Chapter 1

I'll never know exactly how I became a blackmailer. I'm a reasonably honest guy. I'm kind to animals (except in hunting season). I don't cheat (much) on my taxes. I go to church fairly often (and yes- more than Christmas and Easter). I'm loyal to my friends and I donate to charity (Salvation Army).

So why did I become a blackmailer? I could give you a lot of excuses. Maybe it was because of the hypocrisy of my victim. Maybe it was some deep psychological flaw in my character. Maybe. If I had to pin it down, I'd just say it was because I got mad, and because I could.

It all started on a bright early fall day in the little river valley town I grew up in. I was walking along, a bit distracted, on my way to have a cup of coffee and a slice of pie at the Center Diner. As I turned the corner onto Bank Street- I was roused from my musing by a chant coming from a small group of people in front of Dave's Video.

"No porn!"

"Protect our kids!"

"Stop the smut!"

There were a half-dozen people walking back and forth in front of Dave's door carrying homemade signs and repeating their chants.

Now, Dave is an old friend of mine. He's an ex-Navy Seal who looks like a refugee from a hippie commune of the 60's. He runs a little video rental shop, even though he has no need for the money. He's one of the most generous guys I've ever met. He sponsors a Little League team, a Midget League football team, and gives to practically anyone who walks in the door. He's a member of about every civic organization in town and he's on almost every town government committee.

His store always has free coffee, Kool-Aid and popcorn for customers, and it has become a place for kids to hang out and play the video game machines. He also has an "adult" video section. To get in, you have to walk by the counter, and if Dave (or his employees) don't know you, you have to show an ID to prove you're 18. I've never heard anyone complain about it, and Dave once told me privately that I'd be amazed at who rents porno.

"Johnny- it's amazing. I see little old ladies renting Bondage flicks, married couples renting gay flicks, and I've had several ummmm "men of the cloth" renting some pretty raunchy stuff."

All this ran through my head as I looked over the little bunch of protesters. I didn't recognize most of them, but two of them were, unfortunately, my neighbors.

Jerry and Sherry Lewis- two of the most humorless, stingy, colorless, unsocial people I'd ever had the misfortune to meet, sharing the names of famous comedians. They were, to put it mildly, extremely religious. He was a pallid, slightly pudgy, stoop-shouldered man. Balding, with a thin mustache and beady eyes peering out from behind thick, wire-rimmed glasses, he looked like a rat disguised as a human being. Sherry was a somewhat dumpy-looking woman with lifeless red hair. She wore black-rimmed glasses and dull-colored, shapeless dresses that hugged the ground. She reminded me of a mouse- scurrying around doing all the work of the household, totally browbeaten by her husband.

They lived a couple houses down from me on the other side of the street in a small white cinder-block house. He was the manager of the parts department of a local car dealer and she spent her days in housekeeping, gardening and being choir director in their church. They kept to themselves, rarely even acknowledging their neighbors. It was typical of them that at Halloween they handed out religious tracts about "Satan's Day" to the kids.

All this passed through my mind as I watched them pace the sidewalk.

I decided to see what Dave thought of all this, so I waited for an opening and slipped between Jerry and Sherry and headed for the door.

"Fornicator", shouted Sherry.

"Whoremonger", Jerry bellowed in my ear.

I turned and smiled sweetly at him.

"Go screw yourself," I said in my most pleasant voice as I opened the door and stepped inside.

I caught a glimpse of his face reflected in the door. Incredulity followed by rage flashed across it.

I smiled and thought to myself "well, my day hasn't been a total waste, I've annoyed Jerry anyway".

Dave was sitting behind the counter watching the scene on the street through the windows. His clerk Tom was busy putting videos back on the racks.

"Hi Johnny" he said " I see you've met my new friends out there".

"Yeah Dave, I don't think I endeared myself to Jerry, either"

"Well Johnny, I don't think anyone is going to shed any tears if Jerry is pissed off".

"I hear that!" I replied " Has it hurt your business, and when did they start this crap?"

"Nahhhh, they haven't kept anybody out. The started this yesterday morning- I think they're hoping for some TV time out of it."

I laughed "So he doesn't know that the news director at WPJT went to school with you?"

"No, and don't you tell him either" Dave ordered, " I want them to be out there in the thunderstorm we're supposed to get this afternoon".

"Dave, you're a hard man" I chuckled "I knew there was something I liked about you".

"You mean, aside from keeping Jack Thomas from kicking your skinny ass when he thought you were after his girlfriend?"

"Yeah, aside from that", I answered.

"Want to walk down to the diner and have a cup of coffee and a piece of pie with me?" I asked, "Tom can watch the store for a few minutes, unless you think the God Squad out there is going to batter the door down."

"Well, maybe I'll walk down there with you, but I don't think I'm going to have anything to eat- I haven't felt too good all day. It's like I have a big gas bubble right here", he said, pointing to the bottom of his breastbone."

"Dave, that's not where indigestion hurts!" I said. "Indigestion hurts here- in your stomach! How long has this been going on?"

"Since a little after I got up, it's actually gotten a little worse in the last hour."

I took a closer look at him. His color was a little ashen.

"Let me take your pulse, Dave", I said. "I don't like the way you look just now."

"Well, you're no beauty queen yourself, you know" he said with a weak grin.

I took his wrist in my hand and found his radial pulse with my index finger. His skin was a little cool and clammy. His nail beds were a bit bluish and capillary refill was slow.

While I counted his pulse, I also looked at his breathing. It was too fast about 18 breaths per minute and a little shallow. His pulse was 124 and slightly thready, and once in a while I felt a bit of a skip in it...

I let Dave's wrist go and picked up the phone on the counter.