They Ate the Waitress Page 6

  “Nick, actually,” he said, forcing himself to make eye contact. “And keep it down; I’m undercover here.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. “I should have known. This is one of those secret restaurant reviews, right?”

  “Exactly. I want to get the authentic experience, so just treat me how you treat everybody else at Hand to Mouth.” Glancing down at his plate, he suddenly felt very ill. “Well, not like him.”

  She frowned at him concernedly. “Are you alright?”

  “Me? I’m just fine,” he lied. He took a deep breath and waited for the nausea to pass. It didn’t. “I was just wondering what happened to my waiter.”

  “It looks like Aaron walked off the job.”

  “He left? Just like that? Why?”

  She shrugged. “Hard to say. He’s been pretty unstable lately, throwing fits, crying over nothing. He’s been hanging around Gordon a lot, too. They’re both kind of creepy, if you ask me.” She picked up a knife from the table and checked her reflection in the blade. “Speaking of oddballs, I noticed you talking to Gabrielle.”

  “Oh? What’s so odd about her? I mean, other than eating here.”

  “Well, first of all, she enjoys the food a little too much.”

  “I noticed. I’ve never seen a woman get that excited about food that wasn’t covered in chocolate.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Very funny. I’m serious about her food fetish, though. I heard she’s trying to sleep with a man for every salad dressing. So far, she’s been with a Russian, a Frenchman, and a guy who lives on a ranch.”

  “What’s she going to do for bleu cheese?”

  “I have no idea. You know, Gabrielle’s so obsessed with sex, she’s gotten a little ‘touchy feely’ with the staff.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Even the girls!”

  “You mean she’s touched the waitresses inappropriately? Describe it to me. In detail. Slowly.”

  “She doesn’t do it much anymore, mostly because Renée, the old head waitress, threatened her. Grabby Gabby thinks she can get anything she wants because she’s a rich bitch, but Renée told her to go to hell.”

  “Does Gabrielle have keys to the restaurant?” he asked, hoping he wasn’t being too blunt. “Or maybe the alarm codes?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “Unless someone in management gave them to her. Why are you so interested in her?” She almost sounded jealous. “Does she have something to do with your article?”

  “I also write music reviews.” He pulled a pen and paper from his jacket pocket and pretended to make some notes. “But let’s talk about Hand to Mouth. Do you have any inside information about the restaurant you’d like to share? I promise I won’t use your name in my review.”

  Jessica scanned the room to make sure none of the other servers were watching. She leaned in close to him, her breasts gently brushing his shoulder, and whispered in his ear. “I have something to share, but it’s not information.”

  “I, ah, have a girlfriend. Her name is… Let me think… I’ll have it in a second…”

  The kitchen door squeaked open and Todd Sweeney stepped into the dining hall. He stomped over to Nick’s table and grabbed Jessica’s wrist. She tried to pull away, but Todd was much stronger than he appeared. As he dragged her back to the kitchen, Nick could hear him berating Jessica under his breath. “That will be quite enough! I am so tired of your little performances. If you want things to continue the way–” But the kitchen door swung closed.

  Reluctantly, Nick peered down at the pieces of meat on his plate, forcing himself not to imagine the person they used to be. “I should have just ordered a salad. Of course, if they have a salad, it’s probably a meat-based vegetable substitute.” He waited for the couple at the next table to be distracted by their waiter and then slipped his plate onto the tray of their baby’s highchair.

  The kitchen doors opened once more and Todd reappeared. Scowling angrily, he stormed out of the dining room and headed for the lobby. Nick tossed a few coins on the table and followed.

  Having just shown some customers to their table, Paulo returned to his station. “There he is!” he shouted, pointing a shaky finger in Nick’s direction. “That man! That horrible, terrible man! He told me that my car was being stolen so he could sneak into the restaurant! We should have him arrested!”

  “Relax, Paulo,” Todd said, obviously annoyed. “Mr. Wergild is an acquaintance of mine.”

  “But… he fibbed!”

  “As long as he paid for his meal, who gives a damn? Take your lunch break now. I have to speak with Mr. Wergild in private.”

