Quintic (50 page)

“
Are you
worried about this second murder?” Nope, he wasn’t. “Did it stir up
memories?” She wished the second death had awakened up
long-forgotten details. Nope, nothing.

“
I mean, we
talked about it, a college kid, a diner. But this town’s crazy.
College kids died every other week, killed or run over, or
overdosed. Just so happens this one hit close to home.”

Since
t
he police had not given out a lot of
information, she didn’t want to push the similarities further. She
didn’t mention her role in the second murder discovery, didn’t
confide that the police had interrogated her. Keeping with the
research routine, she didn’t get much. The cook got annoyed. The
waitresses got busy; half the tables were now taken, the couple and
the killer-look-alike customer had left. She was about done
here.

Since no one
here knew she didn’t smoke
, she followed
the helper out back for a cigarette. She wanted to see the alley
again but not alone; the helper was as good a tour
guide-slash-bodyguard as any would do. She did some small talk to
get him to loosen up. He hadn’t spoken to her about the murder yet
although he was working at the diner at the time.

What had the
file said? Ah yes, he had left
early that
night.

“Did you know the girl
well?”

“Not well.”

“
Was she a
good waitress?”
Very
insightful question, Patricia
.

“Good enough.” Talkative,
wasn’t he?

“
Do you know
if she had a boyfriend?” He shrugged. Did that mean he didn’t know?
Didn’t care?

This
tête-à-tête
was a major waste of time. She felt woozy from the
cigarette, not to mention the damn alley creeping her out. She
should learn to listen to Christopher and stay out. Thinking of the
Big guy made her think of Lemieux. And that led to Lemieux’s
women.

“
Back then,
did another waitress look like the dead girl? You know, young,
wholesome, perky.”

He
seemed weirdly uneasy with her question. He
inhaled a long drag before answering. “Nope.”

She put her
hand on his arm (high up on the guy’s short shirt sleeve) and
smiled, stepping closer. “Did another waitress go to the same
college?”

“Lots of college kids work as
waitresses. Hard to remember.”

“
Maybe a
customer? Someone who ate at the restaurant often?”

“No.”

Dead
end all the way. Her interrogation skills
weren’t up to speed, and neither was her imagination. She might
change career after all. Maybe she should reconsider working at a
diner; she might have better odds that way.

Discouraged,
she asked for a job. “I’m thinking of getting a job as a waitress.
Think I can cut it?” He looked startled. “I’m not too old, am I?”
No answer.
Great
. “I don’t have any
experience so how do I get in?”

“
This place,
you need references. A friend gets you in.”

“Who got you in?”

“Stan.”

The cook. “You too are
friends?”

“We went to school
together.”

T
he guy looked young enough to be
Stan’s son or his baby brother, how annoying! “Ah. Would you get me
in?” No answer. He wouldn’t then. She couldn’t blame him,
Christopher didn’t want her in either. She pouted and considered
her next question. “And the girl? Who got her in?”

“Another waitress.”

Interesting.
‘
Lots of college kids work as
waitresses. Hard to remember,
’ Your
precise words, Helper man. “Which one?”

“
She don’t
work here no more.”

This chat
was going terribly slowly. If she smoked another cigarette, she
would throw up for sure. “Is she still working here? When did she
quit? Where does she work now?”

“
She left a
while ago. Don’t know where she is now. Never saw her again.” He
didn’t look too broken up about it.

“
Did she
quit before or after the murder? Did you like her? Where the two of
them close friends?” She aimed to save time by sending a volley of
questions his way.
Please,
answer at least one
.

“
Don’t know.
Ask Mary.”

“
OK. You
didn’t like her, did you?” She asked, unsure whom, of the dead girl
or the friend, she was referring to.

He stared at
her, finished his cigarette, threw the butt out and opened the
do
or to get back inside. Okeydokey. Thank
God she hadn’t been expecting an answer.

“
I liked her
just fine. She was an OK kid. Sweet. Kind of old-fashioned. It’s
the other one I didn’t like. She was weird. Liked her too much.”
And off he went.

To surmise,
he had liked one but not the other. Whom was which remained
unclear. Wow. Maybe he had been in love with the girl (whichever
girl)? Maybe he was the killer? The file reported he had had an
alibi but still, he could be
it
, couldn’t he?

She went
back inside to see Mary, the older waitress.

“Don’t know about the girl. You
should call Lucy.”

“And Lucy is?”

“
Lucy’s an
old colleague;
she stops by from time to
time. Here, I’ll write down her full name and number for yah. Lucy
keeps in touch with everybody; if anyone knows where the girl’s
gone, it’s her.”

“
Great.
Thanks.” Of course, if she had been working with the team, she
could have asked one of the guys to run the name for her and
tadam
,
she would have had the friend’s
address, phone number, blood type and toothpaste brand. Unless she
asked Mario? Hum.

Unfortunately,
as with her
sinfully spy
esque
phone she was trying to cut back on, she was
avoiding Mario. Not too much, he needed to be looked after a
little, but she drew the line at any hacking extravaganza. At least
for now.

She had to
follow this new clue on her own the old-fashioned way. She called
Lucy the waitress. They agreed to meet for supper; hence, she
wouldn’t have to eat it naked, what a relieve.

Patricia
chose not to meet the woman at the diner.

“
Why don’t
we go to that diner on Thirteen?” Lucy suggested. “You know, the
one that was in the papers a few weeks back.” The police sure knew
how to keep secrets. A to think Christopher thought her a snoop!
“It’s not far from where you are.”

“
Okeydokey.”
Why the hell not, Patricia thought, two birds with one stone. “Is
six OK for you, Lucy?”

