You just don't say no to the Rappin' Granny.

Yes, the case was unusual -- highly unusual. Well outside of my regular area, but when the Rappin' Granny calls, you had better answer. Actually, the call came from her assistant, Dylan. I wasn't sure if that was his first name or his last, and I didn't care. The Rappin' Granny was rich. Filthy rich from years of awkwardly rapping in every kind of comedy: the ones where a nutty white guy spikes the punch at a stuffy upper-class party and then everyone does the "electric slide," the ones where a nutty black guy suddenly comes into money and gets all wacky at stuffy high-society parties... You name it. She's done 'em all.

Dylan greeted me at the door and he led me to her study. It was obvious he didn't like me. Inside, the room was illuminated only by a crackling fire. The Rappin' Granny was seated in a wheelchair with a blanket over her legs. I took her outstretched hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Granny."

"Thank you for coming. Would you like me to throw down a little 'Rapper's Delight' for you?" Before I had the chance to answer, she started in with her trademark routine: "I said a hip hop, the hippie to the hip hop..."

"Please, no. That's not necessary."

I could see her visibly relax. "Oh, thank God. I do so tire of that, but everyone seems to expect it, so I try to get it out of the way early. Ernie couldn't stand it either."

"Ernie, that's your husband?" I asked.

"Yes. 'Ernie the Disbelieving Drunk' was his stage name. His job was to drunkenly stagger onto the scene of very unlikely events -- alien abductions, men who can fly, that sort of thing -- shake his head in disbelief, and swear then and there to give up drinking. He passed away on Thursday. I guess decades of drunken staggering got the better of him. He had pancreatitis, acute cirrhosis, high blood pressure, and Wernicke-Korsakoff syndrome when he died."

"What a horrible way to go."

"Actually," Dylan interjected, "he was crushed by a giant grasshopper."

"Oh."

Dylan held out a video tape. The label was missing. "We found this in his safe. We were hoping you could tell us what it is."

"Well, it's a VHS videotape. You can record movies or TV programs, and then play them back at a later date. You see, in the 80s, there were two formats, VHS and Betamax, but Sony wouldn't..."

He stopped me. "Yes, we know that. Where did it come from?"

"Singapore, most likely."

Dylan shook his head. "Just go watch it."

In the next room, I slipped the tape into a waiting VCR. Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw next. It was a movie. A Nicholas Cage movie. 8MM. Why on earth did the old man have this? It was... awful. 8MM tells the story of Tom Welles, a private investigator who lives in Dismal, Ohio, where he does detectivey things. Tom is married to Catherine Keener, who spends all her time standing around and saying "I love you" wistfully to Tom, so you know things are going to get ugly. He gets hired to discover whether an old snuff film is real or not, so he seeks out the most depressing, poorly lit locations on the planet. Along the way, he finds out that the world is an awful place filled with horrible people who have no redeeming value, except for porn store clerks, who are kinda nice. Only then the horrible people kill the porn store clerk and threaten his family, so he has to set them on fire and/or stab them. The horrible people, not his own family -- although that was apparently the original ending. I hear it tested poorly.

Even worse, at one point, I'm pretty sure you can see Cage's... giblets.

Looking for a gun to put in my mouth, I wound up back in the study with Dylan and Rappin' Granny. Clearly, they knew what I was going through. "What... kind of monster...?" was all I could manage. Dylan helped me to a chair and gave me some water.

"I need answers," Granny said. "Where did it come from? "

"I'll do what I can."

My first stop was my local dealer, Kenny. If anyone would know about this movie, it was him. When I got there, I could see this was going to be tricky. The Blockbuster was packed. I bided my time, loading my arms up with Nicolas Cage movies -- CON AIR, FACE/OFF, FAMILY MAN -- and waited until the coast was clear. Then I saw my chance.

"Big Nic Cage fan, huh?" Kenny said. He took the bait.

"Yeah. Yeah." Deep breath. "Got any harder stuff?"

"We don't rent porn, sir."

"No," I said. "Harder stuff. Nicolas Cage harder stuff."

He stopped scanning movies and looked around. His voice got hushed. "Sure you can handle it?"

"I'm sure."

Moments later, I was back at the Rappin' Granny's door, breathless. Dylan showed me to the back.

"Blockbuster," I said, between heavy breaths. "You... can get it at... Blockbuster!" I held up a DVD copy of the movie, triumphantly.

I could see Dylan shaking his head. He started to say something to Granny: "Maybe..." He trailed off.

"No," she said. She looked at me. "We want to know, who would make such a thing? And why?"

I could see this was going to be harder than I thought. I was going to have to see Kenny one more time.

"No refunds!" he shouted when he saw me coming. He made a beeline to the back room. I got there before him.

"Where did you get this?! Who's your source, man?"

"C-Columbia," he managed to stutter. "All the hard stuff comes from Columbia Pictures!"

The kid spilled his guts. Turns out this Schumacher guy is a serial sicko. If it's got nipples and guys in masks, he's all over it. And it turns out Ernie isn't alone in this. People, regular people more or less, eat this stuff up. "Why? Why?" I asked no one in particular.

"People are into some sick stuff, man. Who knows? This Schumacher guy, he's just going to keep making movies, and they'll have more guys with masks and bigger nipples. And then the next guy has to have even more masks and even bigger nipples still. It never ends. And that's how people like it."

I knew what had to be done. "Come on, Kenny. We've got work to do."

It didn't take much. Turns out Blockbuster is full of all sorts of flammable stuff. The place went up like a dream. While Kenny and I watched it burn, I called the Rappin' Granny and said she could keep her money.

"What money?" she said.

Oh. Right.

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