They Ate the Waitress Page 8

“Hold on, young man.” She yanked a large keycard from her purse and carefully unlocked the security door, the alarm light blinking off. The woman held the door open and waved him inside.

  “Thank you so much,” he smiled. “Have a nice night.” Once the woman had gone on her way, he dropped the sacks by the door, spilling the old socks he had stuffed inside.

  Gordon’s apartment was on the fifth floor. There was no alarm sensor, but there was a doorknob lock, two bolt locks, and a security chain. “I can’t believe this. He attached all this hardware to a pressed wood, hollow core door. It’s like going to war in a tee-shirt and bulletproof pants.” A couple of kicks with his steel-toed boot cracked the flimsy door nearly in half.

  “Hey!” A voice from behind him. Nick turned to face a very short, very angry man in a bathrobe, Gordon’s neighbor from across the hall. “Cut out the banging!” the man snapped, shaking his fist. “You’re disturbing my ferrets!”

  “Oh, sorry,” Nick said. “When it gets humid like this, the wood expands and the door sticks, so I have to force it a little.”

  “Not my problem, Noisy McLoudington. Just stop with the racket!” He returned to his apartment, slamming the door closed.

  Nick pushed open what was left of Gordon’s door and stepped inside. “Good thing Gordon’s at work,” he thought. “Explaining the noise to him would be much more challenging.” He turned on a flashlight and examined his surroundings. It was amazing that such a big man lived in such a tiny apartment.

  There was a miniature kitchen with one of the new Schlock Products™ freezer/oven combos. He dimly remembered seeing the commercial on television: “It can’t be beat! It cools and it heats!” It looked like a great space saver, but the commercial never explained what you were supposed to do with your frozen food while you were cooking.

  The living room was even smaller than the kitchen. There was an exercise machine in one corner that looked like an abstract sculpture of an octopus. College dorm-style, cinderblock-and-wooden-plank shelves lined three walls. There was a camera and a few memory tabs on a shelf, mostly movies recorded from TV. Resting on top of the memory tabs was a long, silver tube that was either a large flashlight or a shockingly huge marital aid. Next to the tabs was a small, wire-bound notebook. It was mostly filled with grocery and to-do lists, but one page was different. This page was blank, save for two words written large and underlined: insurance fraud.

  “Well, that’s interesting. Is that about Renée? Or is it just a reminder to commit insurance fraud later? Like, by burning this dump to the ground..?”

  The shelf also held a brass, second-place trophy engraved with “Ellison High Kendo Team”. On the other side of the room hung Gordon’s diploma, again from Ellison High School. The date Gordon graduated was printed at the bottom. “Let’s see, that would make him twenty-four or twenty-five. He looks older, though. …I wonder if he was voted ‘Most Likely to Carve up Human Corpses for a Living.’”

  He examined the rest of the shelves and, other than an exhaustingly comprehensive pornography collection, found nothing of interest. He decided to try the bedroom.

  A nude woman was sprawled across the bed. Her head was shaved almost to the skin. Her small, strikingly perky breasts gently rose and fell with the soft whisper of her breathing. Around her neck, a tiny, gold crucifix reflected the beam of his flashlight. On the floor by the bed lay a crumpled, black dress. A decorative rack on the wall behind her held half a dozen Japanese swords.

  “‘Kendo’ must be a Japanese style of sword fighting,” he thought. “Well, I can’t very well search the room with her in there, especially since she’s six inches away from a weapon. She looks like the type that would stab below the belt… Well, nothing else I can do here. Looks like it’s time to go see Clayton.”

  ◊

  Clayton West’s home was in a fashionable part of town, the kind of neighborhood young people moved to after they’d given up on becoming rock stars and artists and resigned themselves to working in an office for the rest of their lives. A row of bushes lined Clayton’s driveway, each trimmed into a perfect sphere. The house had round, protruding windows, hemispheres of glass. It looked rather like an overpriced, suburban submarine.

