They Ate the Waitress Read online

  “Wow. The contractor’s cheating you and your husband’s a murderer. Not the best day you’ve ever had, is it?”

  Arriving at the contractor’s office, Nick found Todd Sweeney arguing with a grotesquely overweigh man in paint-splattered overalls. “I do not want any bloody marble! Why the hell would anyone use marble on an office floor? Who do you think I am, the bloody Pope of Restaurateurs?”

  “Sweeney,” Nick interrupted. “I have a break in the case, which we should discuss in private. Come with me.”

  “Whatever it is, I am sure it can wait!”

  “Actually,” he said, drawing his stunner, “no, it can’t.”

  “Is that one of those electroshock guns?”

  “Yes. And, trust me, it hurts like hell. It also gives the arresting detective a great opportunity to abuse and/or humiliate you.”

  Todd rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “Let’s take my car.”

  Back at the restaurant, Margery was in Todd’s office, busy screaming orders at the repair crew. Nick took Todd to the lobby, where they could be alone, and handcuffed him to a chair. “Why did you kill Clayton West?”

  “What? I had no idea he was even dead.”

  “Don’t lie to me. You killed him, dragged his body to the restaurant, and tried to destroy the evidence in an industrial bread mixer! …Now there’s a sentence I never thought I’d say.”

  “There is a body in the bread mixer?” he sputtered, baffled. “How revolting! We usually just add little bits of meat for flavor. A whole person would just be unpleasant.”

  “It really is. And it smells awful.”

  “I understand how this appears to you, but I am not a bloody murderer!” he insisted, struggling against his bonds. “Anyone could have brought a body in here last night. In case you forgot, there is an entire wall missing!”

  “I know that. But you’re the one with a motive! You killed Clayton to cover up your attempt to frame him for the murder of Renée Flockhart, who you killed to cover up your affair!”

  “Why would I kill Renée to cover up my affair with Jessica?”

  “You’re sleeping with Flockhart and Campbell?”

  “No, just Jessica. …And my upstairs maid. And the girl at the drycleaner’s. And occasionally my wife. But mostly Jessica.” He shook his head sadly. “That first night you came to the restaurant, Jessica flirted with you to make me jealous. She gets upset with me, now and then, because I refuse to get a divorce.”

  “Why would someone bring a body in here if they knew you had security cameras?” Nick knew the answer, but he wanted to hear Todd say the words.

  “The cameras are decoys,” he reluctantly replied. “They move in response to motion, but they cannot actually record anything. Believe me, I may be cheating the insurance company, but I am no killer.”

  “Other than you, who knows about the fake cameras?”

  “With Renée gone, that just leaves–”

  “Might we have a word with you, Mr. Wergild?” Nick turned at the sound. It was Eric and Stanley, the authors/hitmen. They were standing in the doorway, grinning dementedly and holding pistols big enough to fire rail spikes, which they probably did. “This time,” Stanley said, “no mistakes. No catapults, no deathtraps, no longwinded and slightly clichéd explanations of our evil plans. Just us shooting you in the face.”

  “Out of all the people who have tried to kill me,” Nick said, forcing a smile, “You guys have been the most persistent. I say, after all that trouble, you deserve it. But can I offer you a suggestion first? Don’t shoot me here. The restaurant has an attached butcher shop.” He pointed to a door down the hall. “Why don’t you shoot me back there? The floor and tables are covered in human blood. A security patrol would never be able to isolate your DNA in all that mess. You’ll get away with murder, guaranteed.”

  Todd stared up at Nick like he had suggested that they all go skinny dipping in a swimming pool full of lemon juice and broken glass. “You must have one hell of a plan,” he whispered tensely.

  “Not really. But I’m sure I’ll think of something. If I don’t, at least I saved your carpet from some nasty stains.”

  Eric and Stanley conferred for a moment. “The butcher shop sounds like a good idea,” Eric said finally. He waved his pistol at Todd. “And your friend there is coming with us. We can’t have any witnesses. I’m sure you understand.”

