They Ate the Waitress Read online

  “Sweeney doesn’t seem like the type of person to wear the same clothing two days in a row,” Nick thought. “He must have had a closet full of identical gray suits, like some sort of incredibly dull superhero.”

  “There are still a few of my employees on the premises,” Todd said, gesturing to the door, “but they should be gone fairly soon. You might as well come inside.”

  “Hey, Sweeney,” Nick said as he climbed out of his car, “What’s the deal with this place? There’s no sign.” In fact, there was nothing to indicate that it was a restaurant at all.

  “We sell human flesh at three hundred dollars a pound. Individuals with such specific tastes generally find us on their own.”

  “Three hundred dollars a pound?” Nick sputtered, shaking his head. “What are these, famous corpses?”

  “It is a very fair price, considering the rarity of donations. Besides, long pigs – humans – have very little meat in them. Granted, you can get some nice steaks from the upper leg, but not nearly as much as, say, cattle…”

  As they crossed the lot, Todd gave Nick a brief lecture on butchering “long pigs.” The most difficult part of the operation was gutting, as the butcher could accidentally cut into the intestines and make a “rather unpleasant mess.” After that, the butcher removed the skin, cut it into strips, and sent it to the kitchen, where the chef deep fried it and sold it as a side dish. “Human rinds” were very popular, especially the barbeque flavor.

  Although Todd and his staff always referred to the meat as “long pig,” he insisted that it was merely a colloquialism. The meat tasted nothing like pork. The flavor was actually closer to premium-grade beef or veal. The taste was similar enough that, if human meat were seasoned or sauced, it could be difficult to tell the difference. For this reason, he had all of the meat butchered on-site. Anyone who wondered if the restaurant served genuine human flesh could simply ask to watch.

  After what seemed to Nick like an eternity, they stepped inside the restaurant. The walls were covered in hand-screened wallpaper and paintings that would have ended up on the walls of a hotel had the artist not added four extra zeros to the price tag in what was clearly a twisted practical joke.

  “So, what do you name a restaurant for wealthy cannibals?” Nick asked. “‘Bone Appetite?’ ‘Homosoupian?’ ‘Cup of Joe?’”

  “Are you quite done?”

  “How about ‘The Canniballroom?’ Or ‘Soylent on the Green?’”

  “My restaurant,” Todd snapped, “is called ‘Hand to Mouth.’”

  Stepping into the lobby, Nick noticed the maitre d’ station. Talking to the air, he said, “Yes, I have a reservation for Donner, party of four… No, wait, make that three…”

  “If you’re through wasting time, I would like to–” Todd stopped in mid-sentence, distracted by a woman just stepping into the lobby. She had unnaturally red hair and an emerald green dress that looked short enough to make sitting down dangerous.

  “Oh, Todd!” she called. “Marcy said you had my paycheck.”

  “Certainly. One moment.” Todd fumbled in his jacket pockets, searching.

  The woman turned to Nick and offered him her hand. “Hi, I’m Jessica Campbell.” She twisted a bit of her hair around her finger, giving Nick a smile that seemed to say “I know you’re picturing me naked, but I don’t mind.” Her hair had HiLites woven throughout, thin strands of plastic that glowed softly, giving her an almost angelic radiance.

  “I’m Nick Wergild, Food Health Magazine.”

  “Oh, are you here to make sure everything’s clean and sanitary?”

  “Sure. I have to look the place over so we can give Hand to Mouth a good rating in our next issue. We’re reviewing all of the cannibalistic restaurants in the northwest… We should have plenty of space left for ads.”

  “So, how much do you make at that magazine?” she asked, gently stroking his arm.

  “I do alright,” he said, smiling. “Not enough to eat here, though. I hear dinner costs an arm and a leg.”

  “Never heard that one before… After you’re done, do you want to go do something?” she asked, sliding her hand to his chest.

  “Oh, sure. Dinner? Drinks? Pie eating contest?”

  Todd shoved an envelope into Jessica’s hands. “I found it. Now, your shift is over, so I suggest that you head home.” He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to the door. Returning to Nick, he said, “Please accept my apologies. I simply cannot have anyone standing about. Any of my employees could be involved with the murder, so it will be better if no one knew about your investigation.”

