Private Dick One: CSI

Coffee shops are a gathering place for the well to do public. Couples meet and singles mingle in a self-indulgent caffeine splendor. They pop up on every street corner but, in the city, all corners are not created equally. Even on a sunlit coffee shop patio, Paul and Linda are not as safe as they seem.

The pair look the picture of classic Americans plastered on propaganda posters. Hand and hand, they grasp two cups of java joy and find an empty table. Their love of the coffee beans and brand label retailers have brought them to this moment and all seem right with the world.

Yet the screech of tiers interrupts the silence as a van plows into the food court and shatters the tranquility. The vehicle jumps the steps, bounces the chaise with sickening metallic rake, and skids to a stop at the feet of our caffeine couple. The bistro tables are smashed against the front grill and splintered across the patio.

The van’s side door slides open and reveals a ski mask clad criminal with a semi automatic weapon. Muzzle flash leave a faint strobe effect against the sunlight as high velocity metal whistles thought the air and finds targets with deadly outcomes.

“Private Dick One, come in.”
“Private Dick One, over.”
“Red Alert, we got a 1620 over at the Java Jive on Elm and Main.”
“Copy that. We got it from here. Private Dick One, over.”

Scott Rand sat in the Captain’s chair, known as the helm of the mobile crime lab “Private Dick One,” and depressed the radio’s button on the chair’s console. Around him sat the best and brightest officers that Private Dick Protection Agency had to offer. Each one hand picked from a stack of applicants. They were the cream in his coffee of justice.

Private Dick One was armed with every trick in the trade. The self sustained, all terrain unit could launch a nuclear attack, aimed at itself, and survive the aftermath.

“Chip, how many angles do we have on the massacre from public cameras?”
“723″
“Skip the action and tell me which way the van left.”

“Mandy, keep an eye on the exit routes. Keep me posted on likely escape routes.”
“Will do, Scott.”

“Jerry, make and model of the van?”
“1983 GMC G-Series Van”
“The A-Team van!?!”
“What’s the A-Team?”
“Never mind.”

“Scott Pre-2000′s automobiles can’t be over-ridden.”
“Chip, I’m well aware of the limitations. Now, which way did they flee?”
“Left.”

“Scott, I got them on I-101.”
“Mandy, give me a run down on cars around. Give me the big ones.”
“Four semi-trucks on the south bound lane.”
“Send their information to my console.”

“Jerry, get control of CA 903ABG, IO 420 555, GA 666 MNM, and RI SDG RIG. Use the Patriot net to override the truck’s signal and we’ll box the van in.”
“Done and… done. They are slowing down by mile marker 178.”

“Mandy, call in a chopper.”
“Way ahead of you, Scott.”

By the time, Private Dick One pulls up to the scene of the crime, the assailants are apprehended by a drop squad, taken into custody, and in transit to be handed over to the police.”

“Good work, team.”
“Ahhh, Scott, one of the truckers was killed by random gun fire. We put him in the way of trouble.”
“Was he part of the Union?”
“Yeah. he also had 2.5 kids, a white picket fence, and a decent amount of debt. The wife is cute, too.”
“How close to retirement?”
“Two years off, he was about to cost the company a bundle.”
“Well then. All in a good days work. Add the death to the list of crimes committed by the assailants. I assume we have video of the shot, right?”
“2160 different angles.”
” Send a message to insurance and let them know we were in control of the truck at the time of death.”
“So the insurance won’t pay double?”
“Now, you’re learning rookie. let’s get a coffee.”

As the team exits Private Dick One, a Molotov cocktail is thrown into a window shop across the street. The tiny shop with a quint name goes up in flames. The team turns to watch. Mandy checks the name of shop against a list of Private Dick’s customers and shakes her head.

For Scott Rand, and the crew of Private Dick One, mom and pop stores are not on the agenda, they have bigger fish to fry.