The Case of the Missing Case

You can call me Vinnie. That's because nobody ever has before. I mean, like right now, called me Vinnie, that is.
It's tough not using your real name. But better Vinnie than what that bunch of fun loving Feds labeled my file. I am not Bait.
I am a professional, yeah. Not some worm stuck on a hook. Well, I am, a professional, that is. And if the Feds think I'm a prime example of low-life, then I say good. Good, 'cause that just means I'm good at what I do.
And I am good at it. Yup, I've nailed some really big players in my time.
OK, so you're asking yourself, how does a low-life like, ah, yeah, that Vinnie guy, rate getting all that free drugs? Yeah, lots of free drugs, free booze; free sex. All that Rock and Roll, ya know?
All that plus really great working hours and still stay on the Federal payroll? You know, like on your dime?
Well, hey man, I'll tell you straight, it ain't all that easy. There's talent involved. Lots of talent. That and a whole lot of experience.
And remember the downside, because there's always a downside. My job? Vinnie the Bait's job?
Well, it doesn't come with a 401k. Nope, no retirement package here. No parachute for this dude.
Nope.
Well, not a retirement package that the Feds are aware of, or at least I hope they aren't aware of.
Of course, that whole subject of retirement is, well, kind'a stupid given my line of work, I guess.
Well, this is just great, now I'm depressed. I guess it's time to get to work and beat back my feelings of depression with some serious Rock and Roll as in drugs, booze, sex, and, of course, acting like an asshole.
This time my name is Vinnie.
I just arrived. Where? Lake Placid.