  “Guys,” Nick said, “my employer here is handcuffed to a heavy chair. Being elderly and rather feeble, he can’t possibly drag it all that way. Would you mind if I released him?”

  “First,” Stanley said, “toss your stunner over here.” Nick pulled the black tube from his pocket and rolled it across the floor. “Now you can unlock the handcuffs. Slowly.”

  Nick fumbled in his pocket. “Where is that darn key? I can’t – Oh, here it is.” He unlocked Todd and retrieved his handcuffs from the back of the chair. “You know, you guys are better hitmen than I thought. You got inside without my seeing you; I never even had a chance to draw my weapon or trans security. Dozens of people – nay, hundreds – have tried to kill me, but it looks like you two will actually succeed.”

  “We don’t have time for this,” Stanley growled. “We need to kill you guys and dispose of your bodies before seven; we have dinner reservations.”

  The gunmen prodded Nick and Todd down the hall and into the butcher shop. Stanley gestured for them to stand by a huge, steel table, where Gordon’s work with the bone saw had covered the floor in a Rorschach test of dried blood. “Alright, who wants to go first?”

  Nick put up his hands. “Wait a second, guys. I have another idea.”

  “God, he’s just full of helpful tips,” Eric laughed. “Can you believe this guy?”

  “Even though the blood will take care of any DNA evidence, you should think about going to Canada for a few days, just to be on the safe side. The quickest way is probably to take I-205 North towards Seattle, and then take the exit onto the I-5. After that, you merge onto the–”

  “Hold on,” Eric said, “I want to write this down.” Nick described the entire drive to Canada, including several interesting places to go sightseeing along the way. He also recommended a few extended stay hotels and some nice places to eat in Alberta. “Thanks for the tips,” Eric said finally, “But now, we’re definitely going to have to kill you.” They cocked their gigantic guns.

  “Wait, wait!” Nick cried. “Don’t I get one last request?”

  “C’mon already!” Stanley snapped. “I’m really getting tired of this.”

  “Look in the freezer.”

  “That’s it?” he asked. “That’s the last thing you want in the world? And then you can die happy?”

  “I don’t know about ‘happy,’ but that’s it. Just look in the freezer.”

  “Fine,” Stanly sighed. “Eric, keep an eye on these two. This might be a trick.” Stanly shoved his gun in the waistband of his slacks and stepped over the walk-in freezer. Opening the door, he shivered in the chilly fog. “My god! What the hell is this? Are those..?”

  “What’s in there, Stan?” Eric asked. But Stanley just stood at the freezer door, staring blankly. Eric walked backwards across the room to his partner, waving his gun between Todd and Nick. He turned to look inside the freezer, and immediately had to vomit.

  “Sweeney, grab an end of this table,” Nick said quietly, “and follow my lead.”

  Before the hitmen could regain their composure, Nick and Todd tipped the table on its side, the heavy bone saw crashing to the floor. Using the table as a battering ram, they rushed at the two hitmen, knocking them into the freezer. Nick slammed the door, and he and Todd barricaded it with the table.

  “We need more weight against the door to keep them inside,” Todd said.

  “I don’t think so. They’re probably too panicked to look for the emergency release. Even if they know what kind of food you serve here, most people can’t handle seeing a frozen, skinless corpse hanging on a meat hook.”
r />   With a tremendous thud, the butcher shop’s doors broke free from their frames, clattering to the floor. A dozen men in white uniforms spilled into the room, guns drawn. “Happy Bunny Insurance! Move and you’re dead!”

  “About time you guys got here!” Nick yelled, disgusted. “I called ten minutes ago! I can get a pizza faster than this!”

  After the gunmen were taken into custody, the crime scene investigators collected their evidence and brief statements from Nick and Todd. They also questioned Margery but, as she had been busy berating the repair crew, she had heard nothing.

  Alone again, Todd invited Nick into the kitchen for a drink. “You may have almost gotten me killed,” Todd said, “but, you also saved my life. For that, I feel I owe you a scotch. – Oh, in all the confusion, I forgot to ask: How in the bloody hell did you get a security patrol here?”