  Paulo’s lower lip quivered in protest. He pulled a tiny, lavender date book from his pocket and waved it at his employer. “But I am not scheduled to go for another two hours, and I was going to use my lunch break to get a manicure. If you miss an appointment with Serge, you cannot get another!”

  Rubbing his forehead, Todd sighed and waved Paulo towards the door. “Damn it all… Get out of here before I send you back to your old job cleaning the filters at the sewage plant!”

  Paulo’s cheeks burned red with embarrassment, the blush spreading to the top of his bald head. Shamefaced, he grabbed his coat and trudged out the door. The moment he stepped out of sight, Todd gestured for Nick to come closer. “How is your investigation progressing?” he asked quietly.

  “These things take time,” Nick said, trying to sound reassuring. “My search of the scrimshaw place came up empty, but I suspected as much. The killer has obviously gone to great lengths to destroy the body, so leaving the skeleton behind wouldn’t have fit his M.O. However, I felt I should be thorough, so I had to check.” He paused to gauge Todd’s reaction. “I hope he’s buying this,” he thought. “I don’t want to pay for the forensics team myself.”

  “Are confident that you can find the killer? Without a body? Without any clues?”

  “There are always clues. The perfect murder has yet to be committed. …Unless you count Jack the Ripper. Or the Zodiac Killer. Or the Lincoln assassination.”

  “Lincoln? But Booth was caught!”

  “Or is that what they want you to think?” Nick checked his watch. “I should be getting back to work. I have an appointment with a sketch artist.”

  “There were no witnesses,” Todd said. “How can you get a sketch of the killer?”

  “Oh, murderers all look the same. Beard stubble, bad posture, an eye patch or two. I’ll trans you as soon as I have some new information.”

  As Nick stepped outside, he thought he heard Jessica’s voice, but street noise drowned out the sound. He paused to glance at the address on Gabrielle’s business card. It had her transmitter’s frequency but no last name. “Just ‘Gabrielle.’ That’s showbiz for you. All the popular singers go by one name: Dominique, Natalie, MusicTron.exe…”

  With the sharp hiss of air brakes, a delivery truck pulled into the lot. It circled to the back of the building, the butcher shop. He followed it around the corner. The driver, a balding, older man with a stomach like a pregnant watermelon, unlocked the trailer and began loading some crates of wine bottles onto a rusty hand truck.

  “And how are you this fine evening?” Nick called.

  “Terrible,” the driver said, not taking his eyes off his work. “Not that anybody gives a damn.” It was more a statement of fact than a complaint. “You work for the restaurant?”

  “I sure do. Just started a few days ago.”

  “How you like working here?”

  “Fine, so far. Everybody’s been real nice. Except… Well, there’s this waitress, Jessica Campbell. Do you know her?”

  “She that redhead with the legs?” the driver asked, grinning perversely.

  “And arms as well.”

  “And that ass! Where’d she get an ass like that?”

  “I believe it’s a family heirloom. Other than her physical attributes, what do you think of her?”

  “See, I don’t know her real good,
” the driver replied. “But I’ve talked to her a few times. She seems nice enough. But a few weeks ago, saw her outside, flirting with what’s-his-name…” He stared down at his shoes, trying to remember. “You know, the skinny, pasty fellow, walks like somebody shoved a flagpole up his ass?”

  “Todd Sweeney.”

  “Yeah, that’s him. Anyway, I showed up to make my delivery, and she was back here, pawing at him. I told Sweeney that I could come back later, but he said to go ahead and unload the booze. So I did. And you know what? This other girl, I think she’s the manager, she saw Jessica out here and started screaming at her. ‘Get back to work,’ ‘I should fire your ass,’ and all that.”

  “Did the manager see Campbell with Sweeney?”

  “Can’t say for sure.” The driver gestured at the hand truck. “I was distracted, unloading my crates.”

  “Yes, I can imagine that such work demands every ounce of your intellect.”