Plenty of
time for her to walk over. And call Christopher.

She didn’t
take any chances and lef
t a message on
his home number. “Something’s come up for supper; I can’t make it.
We’ll talk later.” She anticipated the Big guy was going to be a
tad miffed.

His Night

C
hris got home around eight. No
point going back early, Patricia had eluded him once again. Maybe
he shouldn’t have requested a naked supper. Not that she was a
prude, but when given time to think about things, she tended to
overthink said things, and as a rookie, he had gone and given her
the whole fucking day to escape. Thus, he worked later than
initially planned. A total waste of time.

They visited
dumps, talked to losers, smoked, drank flat beers, got insulted and
got nothing. He had fun doing it
, though;
Ham was a cool guy to work with. Too bad Charles had trouble seeing
it that way. Then again, Charles wasn’t Ham’s boss, so the dynamic
between the two was different. Moreover, Ham trusted Chris’s
judgement, and Chris trusted Ham’s. He had yet to trust
Charles.

After a
quick shower,
Chris changed into a pair
of dark-grey sweatpants and a t-shirt, his at-home uniform, and
poured himself a scotch. Television on, he let his mind wander back
on the day. Ham had called Charles, so the three had ridden
together, Ham doing the driving and most of the talking. It had
been quiet for Ham and the kid, a temporary truce. Ham even allowed
Charles to do some questioning.

The kid had
handle
d himself adequately (barely above
passably), better than before, though, but not satisfactorily
enough yet for Chris. He hadn’t made up his mind yet. In fact, he
would have already sent the kid packing but for two reasons.
Firstly, the rookie had taken the blame for the fight at the club.
Secondly, as per Patricia’s version, Charles had covered her back
during the brawl. To be fair, Chris also took into account how she
had led on his more experienced team on numerous occasions in the
past, and he had yet to fire one of his guys.
You’ve used up your one free ticket at that
strip joint, Charlie boy
.

Damn
woman.
Chris wasn’t into the habit of
agonising about someone. Of course, he worried about his friends
from time to time, members of his family sometimes. Rarely. As for
the previous women in his life, he had shown the requisite level of
polite concern. But while he might notice those women distressed
from a cold, a sprained wrist or a flat tire, he felt more a
nagging sensation than genuine concern; it was something on the
day’s to-do list. Work. Jog. Give fuck buddy some medicine. In that
order.

Now, his
upsets were of the almost overwhelming
Knot-in-his-stomach-Fists-clenched-so-tight-ready-to-beat-someone-out-ready-to-kill
variety. At the first sight of her, he had wanted her but had
fought like hell
not
to fall for her. It hadn’t taken long for him to
realise he couldn’t do anything to stop the plunge, didn’t
want
to do
anything to stop it. And then, she had talked to him (scolded
really), and he had plummeted, head over heels crazy about her. The
rest, as they said, was history. Fuck, she enraged him sometimes.
Yet, even in those times, he was a goner. Women were the damndest
things, weren’t they? One of them, at least.

Ham had
confessed about the late call.
I should have known something was up, Princess. That water
ran for fucking too long
. Even a pussycat
back from a prowl didn’t take that long a bath. She had acted
silly; she had to know not only Ham wouldn’t confide anything
to
her
about the case but would disclose the call to
him
.

“
She’s
always fun to tease. I didn’t have to see her face to know she was
blushing like a fucking virgin when she thought I was balls deep in
some pussy when I answered.” Besides him, Charles turned brick red.
“She called me Joseph to soften me up.” Judging from the stupid
grin on Ham’s face, her call had had just the opposite result.
“Spunky doll that one, don’t you agree, kiddie?”

“
Enough of
the kiddie shit already, Hamilton.”

“
Or what,
Charlie boy, you gonna rat me out to the boss?”

Ham and
Patricia
’s complicated friendship did not
rattle Chris. It didn’t mean he wasn’t jealous because he fucking
was. A shitty bonus to his anxiety. She was right in saying Ham and
him were a lot alike, and because of that, she could
unintentionally screw the guy’s defences big time, just as she was
his. But the bottom line was that Ham covered his back and would
get killed for her. Chris wasn’t so sure about Charles, though. For
now, the kid’s feelings clouded what little judgement Charles had
left. Chris couldn’t remember being that fucking young on the
job.

At Charles’s
age, he was a dropout bullying his way around the country with
Lonzo and MacCarmick
, recklessly picking
up fights, drinking, stealing. A fight too many, a chance encounter
with Bozniak, his life spun one-eighty to a more appropriate outlet
for his anger. Controlling scums from the right side of the Law.
Quite an unusual life he had.
The fuck if I’m not feeling melancholic. It must be the
rain.

Dinner Date for
Two

T
he rain that had been waiting
all day to fall now hammered down. Patricia considered her options.
Walking back was a no, too rainy, too dark, too far, too tired.
Walking two blocks to the bus stop? Ditto rainy, dark, far, tired.
Call a cab? Call Christopher? Hum. Perhaps if he didn’t pick her up
directly at the dinner? It meant she had to walk a couple of
inconspicuous blocks away; sleet would drench her in the process. A
no then. Hence a cab but where to? With that damn rain getting to
her, she was in the mood for some strong arms around her. A rainy
Sunday night like the nights of the murders. She should call
him.

Lucy turned
out to be a lovely lady, older than she had expected, though.
Mid-fifties, divorced, grown children, Lucy now worked in a
retirement house and
loved
to chat and
reminisce.

“
The old
folks are stress-free, perfect for a broad like me,” Lucy said. “I
work six to four, Mondays through Fridays, same old crowd every
day. I’m home by five, and all my weekends are off. You can’t get
conditions like that in diners.”