  Nick smiled, feeling like a magician being asked about a trick. “When I reached into my pocket for the key, I switched on my transmitter. The sound was muffled by my pocket, but the patrol could hear everything I said.”

  He emptied his glass and slid it across the counter for a refill. “Now I have a question for you: Other than you, your wife, and Flockhart, who else knew about your phony security cameras?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “We set this up pretty quickly,” Margery said. “Do you think we have time for you to go over what happened?”

  Nick and Margery were sitting in the offices of Buckley Arbitration, waiting for the rest of the group to arrive. The office was one immense room with a long, mahogany conference table stretching down the center. Several of the chairs were equipped with manacles for securing dangerous suspects. The manacles on the other chairs were purely for decoration. Overhead, three cameras recorded the proceedings.

  He checked his watch. “It looks like we have time for a denouncement. But first, you’ll be interested to hear that I have a video recording of your husband’s interrogation. He admits to having an affair with Jessica Campbell. If you want the video file, it’ll cost you ten grand.”

  “Fine,” Margery said bitterly. With a couple of clicks on her transmitter, she made a deposit in Nick’s bank account. “I can get rid of him and that damn restaurant by the end of the month. Several of those giant box stores want the land the restaurant is on; it should go for about three million at auction.”

  “Scunner Consulting wanted some information on the restaurant,” he said, “anything they could use to shut the place down. So, Reid Mason found a contact on the inside. This contact told him about Flockhart and her ex-boyfriend, Clayton West. Mason sent his pilot/henchman, Donald Canard, to buy Flockhart’s spare set of keys from West. Canard broke into Flockhart’s apartment, but she caught him and threw him out. She was unhurt, but too scared to return to work.”

  “So, Donald didn’t kill her.”

  “That’s right. The killer was on the inside, someone who had worked at the restaurant long enough to know about Flockhart’s relationship with West, someone who knew that the security cameras were fakes. The restaurant looked like the perfect place to dispose of the body, what with the lax security, people eating the evidence, and whatnot.”

  “Did you ever find out who was funding Scunner Consulting?”

  “A woman named Gabrielle Fairbanks. It doesn’t look like she was involved with the killings, so I didn’t invite her to testify.” More to the point, he wanted to avoid another attempt on his life. There was a lot of security at the trial, but that might not have stopped someone as determined as Gabrielle. “And here’s our killer now.”

  Two security patrolmen entered the room, dragging a handcuffed Jessica Campbell between them. “I didn’t do anything!” she squealed, struggling violently. “I’m innocent! You’ve got nothing on me! Nothing!” The patrolmen locked her to a chair, taking a seat on either side.

  Next through the door was Todd Sweeney, followed by Gordon Dunmore and the rest of the restaurant staff. In murder cases, it was common for coworkers to be called in as character witnesses. A woman in an orange pantsuit strolled in, a sharkskin briefcase under her arm. “Good afternoon, everyone. I am Arbitrator Green, and I will be judging the case today. Are all the parties involved present and signed in?”

  “Yes,” Todd replied. “Everyone is here. I am Todd Sweeney, this is my wife Margery, and over there is Gordon Dunmore.”

  At these words, the two security patrolmen bolted from their chairs and drew their laser stunners. “Gordon Dunmore,” the taller one said, “you are under arrest for the murders of Renée Flockhart and Clayton West. According to your contract with your insurance company, we have the right to hold you for up to a week until your case is evaluated by an independent arbitrator.”

  The patrolmen handcuffed Gordon and pulled him to the door. “It wasn’t me!” he protested. “It was Jessica! I have proof!” Arbitrator Green released Jessica from the chair and excused herself from the room, heading for her next case.

  “Thanks again for your help, Jessica,” Nick said. “Arrests are so much easier when you have the suspect cornered in a high-security building like this. Otherwise, they tend to run and you have to do the whole high speed chase thing, call in the helicopter with the skycam and electron bolt cannon, alert the evening news, place bets on when they’ll get caught… It’s just a big mess.”

  “No problem,” she replied, rubbing her wrists. “I’m always looking for acting jobs. This was pretty fun!”