  The driver didn’t seem to notice he’d been insulted. “Maybe she saw him, maybe she didn’t. Either way, that manager of yours is one rude bitch. I’d walk on eggshells around her if I were you. Figuratively speaking, that is.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” Nick muttered. He walked off, leaving the driver to his work. “If Renée caught Jessica with Sweeney,” he thought, “Jessica would naturally want to keep her from telling Sweeney’s wife. No, I’d better not get ahead of myself. I don’t know anything for sure, yet.”

  His transmitter buzzing, he walked around the corner for some privacy. It was his friend from Seattle Safe Harbor. “Hey, buddy,” Nick said. “What have you found? Anything?”

  “There were several Jane Does in my records, but most of them were the wrong ethnicity or age, not your girl. There’s one Jane Doe that was found stripped to the bone, but, fortunately, the bones were engraved with barcodes. They were part of a cadaver from a medical supply company. No luck this time, sorry.”

  Nick sighed deeply, suddenly feeling very tired. “Thanks anyway. Well, I’ll let you get back to work.”

  “What about those photos of my mistress?”

  “Got to go. Talk to you later, buddy!”

  Chapter Seven

  The following morning, Nick decided to search Jessica Campbell’s place. She was studying interior design at a local college. She lived on campus with two other girls, so any evidence would be well-hidden. She wouldn’t have any internal organs in jars or lumps of bloody meat lying around. Only pre-med students could get away with that. “If she is the killer,” he thought, climbing into his car, “she should give something away. Now, what should I ask her? ‘Hey, remember me? I’m Nick Wergild. My magazine is doing a piece on female cannibal murderers. Do you know anyone I should interview?’ Right, that would work. Why don’t I just shove her head in the toilet until she confesses?”

  He parked a few blocks from the college and walked the rest of the way. On the corner stood a homeless-looking man in an old, military surplus coat with a Canadian flag stitched to the back. He was holding a dirty cardboard sign that said “Existential Angst – Please Help.” A charity had built a homeless shelter about ten blocks away, so Nick figured the guy was just scamming the college kids.

  For the most part, the students were there to drink, party with their friends, and find the philosophical views most likely to offend their parents. The few serious students were older, working adults getting just the right degree to land that dream job as the junior assistant to the vice president of pencil sharpening.

  The campus was on the large side and beautifully landscaped. The trees were on hydraulic pedestals which rotated throughout the day so that the campus always had just the right amount of shade. The campus had its own artificial lake for the school hockey team. A kind of sprinkler system delivered daily showers of liquid nitrogen, keeping the lake permanently frozen.

  A student in a gray toga grabbed Nick’s arm and pressed a crumpled flyer into his hand. “Hello, sir! Would you like to hear about the Church of the Mundane?”

  “Actually, I’m kind of in a hurry…”

  “My mother always told me that if I prayed enough and said just the right things, God would speak to me. And he did! He spoke to me and gave me a message of hope for the whole world. Problem is, I gave the message three years ago, and God is still talking. He tells me about weird dreams he had, which shampoo he’s been using, his favorite kind of toast… Did you know God prefers rye bread to wheat br–”

  Nick jammed the flyer in the student’s mouth and continued on his way. “I already have a religion,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m a narcissist.”

  Jessica’s dorm was on the far end of the campus, a squat, two-story, brick building with a forest of satellite dishes on the roof. Her window was on the ground floor, hidden behind a large topiary shaped like a dolphin. Peeking inside, he saw that her roommates were out. Soft, classical music played from an unseen source. The bathroom door stood open, revealing a very naked Jessica shaving her legs. This done, she washed off her makeup and carefully removed the HiLites from her hair. He watched her reflection in the bathroom mirror as she took an eyebrow pencil from the counter and pressed it to her chin.

  “What the hell? Why is she drawing beard stubble on her face?”

  She pinned up her long, scarlet hair and slipped on a short, blonde wig. Holding her breath, she bound her breasts with a wide, elastic bandage. She pulled on a white undershirt and pair of boxers, followed by a silk shirt and tan slacks. In the space of fifteen minutes, she had transformed herself from a stunningly gorgeous woman to a slightly feminine, young man. She switched off the music and headed for the door.

