They Ate the Waitress Read online

  Moments later, a white convertible rolled into the lot. A woman in a lime green pantsuit, apparently the claims adjuster, hopped out and brought Todd some papers to sign: “Acknowledgement of fire fighting attempt”, “Waiver of water damage claims”, and “Withdraw of fire damage claims in the event the fire was started by a malfunctioning Schlock Products™ freezer/oven combo.”

  The firefighters and their machine managed to extinguish the blaze before it spread beyond Todd’s office. They covered the burned area in yellow warning signs and stapled plastic sheeting in place to keep out the rain and insects. As the bomb had struck a load-bearing wall, they also brought in a pair of hydraulic jacks to support the roof until repairs could be made.

  As the firefighters finished up the job, the driver invited the captain to come relax with the team at a strip club. “How is that relaxing?” he asked. “Watching people slide down poles just reminds me of work.”

  Once they were alone, Todd gestured for Nick to come closer. “I believe I know who started the blaze,” he said, his voice strained from coughing. “Unless I miss my guess, there is a good chance they were also involved in Renée’s murder.”

  “Well, don’t keep it to yourself, Sweeney! Who was it?”

  “Scunner Consulting. It is a social activist group headed by a man named Reid Mason. They protest businesses all over the country: zoos, chicken farms, that genetics lab that makes the apples that taste like bacon… and, lately, Hand to Mouth. Mason claims that he has nothing personal against me, he just hates my restaurant. He finds it disgusting, the rich eating the poor. He even writes articles about it for the newsfeeds. I believe the last one was called ‘An Immodest Proposal.’”

  “And you think he hates it enough to have Flockhart killed?” Nick asked. “How can anyone hate something that much without being married to it?”

  “He has tried to put a stop to the restaurant many, many times, but nothing has worked. Perhaps he finally resorted to murder. And now, arson.” Todd sighed, staring at the hole where his office used to be.

  “If he did it, I’ll find proof. – For the right price, I can prove it’s him, even if he’s innocent.” Of course, Nick was just joking. Mostly.

  Nick smiled, putting away his notebook. “Hey, I know what will cheer you up… A circus ringmaster hires a new performer. That night, the owner of the circus comes to watch the new act. The performer walks to the center ring, grabs a man from the audience, and takes a bite out of his neck. The owner says to the ringmaster, ‘Damn it, I told you to hire a human cannonball!’”

  Todd was too depressed to laugh.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nick contacted Scunner Consulting the next morning, aiming his transmitter high enough to make sure that no one could see he hadn’t bothered to put on pants. The organization’s logo appeared above his palm, a shiny, happy-looking globe with the letters “SC” suspended behind it. The logo dissolved, replaced by a woman’s cheery face. She wore thick-framed, fashion-statement-only glasses and earrings that resembled tiny, silver wind chimes.

  “Scunner Consulting!” she chirped. “My name is Judy. How can I help you?” Her smile was far too wide for so early in the day.

  “Hello there, Judy. My name is Dr. Glen Ridwick. I’m interested in doing some volunteer work with your organization.”

  “Oh, you’re a doctor? Great! I’ve got this mole that I’ve been worried about… Hold on, I’ll move the camera.”

  “Actually, I’m a veterinarian. So I’m afraid I can’t help, unless the mole is burrowing in your garden.” It was a half-hearted joke, but she laughed hysterically. He wondered if she wore the wind chimes to take advantage of the breeze blowing through her ears.

  “A pet doctor? Oh, good. My cat has been having problems, too. This morning, he coughed up something that might have been a lizard.” She reached for her purse. “I’ve got some photos…”

  For an uncomfortable twenty minutes, he improvised what he hoped was good medical advice. Finally, Judy made an appointment for him to speak to Reid Mason. Reid was a busy man and couldn’t see Nick until Monday.

  Ending the transmission, Nick realized he had a message. Someone had tried to reach him while he had been talking to Judy.

