D. Schmidt - They Ate the Waitress?

“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.”

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?”

“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.”