  Nick crept cautiously up the driveway to the garage. Shining a flashlight in the window, he saw nothing but bare concrete. “No car. Looks like Clayton’s out for the evening. Still, I’d better be quick. In this neighborhood, security shoots first and asks questions at your autopsy.”

  In an effort to prevent costly claims, some insurance companies employed security guards to patrol customers’ neighborhoods. The guards were heavily armed but also tightly restricted in where they could go, what they could investigate, and who they could arrest. Being kept on such a short leash made them resent manhunters, who had much greater freedom. Especially manhunters like Nick, who pretty much did as he pleased.

  “I could pick the locks on the front door,” he thought, “but that would take time, and I don’t know how long I have until Clayton comes home. Looks like it’s the old Santa Claus gag…” He pulled his car up to the garage. He jumped from the roof of his car to the rain gutter and, once he pulled himself up, it was an easy climb to the chimney. However, sliding down the chimney was not nearly as much fun as he’d imagined.

  Brushing off the soot, he switched on his flashlight and examined Clayton’s living room. The hardwood floor was covered in a circular, checkerboard pattern rug. The room smelled strongly of new paint, probably the hunter green on the walls. A line of framed photographs were hung over the fireplace. They were the old-fashioned, paper kind of photos, all of Renée.

  “Nothing unusual. He dated her for a long time; of course he’ll have pictures.”

  Then he turned to the other walls. They, too, were covered in photos of Renée: Renée walking down the street, Renée viewed through a window or from behind bushes, Renée putting on a sweater, Renée biting her toenails. He guessed there were around three dozen photos just in the living room. “On the other hand, this is a bit much. Not even Rent-A-Stalker gives you this much attention! I should make a record of this.” He pulled his transmitter from jacket and switched it into “record” mode.

  “I am collecting evidence at the home of Clayton West,” he said into the tiny, twin cameras. “Subject appears to be obsessed with the victim, his ex-girlfriend, Renée Flockhart. Possibly psychotic. (Clayton, not Renée.) As Renée never returned her keys, Clayton could have had access to the premises through her. Also, take a look at this rug. Isn’t it hideous?”

  He filmed a few close-up shots of the photos, taking a couple off the wall to get a closer look. The frames were gray, almost the same color as the nails upon which they were hung. They were cheap and flimsy, the kind of frame that usually held a liberal arts degree. Finished filming, he decided to quickly investigate the other rooms.

  A calendar in the hallway had several days marked “FLORIDA” in red. It looked like Clayton was leaving for vacation in a week.

  The first door was the study. There was a computer in the corner and several long rows of bookshelves. According to Todd, Clayton bought paperback novels at random, as he only used them as accessories for his bookend collection. Next to the computer stood a stack of papers. Most of the pile was printouts of emails, correspondence with friends. However, near the bottom of the stack was a letter from Clayton’s medical insurance company:

  Your new Schlock Products™ artificial heart comes with the latest in micro- processor software: HeartBeater 0.93b!

  Please note that your new heart is designed for low-impact activities. Avoid all unnecessary stress, such as the following:

  *Jogging

  *Weight training

  *Sexual activity lasting more than three minutes

  *Thoughts of an overly philosophical nature

  *Sasquatch hunting

  *Drag racing (Cars or transvestites.)

  Keep away from microwave ovens, garage door openers, and television remote controls. F
or internal use only. Not to be used as a sump pump.

  There was nothing else in the study, so he continued down the hallway. “Oh, here’s the bedroom. Bed, dresser, television, enormous, snarling German Shepherd…”

  He aimed his laser stunner at the dog’s head. Before he could fire, he heard the front door bang open, then heavy footsteps down the hall. “Anderson Security Company! You have three seconds to prove you’re not a thief before we open fire!”

  Nick turned to face the six security guards who were all pointing very large handguns at his head. Shielding his eyes from the laser sights, he said, “Jimmy? Is that you?”

  A thick-necked guard switched off his laser sight and pointed a flashlight at him. “Nick? Nick Wergild? Fancy meeting you here! You know, we warned you that the next time you broke into a house there’d be consequences. Dire consequences.”

  “Yeah, I remember,” he said, taking out his money pouch. “So, bribes all around then?”