  A man in a ski mask appeared above his palm. A grainy, black-and-white hologram, undoubtedly from a public transmitter booth. “Mr. Wergild,” he said, his voice electronically disguised, “we have kidnapped Gabrielle. If you ever want to see her again, bring five million dollars to the docks. Come tonight at seven, alone. Look for the building with brown stripes.” He paused, listening to someone off camera. “Apparently the stripes are more of a burnt sienna. Either way, we’re watching you. Call for help and she’s dead.”

  “Why the hell do they think I have five million dollars?” Nick wondered. “And why would I trade it for a woman who has already tried to kill me? Why would I trade it for any woman, when I could use it to buy a really nice boat?”

  He replayed the message, watching for any clues. As public transmitter booths were intended for emergencies, they automatically broadcasted their locations. Unfortunately, the information was of no help. As he expected, the booth was at the docks, too.

  “Whoever they are, this has to be connected to Renée’s murder. I have to help Gabrielle before she gets killed too. …How much do you charge someone for rescuing her from kidnappers? If she won’t pay me, can I give her back?”

  ◊

  The sun slid away, plunging the city into darkness. A bitter wind came up from Portland, carrying dark clouds and rain. As his car drifted slowly over the waterlogged streets, he forced himself not to think about where the rest of the night might take him. He left the car in a back alley and walked the last few blocks to the harbor, a large, steel suitcase under his arm. It was heavy, around sixty pounds, the weight of five million dollars in rhodium coins. However, not having five million dollars to spare, it was actually filled with rocks.

  A rundown factory squatted at the end of the street. A flickering lamppost shed just enough light to read the tin sign over the door: “Caries Candy Company.” He pulled a pair of binoculars from his jacket and took a closer look. “This must be the place,” he thought. “Although, the stripes are more of a mahogany than a burnt sienna…” The parking lot was empty, the building dark. A man in a ski mask stood guard by the door. Oddly, he was facing the wrong direction, towards the sea.

  Nick crept down the street, careful not to make any noise that might draw the lookout’s attention. Finally, he stood at arm’s length to the masked man, who still hadn’t moved. Nick leaned back and swung the heavy suitcase, hitting him in the back of the skull. The man’s head flew off, landing several feet away.

  “It’s a dummy,” he thought, dropping the suitcase in shock. “A mannequin. That means this is a–” A black dart stabbed him in the arm. “– trap.”

  ◊

  Nick opened his eyes, choking. He was on the floor of a small, dimly lit room that was rapidly filling with warm liquid. Stumbling to his feet, he leaned against the wall, coughing the stuff from his lungs. The thick, brown liquid was coming from a steel pipe jutting from the wall ten feet above him.

  “What is this gunk?” he thought, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The taste was familiar. “Oh, chocolate! Thank god. That could have been so much worse…” He rubbed his arm, still sore from the tranquilizer dart. “So, apparently the kidnappers made me come all the way out to a candy factory just to drown me in melted chocolate. Why not use a gun? Maybe they were trying to make my death look like a highly-improbable accident…Have to figure things out later. This syrup is already up to my knees.”

  At one point, the room must have been used as a secure storage closet. The door was reinforced steel and equipped with a biometric lock. Unfortunately, it was impossible to use lock picks on a fingerprint scanner. The room was windowless, the only light coming from a bare bulb near the ceiling. The walls were wood covered in peeling, green paint and old adverti
sements for candy. Unlike the thin plaster of his apartment building, these walls looked too solid to kick through.

  “I’d better get some help. Wait, where’s my transmitter? Damn them. They must have taken it.” He emptied his pockets, looking for anything that might help. His laser stunner was gone, as well. He had a cigarette lighter, half a pack of cigarettes, his money pouch, and a set of lock picks. Unfortunately, he had left his battering ram in his other pants.

  The chocolate splashed at his waist.

