D. Schmidt - They Ate the Waitress?

“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 questions 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.”