  “You are an actress?” Todd asked. “You never told me that.”

  “Yep!” Jessica chirped. “I even wrote a play: Momma’s Boy, a romantic comedy based on Oedipus Rex...”

  A scream came from the hall, followed closely by a loud crash. The security patrolmen stumbled back into the courtroom, one bleeding profusely from the neck, the other holding his hand over what would soon be a black eye. “Dunmore attacked us,” the bleeding man groaned. “He headbutted Frank and bit a chunk out of my neck! Before we could stop him, he ran down the hall and jumped through a window.”

  Nick’s face went through several expressions, trying to decide if shock, amazement, or confusion was more appropriate. It settled on rage. “I can’t believe this! I went through weeks of work to find the killer, and you let him escape!”

  “What do you think this is, a movie? He jumped through a window! He’s in the middle of the street, bleeding to death.”

  An ambulance carried Gordon to the emergency room. The doctors sealed his wounds with artificial skin and transferred him to the high-security wing of the hospital to await his trial. Unfortunately, the adult section was full, so they were forced to place him in the high-security pediatrics ward. Nick made sure there were several guards in place, both inside and outside of his room, before going home to catch up on lost sleep.

  When Nick returned to his apartment, he found a note pinned to the door. He carried it inside to his kitchen table and poured himself a cup of coffee.

  Nick,

  When I first started working at Little Brother’s, you were one of my favorite regulars. I tried for so long to be your friend, but you always held me at a distance. But when I got the trans from the hospital, they told me your file had me listed as your emergency contact. Your only contact. You don’t have anyone else in your life, but you still treat me this way? Why?

  When they told me you almost died, I realized something: I don’t know what my life would be like if you weren’t around, and I never want to find out. Every time your work takes you out of town, I miss you terribly. But, at the same time, I feel like I never really got to know you.

  Sometimes I feel like I should quit trying. Are we ever going to have the chance to grow closer? Between the drugs and the murderers and people flinging large pieces of furniture at you, I find it hard to believe you’ll always be around. If you don’t leave me, someone will take you away. The worst part is, you just don’t even care.

  --- Sophie

  He placed his transmitter on the table and drummed his f
ingers. His coffee cup slowly gathered a collection of cigarette butts and ash. A beam of sunlight dropped in through the window, walked across the table, slid down to the floor, and faded away.

  His transmitter bleeped and Jessica’s head appeared in the air. In the darkened room, she was the only light. “Nick, how are you? I know you’re probably busy catching crooks and all, but…”

  “What the hell do you want?” He reached for his coffee but, remembering that he had turned it into an ashtray, pushed it away.

  She didn’t seem to notice his anger. “Now that my little… flirtation… with Todd has come out into the open, I’m not exactly welcome around him anymore. So I’m free to see other people. Aren’t you the lucky one?”

  “Why me? Don’t you know what a horrible person I am?”

  “Look, I’ll level with you. When I thought you were just a writer, I only flirted with you to make Todd jealous. But now that I know you’re a manhunter, you seem so much more… exciting. Aside from the occasional murder, being a waitress is pretty damn dull. I need someone dangerous to bring a little life into my world.”

  “Oh, I’m dangerous, baby. Dangerous like a fork in the eye. …Jessica, I’m flattered, but I’m not in the mood to talk.”

  “That’s fine with me. If you come over, we can do everything but.”

  He told himself he wasn’t driving to her place. He told himself he was only going out to get something to eat. That was it. But the car always drove where it wanted to go. An hour later, he found himself across the street from the college campus.

  Jessica was a good woman. She didn’t make too many demands.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The following morning, Nick was in the shower when he heard his transmitter buzzing in the next room. Not feeling entirely awake, he decided to deal with whoever it was after he’d had his coffee.

  And some booze.

  And maybe some pills.

  A few seconds later, he heard his own voice say “Hi, you’ve reached Nick Wergild, manhunter extraordinaire. I can’t answer your transmission right now because either I’m asleep, with a client, or someone is trying to kill me. The way my life has been going lately, possibly all three. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you. Maybe.”