  He lit a cigarette and blew the smoke at the ceiling. A shrill alarm buzzer sounded. “I have no idea where the nearest fire station is. If the fire department doesn’t get here soon, I’m going to drown. I already know what the newsfeed headlines will say: ‘Death by Chocolate.’”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Oh, god, it hurts to breathe. And that’s pretty much the least strenuous thing you can do…” Nick lay on a hospital gurney, his face covered with an oxygen mask. He had inhaled so much chocolate that it felt like there was an Easter basket lodged in his lungs. A paramedic mentioned that breathing chocolate, while not recommended, was not nearly as bad as some of the things people did to their bodies for fun. Also, it was better to do it in smoke form, rather than liquid. Nick thanked him for his advice and suggested that he go have marital relations with a wood chipper.

  A security patrol was busying itself inside the factory, examining the gunk-coated room. Someone had done hours of serious plumbing work to pipe in the chocolate, but had managed to avoid leaving behind any fingerprints, hairs, or other evidence. There was no trace of Gabrielle anywhere. On the plus side, the factory smelled delicious.

  After a brief examination, the paramedic declared Nick fit to drive home. Tired as he was, his first concern was not getting chocolate on the upholstery. Fortunately, he always kept an emergency “in case I wake up and can’t remember where I am” bag in the trunk. He changed clothes in the back of the ambulance and tossed his chocolate-coated clothing into a nearby dumpster.

  Back at his apartment, he collapsed on the couch and fell into a fitful sleep. An hour later, his convalescence was interrupted by a transmission from the captain of the security patrol. “I have some good news, Mr. Wergild. We have located your kidnap victim.”

  “You found Gabrielle?” He bolted upright, nearly knocking over the coffee table in front of the couch. “Did you catch the kidnappers? Did they hurt her? Is she going to pay me?”

  “She was at home. When I asked her about the kidnapping, she had no idea what I was talking about. She had spent the evening performing at a nightclub on the other side of Vancouver.”

  “Oh, holy hell… I can’t believe this! Does she have any witnesses?”

  “Two hundred and forty-three.” Grinning, he added, “Would you like their transmission frequencies?”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” he said glumly, pushing himself up from the couch. “Did Gabrielle have any idea why the kidnappers would have called me and not a relative?”

  “She said most of her family lives in another state.”

  “Oh, alright. Thanks for your help.”

  “No thanks necessary,” the captain said. “You’ll be getting quite the hefty bill in the morning.”

  Nick switched off his transmitter and trudged off to bed. “Maybe she doesn’t have anything to do with these attempts on my life after all. Maybe the phony kidnapper is one of my old enemies, someone I arrested years ago. Or it’s Renée’s killer trying to get rid of me before I solve the case. Or an ex-girlfriend. Or grandma…”

  ◊

  The next morning, Nick was taking a bath when he was struck by a sudden flash of brilliance. He leapt out of the tub, dripping wet and covered in soap, and rushed into the kitchen. Grabbing his transmitter, he contacted the captain of the security patrol. “What is Gabrielle’s last name?!”

  The sound of fingers tap dancing across a keyboard. “My records show her full name is… Gabrielle Valula Fairbanks. Why?”

  “I’ll tell you later.” He returned to the bathroom and hopped back into the tub. Sadly, the bubbles had dissolved. With a sigh, he let out the water and showered off the soap. Ten minutes later, he was dry, dressed, and on his way to Gabrielle Fairbanks’ gargantuan house.

  He parked across the street, grabbed his spare laser stunner from the glove compartment, and cautiously crept to her yard, hiding behind a tree. The front door banged open and a portly man in an ill-fitting security guard uniform stepped outside. Trudging across the grass, the guard scanned the area for any signs of an intruder. Spying Nick’s car, he reached for his transmitter.

  Before the guard could call out a warning, Nick stepped out from behind his tree and fired. The guard collapsed, shaking violently. Moving quickly, Nick grabbed the guard’s handcuffs and secured his hands behind his back.

  A few minutes later, the guard reluctantly returned to consciousness. Nick grabbed the guard’s transmitter from his belt and pressed it to his face. “You have a choice,” he growled. “You can call Ms. Fairbanks and tell her to come outside, or I can kick your fat head in until the lawn is covered in brains.”

  “What was the first choice again?”

