D. Schmidt - They Ate the Waitress?

“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.”