  Chapter Nine

  The following morning, Nick was roused from a deep sleep by the sound of his transmitter. As usual, the return to consciousness was particularly irritating. For Nick, the waking world was a lot like a cocktail party: aggravating, tedious, and full of people he would rather strangle than speak to. Also, there was a lot of booze.

  He answered the transmitter, Sophia’s head appearing above his palm. “That psycho is outside!” she said, chewing on a fingernail. “I was trying to avoid him so I switched shifts with a friend but he must have found out somehow. He’s here at the store! My shift is over soon. Can you come over here and film him while he follows me home?”

  “That wouldn’t prove anything,” he said groggily. Yawning and stretching, he climbed out of bed. “It would be too difficult to film both you and Bender at the same time. Without both of your cars in the same shot, there wouldn’t be any real evidence of stalking. I’ll have to head to your place and film him once he gets there. Don’t go home for about half an hour; I’ll need some time to get everything ready.” He reached down to cut the transmission.

  “Nick, wait! I’m scared. Will you keep talking to me?”

  “Sure. What did you want to talk about?”

  “Just keep talking…”

  As it was during the day, there were quite a few employees and customers around, so Nick figured Luke wouldn’t risk coming into the store. Nick got dressed and ran a couple of errands, all the while doing his best to keep Sophia’s mind off the man waiting for her outside. His first stop was at a small store called Notable Furniture. (The name confused shoppers, but they refused to change it.) Dividing his attention between Sophia and a salesclerk, he ordered a living room set and had it sent to an apartment in her complex that she knew to be empty.

  Back in his car, he finished telling her about his night at Clayton West’s. “…And the last security guard, I decided to let him live. There had been more than enough bloodshed for one night.”

  His second stop was at a moving van rental lot. In order to get a van, customers had to leave their cars behind as collateral. If they didn’t return the van on time, their cars were crushed into cubes and sold as extremely heavy coffee tables. He left his car and continued on to Sophia’s in a large moving van.

  He found a space in front of the empty apartment. Notable Furniture’s deliverymen were already there, unloading the bedroom set. “I have to go, Wynne. You can head on home. I’ll be here, waiting to intercept Bender.” She seemed unsure but agreed to do as he said.

  The building manager came outside to see what was being delivered. She pulled her bathrobe closed and, bunny slippers flopping, padded over to Nick. “What’s this all about?” She jabbed an angry finger at the van. “Nobody’s scheduled to move in this week!”

  “Good morning, madam.” Nick extended his hand, but she was not in the mood for polite greetings. He shook his own hand instead. “I was supposed to move in to the extended stay hotel down the road, but the man at the front desk said they won’t be finished cleaning my room until late this evening. Apparently, the previous tenant was quite a slob; he threw blood everywhere and left a chalk outline of himself on the floor. Anyway, I was wondering if I could rent this apartment just for the day.”

  “The owner wouldn’t like that. I’m supposed to collect a security deposit, first and last month’s rent…”

  “Well, if you don’t mind me saying so, I’m certain I can coax you into changing your mind.”

  Smiling, she adjusted the curlers in her hair. “My husband will be home in an hour, but you can coax me until then…” He considered explaining what the word meant, but decided it would be easier just to bribe her.

  Like the other apartments in the complex, this one had its own entrance directly off of the parking lot. Nick and the deliverymen moved the furniture into the front room, finishing just as Sophia arrived. He tipped the deliverymen and sent them on their way. Luke arrived moments later, parking across from Sophia’s door and lighting a cigarette. “Apparently Sophie doesn’t let him smoke in the house,” Nick thought. He sauntered up to Luke’s car and casually knocked on the window.

  Luke cracked the window and scowled. “What the hell do you want?”

  “Hi there! Luke Bender, right? I recognized you from the newsfeeds. Big fan of your work. Anyway, I’m robbing an apartment across the way. Since you have a history with this sort of thing, I thought you might help me out. There’s thousands of dollars of stuff in there. I‘d go halfsies with you, of course.”

  “I don’t know about that… I’m waiting for someone.”