  “A female crossdresser?” he thought, confused. “What’s the point? Women can wear anything they want. Except maybe codpieces… So why add a fake beard? Is she dating a woman? Is it follicle envy? Maybe Renée found out about her little hobby, and Jessica killed her to keep it a secret! – Good god, everyone at that restaurant is nuts. Must be something in the bottled water.”

  He hurried around the corner to the parking lot and ducked behind a tree, just in time to watch Jessica climb in an orange convertible. He ran to his own car and sped after her. Following a few car lengths behind, he was careful to not lose her at the lights. Jessica drove for an hour, eventually pulling into the lot of a place called Le Théâtre d’Jolis Hommes.

  “Now this makes more sense,” he thought. “She’s in a play.” He parked across the street and waited for her to step inside the theater. “Only a handful of other cars in the lot; audience hasn’t arrived yet. If I can’t blend in with a crowd, I’ll have to watch her from outside.” He zipped up his jacket and stepped across the street.

  Glancing in the windows, he circled the building until he found the women’s dressing rooms. There were many beautiful women in various states of undress, but no Jessica. “Wait a minute,” he thought. “Those beautiful women in various states of undress are men! This must be one of those drag theaters… Alright, so where is Jessica? Maybe there’s another dressing room?”

  He checked a nearby window. The next dressing room was for the actors playing the male roles. They were talking about someone named “Billy” who had fallen off the stage during a dance number in the last show. Suddenly, someone at the door drew their attention.

  “Hey, Billy!” one of the actors said. “We were just talking about you!” Nick changed position at the window to get a better view of the door. “Billy” was Jessica.

  “Hello, Ty,” she said, in a voice from deep in her chest. “You know, I blame you for what happened last night. You shouldn’t have told me to break a leg!”

  They shared a laugh and Jessica walked off. Nick stepped two windows down and looked in on yet another dressing room, this one the star’s. Jessica walked inside and took a seat at a vanity. Washing off the fake beard stubble, she tossed a disposable razor in the trash, apparently to make it appear as if she had actually shaved.

  She stripped down to her boxers and flipped throu
gh a rack of costumes by the wall, finally settling on a floor-length, midnight blue gown. Returning to the vanity, she applied a layer of heavy, evening makeup and traded her short, blonde wig for a shoulder length, black one, which she twisted into a French braid.

  He left his post at the window and walked to the front of the building. The sign at the box office said “Today and Tomorrow: Danielle or Daniel?” He found a printout from a newsfeed in a trashcan. Turning to the theater section, he searched for Jessica’s play.

  Danielle or Daniel?

  A young woman named Danielle wants desperately to become an actress but can’t find anyone to take her seriously. One night, she discovers a traditional Shakespearian theater on the edge of town where all of the women’s parts are played by men. She disguises herself as a male and auditions for the female lead.

  Will anyone discover that the handsome and talented Daniel is really Danielle? And what will she do when Britney, her former roommate, asks her on a date?

  A fun comedy for the whole family. Featuring an all-male cast and starring newcomer Billy Incognita.

  “She must be desperate for acting gigs,” he mumbled to himself. “I mean, to pretend to be a man so she can get a woman’s role… So, she’s a woman pretending to be a man pretending to be a woman pretending to be a man pretending to be a woman? …Damn, this is even more confusing than that remake of Citizen Cane, the one where ‘Rosebud’ was the name of a hooker in Atlantic City.” He sighed resignedly, tossing the printout back into the trash. “She’s probably not the killer. But I should check out her dorm room, just in case.”

  On his way back to the campus, he passed the same homeless-looking man standing on the corner. He had made a new sign: “Nihilist – I could get a job, but what’s the point?”

  The main door of Jessica’s dorm was left unlocked during the day. He walked inside, hoping he didn’t look too out of place. Several students were playing Pain Ball in the lounge. A silver ball floated through the air, “hunting” the players. Whenever it found one, it gave them a powerful electric shock and zipped off in search of another player. The goal of the game was to trick the ball into going after the other players, usually by tossing small objects in their direction. The ball detected sound and motion and followed whatever the players threw. It was a strange game. No one could really win; they just played for the pleasure of inflicting pain on each other.