  “Come on, Sweeny,” Nick grumbled, “She thinks I’m here to look for bugs, not bodies. Anyway, there’ll be time for that later. Show me where you make the ground Chuck.” As they walked, Nick tried to come up with a good cannibalism joke based around English food. There was blood pudding, sure, but that was too easy. “How about ‘Steve and kidney pie’?” he thought. “Fisherman and chips? Human beans on toast? …Ah, I’ll keep working on it.”

  Todd took Nick down to the far end of the restaurant, where a gray door was marked “No Admittance – Employees Only – Empleados Solamente.” Pointing at a tiny camera over the door, Nick asked, “Do you have any footage from the night of the murder?”

  “Unfortunately, no. I erase all of the old footage at the beginning of every month. The video files from that night were deleted days before I realized anything had occurred.”

  “That’s too bad. Usually video of the murder taking place makes solving the case so much easier. Especially if it clearly shows the murderer’s face as he drops his wallet in a pool of his own DNA.” Noticing Todd’s puzzled expression, he added, “It happened once! Unfortunately, we had to let the guy go. A typo in the paperwork listed his crime as ‘man laughter.’”

  Ignoring Nick, Todd unlocked the door and showed him inside. The butcher shop was one long, foul-smelling room with freezer doors at the far end. There were several extremely thick, steel tables with various saws and meat slicers attached. Behind one of the tables stood a gigantic man with a face like a constipated bulldog. He was cutting thin slices of meat from what was left of a human leg. Looking up, he called, “Evening, Mr. Sweeney. Just finishing up here.”

  “Alright, Gordon,” Todd replied. “Lock up when you are finished.” Turning to Nick, he said quietly, “This fellow is Gordon Dunmore. He manages the butcher shop. Worked here for years.”

  “He would have known Flockhart, right?” Nick whispered. “It seems odd to me that he wouldn’t have recognized her body.”

  “Occasionally,” Todd said, “the donor bodies have their heads removed at the hospital. It helps to protect their privacy, and gives their families something to keep for the funeral. I imagine that the killer would have decapitated Renée, to insure that her body would blend in with the others.”

  “Well, that’s good news!” Realizing how that sounded, he added, “I mean good for me. I’ll have at least one body part to look for. Now, does this place have a back door?”

  “Certainly. Come this way.” Todd showed Nick to the delivery bay doors. “Both doors are solid steel, with triple-bolting security locks. The small door next to them leads to the employee car park. There are seven security cameras outside, all of them equipped with night vision.”

  “Is this the only way inside?” Nick asked, examining the locks. There were no scratches or dents to indicate the lock had been forced open. “Any windows? Skylights? Giant ventilation ducts someone could crawl through?”

  “The only other way in is through the restaurant. I certainly would not want windows back here… My customers enjoy the food, but most would never want to see it prepared.” Todd sighed dejectedly. “I thought that my security was sufficient. I was only worried about people stealing meat, not leaving me more. Ah, but c'est la vie.”

  “I think you mean ‘c'est la mort.’ Well, there’s no use examining the butcher shop; there must be blood from dozens of people in here. I should have a
look outside.”

  “Certainly. The car park is this way.”

  There was an overhang by the door where the butcher shop employees could smoke and stay out of the rain. “Well, look at that!” Nick thought. “This might have provided enough protection from the elements to preserve some evidence.” Standing in the parking lot, he pulled a tiny, black box from his pocket. “This is an ultraviolet light,” he explained. “If Renée was killed before she was brought here, there might still be drops of blood or other fluids.”

  “Other fluids?”

  “Anything, really. Urine, saliva, Dijon mustard… And if I can’t find anything with the light, I can always hose everything down with luminol. Luminol is a chemical that glows when it comes into contact with blood. …It also reacts with copper, which is nice. Whenever I investigate a crime scene, I find a penny.” He waved the light along the doorframe, watching closely for any signs of fluorescing body fluids. “Did Flockhart have any enemies?” he asked, not looking up from his work.