  “How about two-thirdsies? Or three-fourthsies?”

  Luke’s eyes bounced from Nick to Sophia’s door and back. “Well, alright, as long as it doesn’t take too long.”

  “No, this shouldn’t take long at all.”

  Nick handed Luke a stack of coins. Working together, they loaded the couch and chairs into the van. Sitting down to rest, Nick asked Luke to go back inside for the last piece of furniture, as it was small enough for one person to carry. As soon as he was out of earshot, Nick switched on his transmitter and called a security team. “Help! I’m being robbed! He’s already taken my credenza, and now he’s back for my ottoman and chesterfield!”

  ◊

  Twenty minutes later, Sophia and Nick were standing in the parking lot, watching Luke being dragged away by a security patrol. Two crime scene technicians collected DNA samples from the furniture, van, and the door of the apartment. They asked about there not being any furniture in the kitchen or bedroom, but Nick assured them there had been. Apparently, he said, Luke had cleaned out most of the apartment already and had returned to empty the living room. As he was a manhunter and Luke was a repeat offender, they took him at his word.

  “Oh, I almost forgot,” Nick said. “I also had a pinball machine. Make sure he buys me a new one.”

  “So there’s no proof he was stalking me?” Sophia asked.

  Nick took her arm and led her a few steps away, so that the security team couldn’t overhear. “I didn’t bother trying to get any proof because I knew the stalking story was a lie. You just wanted me to frame him.”

  “What are you talking about, Nick?”

  “I spied on him at work. He told a friend all about how you two are dating. At first, I figured he must have been lying, but how else would he have gotten into your apartment?”

  Sophia gasped. “He broke into my apartment? And you saw him? Why didn’t you do something?”

  “He had a keycard, Wynne!” He rubbed the back of his head and groaned. “What the hell was I supposed to think?”

  “I told you how he showed up at Little Brother’s! He must have gotten into the locker room and taken my keycard from my purse. I thought I’d lost it, so I had the building manager make me a new one. Ask her!”

  “How did you have his home address, then?”

  “How the hell do you think? I sell surveillance equipment, you ass! I had one of my employees put a tracking device on his car. It�
�s disguised as an ‘Ask me about my grandkids’ bumper sticker.” She gestured at the vehicle, which was about to be towed. “Go take a look! God, I can’t believe you don’t trust me!”

  They were silent for a long, awkward moment. The security patrol loaded Luke into the back of their car and headed for their office, where an arbitrator would be waiting to hear his case. The crime scene technicians informed Nick that they had found Luke’s DNA, so the furniture would not have to be taken as evidence. However, Luke’s DNA would not be returned to him until after his trial. They collected their tools and were on their way.

  “One thing I can’t figure out,” Sophia said suddenly. “If you thought Luke was innocent, why did you decide to frame him?”

  “I didn’t,” Nick said, digging in his pocket for his transmitter. “I simply encouraged him to break the law. There’s a difference. – Look, I don’t have time for this. I have to get back to work. Sweeney will want to know how the investigation is progressing.”

  “Nick, wait…”

  Turning his back, he walked out of earshot and leaned against a lamppost. He switched on his transmitter and said “Trans Sweeny.” With a soft ping, a six-inch hologram of a woman’s head appeared above his palm. She had skin like an actress in a soap commercial and strawberry blonde hair pulled into a bun so tight she had trouble blinking.

  “Oh! Sorry,” he said, “transmission error. Must be getting some interference. I was trying to reach Todd Sweeney.”

  “He’s out at the moment, Mr. Wergild. I’m his wife, Margery.”

  “Either that’s really amazing plastic surgery,” he thought, “Or she’s at least thirty years younger than Sweeney.” To Margery, he said, “Oh! You’re Sweeney’s wife? You’re not English.”

  “No, I’m from Canada. Ever been?”

  “Not on purpose. Listen, you know who I am, so I assume you know about Flockhart’s murder.”

  “Yes, of course. A horrible tragedy. I have my own theories about who it might have been, but I’m interested to see what you have to say on the matter.”