  Nick gave the guard a little extra encouragement in the form of a boot to the solar plexus. At last, he did as ordered. After another stunner blast, Nick dragged him to the front porch, hiding behind the front door. Moments later, Gabrielle joined her security guard on the ground. Nick dragged his unconscious prisoners into the kitchen, dropping them roughly into Gabrielle’s high-backed, wooden chairs. He handcuffed the comatose couple and waited for them to regain consciousness.

  “Nick?” Gabrielle moaned. “I can’t believe you still think I’m trying to kill you. As I told the security patrolmen, I had nothing to do with your little adventure at the candy factory. I have plenty of witnesses.”

  “I know you’re lying!” Nick pulled a box of toothpicks from a cabinet. Grabbing the guard’s wrist, he jammed one of the wooden slivers under his fingernail. The guard screamed in agony. “Now, tell me the truth.”

  “But you haven’t asked me anything!” the guard protested.

  “Not you,” Nick snapped. “Her. I’m too much of a gentleman to torture a woman. It’s just how I was raised.”

  “Nick, I am telling you the truth,” Gabrielle insisted. “Please believe me. I have no idea who’s been after you.”

  He jabbed another toothpick under the guard’s thumbnail, drawing pained howls. “I can torture him all day if I have to,” he said. “Your name is Fairbanks. I left your sister at the altar, arrested your father, and turned him over to the authorities wearing nothing but leather bondage gear.”

  “Why were you wearing leather bondage gear?”

  “Not me. Him.” He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “But I’m sure you know all this. Your father must have called you from the nut house and told you all about me; that’s how you knew my real name. You knew how I hurt your family, and you were desperate for revenge.”

  “Of course I was!” she spat, struggling vainly against her restraints. “I despise you, Nick. It pained me to flirt with you, but I knew you were arrogant and stupid enough to fall for it. When you invited me over, I was certain you wanted me out of the house so you could search the place. So I left a window open, grabbed my pistol, and waited for you to arrive. It would have appeared as if I had simply killed a prowler. No arbitrator in the territories would have convicted me. For all I knew, I was about be raped! But I only tried to kill you one time. Get over it.”

  He took a moment to consider her explanation. “You sound like you’re telling the truth. But I’d better torture him a little more, just to be sure.”

  An hour of tormenting the guard did nothing to change Gabrielle’s story. Nick made a quick transmission to his lawyer, who drew up a contract for everyone to sign. In exchange for Gabrielle not pressing charges against Nick for breaking into her house, Nick agreed to not have her arrested for trying to kill him. The security guard
agreed to not press charges in exchange for three hundred dollars and a box of snack cakes. Nick didn’t want them anymore. They were chocolate.

  After everything was signed and stamped, Nick headed home. “The good news is that Gabrielle probably won’t try to kill me again. The bad news is that I still don’t know who the kidnapper was or why he tried to kill me. – God, I’m tired. I’m definitely taking tomorrow off.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Later that day, while waiting for his meeting with Reid, Nick passed the time at his computer reading the newsfeeds. The top story was the strained relations between the Republic of Texas and the United Territories of Alaska. The ROT felt that the UTA wasn’t exporting enough oil, and the UTA felt that the ROT didn’t appreciate how hard to was to get anything done when it was so damn cold all the time.

  The arts feed told of a scandal at a local gallery. They had made millions selling paintings supposedly created by an artistically-gifted horse that used her tail as a brush. However, a critic had discovered that the paintings were actually created by a classically trained artist who’d spent forty years studying Renaissance masterworks. Once the story hit the media, the gallery went out of business. The remaining paintings were sold to a fast food restaurant. Customers could get one free with the purchase of a large milkshake.

  The local crime newsfeed had a brief story about the fire at Hand to Mouth. The security patrol found a car matching the description Nick had given them. It was found a few blocks away from the restaurant, abandoned and on fire. The car had been stolen the day before from a family that lived nearby. Their insurance company had already announced that it was not going to pay, as there was no proof that the car hadn’t been on fire when they bought it.