  “Well, I know some of the employees resented my promoting her to head waitress. Any of them could have disliked her, I suppose. She could be rather curt at times. And there is always her ex-boyfriend.”

  “Ex-boyfriend? Why didn’t you say so! Tell me about him.” Three tiny dots of blood were visible at the bottom of the doorframe, glowing yellow under the ultraviolet light. Turning around, Nick could see that there was a curved trail leading back into the parking lot.

  “His name is Clayton West. He saw Renée for about a year, until a bad breakup a few months ago. She wanted children, but he did not. He also thought that she was having an affair. I have no idea if that was the truth or if it was just something he said to make her seem like the villain.”

  Only half listening, Nick followed the trail of blood. It crept for a few feet, curving sharply to the right. Three feet later, it ended abruptly. “Here’s what we know,” he said, gesturing with the light. “The killer had Flockhart in the back of his trunk. See where the blood trail bends? He carried her around the back of the car on his way to the restaurant’s back door.”

  “And that tells us what, exactly?”

  “When the murderer brought Flockhart’s body here, he didn’t do it on foot.”

  “Of course he didn’t!” Todd snapped. He was beginning to second-guess his choice of investigator. “You would have to be insane to walk through the streets carrying a body.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But I investigated a murder a few years ago where that’s exactly what had happened. Two men started a fight with a third and killed him. They each grabbed an arm and carried his limp body for sixteen blocks without anyone noticing anything was wrong.”

  Todd blanched. “How could they get away with something like that?”

  “It was Saint Patrick’s day.”

  Todd grumbled something under his breath. He stopped second-guessing his choice and began to third and fourth-guess it. “I had dinner with Clayton and Renée a handful of times. I still have Clayton’s address, if you would like to pay him a visit.”

  “Yes, but not tonight. It’s getting late.” He switched off the light and performed an exaggerated yawn and stretch. It was always best to pretend to be exhausted when you wanted to quit working for the day. “I have to go. Contact me tomorrow with Clayton’s address. Also, give me the names and addresses of the rest of your staff, especially that redhead that was in here earlier.”

  Nick followed Todd back to the butcher shop. Something on the floor glinted in the light. There, just inside the doorway, was a silver guitar pick. Using a tissue, Nick grabbed the pick and dropped it in his jacket pocket. Normally, he would have placed it in an evidence bag, but Gordon seemed to be watching him. At this point, it was best to keep the investigation a secret. Besides, he was out of evidence bags. He’d used the last one to hold a sandwich.

  Todd headed for the door to the restaurant, but Nick lagged behind. Approaching Gordon, he said, “Hey, I’ve seen you before somewhere. Weren’t you at that party at Renée’s place a couple months ago?”

  “No, don’t think so. She doesn’t like me so much.” Gordon stared at his hands, picking at a hangnail. “No idea why. Always tried to be so nice to her.”

  “But you like her, right?” Nick said, smiling. “I mean, I bet everybody does. She’s a cute one, that Renée.”

  “Not everybody,” Gordon said, wrapping a stack of meat in plastic. “Jessica always thought she was uptight, conceited. I always thought she was pretty… nice. I was sorry to see her go.”

  “Why did she leave?”

  “No idea.” Gordon carried the meat to the freezer, shoving it inside. “How do you know her again?”

  “We used to date, a long time ago. Didn’t last long. She was into all sorts of weird, sexual things… Bondage, water sports, monogamy… Well, I’ve got to run. It was good talking with you.” Nick followed Todd out to the parking lot and drove home, deep in thought.

  Nick was in his apartment, getting ready for bed, when a deliveryman dropped off a large bouquet of flowers. At first, he assumed the deliveryman had the wrong address. One of his neighbors had flowers delivered constantly. She was a mortician and held funeral services in her apartment. Quite a challenge in a four-story walkup. But, no, the flowers were actually for him. Nick dropped the bouquet on the kitchen table and read the card.

  Dear Mr. Wergild,

  You deserve to die for what you did to me. People like you are too selfish to live! I will have my revenge. If I ever catch you alone, I will slit your throat!

