel or motel, I called it in. Within minutes, a shiny black Rangeman SUV would pull up curbside. Abruzzi spooked every time and drove on. Finally, he started calling old girlfriends. No takers. These gals were only interested in what they could get, and the stress in Abruzzi's voice promised nothing but trouble. The crying and begging was a good sign. Almost there.

Soon we were back on the highway. I guessed he was headed for the airport and called it in. By the time we arrived, there was a Rangeman vehicle parked by each loading area, and Tank and Ranger stood impressively silhouetted against the runway lights nearby. I could practically hear him screaming as he pounded the roof with his fist once we were back on the highway.

It was going on 3am, and I was tired of playing games. Besides, we were both low on gas. If he were smart, he'd use the cash in his wallet to fill his gas tank and drive as far as it would take him. Then, in the morning, he would access his bank accounts, and start shopping for new toy soldiers that had never heard of Ranger Manoso. I couldn't let that happen.

Time for checkmate. I dialed the burner phone I'd left with Ranger. It rang three times before I hung up.

Then I dialed Abruzzi.

"It's me again," I cooed into the phone. "All this running around for nothing. You must be completely exhausted. Just like your options."

"How'd you get this number?" he rasped into the phone. "Who are you?"

"When you went after Annie, you gave me your number," I said, thick Cuban accent, leaving no question as to my intention. I was the grim reaper. "And when you call the bank to wire your money, I'll have that number too," I promised. "And when you can't pay your newly hired help, they'll kill you. And I'll watch."

"No," he said. "You have no reason to do this. I haven't hurt the girl. She's in no danger from me. I swear. She can keep the damn medal. And I'll buy Manoso a new truck. I'll do anything, anything you say. Please." He was breaking, pleading for his life.

"You've already hurt the girl, and first chance you get, you'll go after that medal." I wasn't offering him a deal. My mind was made up. The world was better off without Abruzzi.

"What do you want?" he gasped, at the end of his rope. Maybe he'd finally recognized that he was a pathetic little man living a delusion of grandeur, in New Jersey of all places. He wasn't a military leader of legendary proportions, and he never would be. He was a joke. And not even a good one. "Just tell me what you want."

"To watch you die, tonight," I reminded him, the tone of my voice truthful and genuine. I wasn't playing anymore.

"No!" he yelled, clinging to the last shred of pride he possessed.

"Then be the master of your own destiny," I challenged. "You have five minutes."

Best not to let him think about it too long.

His Lincoln tore off the road and across the Farmer's Market parking lot.

"No, no, no," he muttered under his breath, the line still open. "You won't take me alive."

"Good decision," I encouraged.

I disconnected and set my stopwatch for five minutes. I carefully circled the block, looking for a good parking place on a side street. Sitting in front of a line of row houses, I attracted no attention. I pulled a pair of binoculars from the glove compartment and watched. Abruzzi was parked under a lamppost. It looked like he was writing something. Even if he pointed the finger to Ranger, it wouldn't stick. At that very moment, Tank and Ranger were escorting escaped felon number two from an apartment we'd had under surveillance all day. This apartment building had security monitors, and there were two businesses across the street with active street cams that would provide confirmation. On their way to the cop shop, Tank and Ranger would pass no less than a dozen traffic cams. Bobby was on deck in the control room, and I was the last person Morelli would think of checking into. I wasn't sure he even knew my name.

Five minutes were up. I dialed Abruzzi's number, my eyes still glued to his silhouette as the phone rang. The muzzle flash and splatter of blood was unmistakable. The deed was done.

Personally, I was feeling a little disappointed as I drove away. After all, he'd made me call him back, so it took me five moves rather than four, by my count. If you want to get technical and count all the phone calls I made, it's even less impressive. But, it was still a pretty good job for such short notice.

I followed a red glow that had crept in along the skyline and was rewarded for my efforts. I tossed the burner phone into a car that was engulfed in flames down on lower Stark. Then, I called Ranger on my work phone.

"Yo," he answered.

"You owe me breakfast," I told him. "Meet me at Denny's off Route 1."

"Fine." And he disconnected, sounding relieved.

Denny's. Not Ranger's favorite place. Too pedestrian. But, it's got cameras and witnesses that would testify to our state of mind. Tired from a long night's work. Satisfied to have brought in the bad guy. Three men packing heat, bonding over egg whites and bran flakes. Healthy and wholesome. Nothing out of the ordinary for Rangeman.

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