  He tossed the card in the trash. “They couldn’t have signed their name? This could have come from anybody. An ex-girlfriend, my landlord, Grandma…” Suddenly, he remembered that he needed to recharge his portable ultraviolet light. He grabbed his jacket from the coat rack in the hall and pulled the light from the pocket. On his way into the kitchen, the light slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor. The bulb exploded, scattering black glass across the tile. The plastic battery case was nearly cracked in half.

  “Oh, holy hell! And I’ll probably need it again tomorrow, too. I might as well go get a new one now. There’s some equipment I’ve been meaning to buy, anyway.” Reluctantly, he dressed, grabbed his jacket, and went shopping.

  He pulled into the lot of Little Brother’s, the local spy gadget superstore. It was the only place in town where you could get tear gas, a grappling hook, and a bug detector in the same trip. Oddly, they were open twenty-four hours a day. Apparently there were a lot of people who needed night vision goggles at four in the morning.

  He stepped inside, trying to remember where they kept the crime scene equipment. Several customers were standing by a glass display counter, where a salesman was explaining how to hide a camera inside of a bidet. For legal reasons, he said, his instructions were “strictly for entertainment purposes only.” At the customer service counter, a sweaty man in a clear, plastic raincoat was complaining that he couldn’t find a bulletproof vest comfortable enough to sleep in.

  Sophia Wynne, the night manager, stood at the back of the store, digging through a rack of camouflage pants, camouflage jackets, and camouflage lingerie. Every few seconds, she would pause to write something on the electronic clipboard strapped to her wrist. She was a petite blonde with mismatched eyes, the result of a transplant surgery years earlier. She wore one of the form-fitting, black jumpsuits the store sold for nighttime reconnaissance missions. Nick thought it made her look like an actress auditioning for the role of “sexy jewel thief.”

  “Excuse me, miss,” he said, “Do you sell ferrets?” Sophia laughed loudly, drawing rude looks from customers. It was an inside joke. I’d explain, but you really had to be there.

  “Hey, Nick. Haven’t seen you in weeks! Where’ve you been?”

  “My last manhunt took me out of state. I got to go to a whorehouse and tie up an old man in bondage gear. Good times.”

  Sophia had been friends with Nick long enough to not ask qu
estions if she wasn’t absolutely sure she wanted to know the answer. “I’m glad you’re back. I missed you.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Listen, Wynne, I hope I’m not bothering you.”

  “You’re not,” she said quietly, making sure no one was in earshot. “Pretending to take inventory makes it easier to ignore the customers. They never have any questions that require my level of expertise, you know? Most nights, all we get are perverts looking for x-ray specs.”

  “Which aisle were those in again?”

  “Relax, cowboy. All you can see are bones. Not exactly sexy, unless you’re into the malnourished waif type.”

  “Now that we’ve gotten the witty banter out of the way, I need an ultraviolet light.”

  She gestured for him to follow, leading him to a glass display case full of cameras. On top of the display case was a stack of purple boxes labeled “CSIUVLEDINC”. She switched off her clipboard and handed him one of the lights. “You know, most of the people who buy these things are college kids with dorm rooms full of black light posters or paranoids searching hotel bed sheets for stains. Nice to know they occasionally get used for their intended purpose. …So, how will you be paying?”

  “Client still hasn’t sent me the reward money for my last case. Can you put this on my tab?”

  She sighed, frustrated. “You know you haven’t paid me for anything in months! Your tab is so big that it has smaller tabs orbiting around it. If I add anything else, it’s liable to collapse into a black hole and suck the cash register into a parallel dimension.”

  “Well, Wynne, I don’t know what to say. If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t paid my landlady in months, either.”

  “Why would that make me feel better?” He just shrugged. “Nick, I’ve got Big Boss Man breathing down my neck, and not in a good way. I feel horrible doing this to a friend, but I can’t give you any more credit.”

  “Don’t worry about it. You’re just doing your job. That’s what’s important, right?” He patted his pockets, pretending to search for cash. Feigning surprise, he pulled some coins from his money pouch. “Oh, looks like I have some cash after all.”