The Waitress Who Got Served: Flint Locke Mystery Series Book 1

by F. M. Purdum

  Carl scowled at me. “Watch your step, Locke.” He put out his cigar aggressively, stood up, and put his face close to mine—our noses almost touching. “We’re done here.”

  I decided not to press for Sandy’s contact information and thanked him for his help—I didn’t want to risk losing my neighborhood breakfast place more than I already had.

  It was strange to picture Sandy as a thief. Her tender eyes and grace didn’t add up to a criminal profile. Still, I had to stay objective. If Sandy was stealing there could be a connection with the tire slashing. Revenge was ugly and I was off to see a pretty girl.

  I knew nothing of where Sandy would hang out or frequent. I walked around the block in search of a payphone, in hopes that an operator could help, but saw none. It was rush hour and cars began to line up on the roadway. These fancy new cars gave me a chuckle. They looked like their tops were flattened. That just couldn’t be comfortable.

  After walking in circles a few blocks I finally found a telephone booth. Someone had ripped out the actual phone and the box was full of trash and foulness. Disgusted, I gave up. Even if I found a working payphone I didn’t even know her last name, and no doubt there was more than one Sandy in the city.

  Ending back outside the diner again I watched the diners shove food into their faces. A couple having a date. A family that hated each other. The human condition lived on.

  Feeling dead in the water, I thought long and hard to unlock this puzzle. This seemingly simple case was becoming extra frustrating. In my day I was used to chasing murderers and kidnappers — and now? Chasing after a waitress. What was this life? I needed a drink, but I needed to get somewhere with this fool’s errand first. Well, maybe a little nip. I pulled out my flask and took a sip.

  Sandy must live nearby, as I had previously seen her walking home past the bus stop when she left from a shift. But there were too many buildings around for me to just go door to door.

  As my mind was twirling about, the dishwasher came outside with a big bag of garbage. He threw the trash into the dumpster and lit up a cigarette. He looked young and I took a chance that some cash could convince him to help solve my problem.

  “Hey, kid. C’mere.” I motioned him over.

  “Yeah, what you want?” he asked me and took a big puff of his smoke.

  “Do you know Sandy? She’s a waitress who used to work here.”

  “Yeah, so what.”

  “I’m her cousin. In town for a visit and I’ve misplaced her contact info. Do you know where she lives?”

  “No,” he said flatly and spit on the ground.

  “Oh, that’s a shame. A real shame.” I slyly pulled out a crisp folded dollar bill and held it in the air. “Sure?” I asked the young man.

  “Dude, what? No, I don’t know.” He looked at me puzzled and didn’t take the money. “She hardly talked to me. Waitresses don’t give two shits about dishwashers.”

  “Hmm. Well, what’s the word? Did Sandy enjoy any romps—did she like the boogie-woogie?” I asked, still holding out the bill.

  “What? What are you even saying?”

  Just then, the grubby cook who thwarted my bathroom efforts earlier came outside. He plopped onto a milk crate and lit up a smoke. He pushed his stained bandana over his eyes and leaned back, looking like he was about to take a nap. A+ employee all around, it seemed.

  “Did she ever indicate that she enjoyed certain establishments in the neighborhood?” I asked the dishwasher again, trying to be clearer, as he walked away from me. I followed. “I appreciate your help in finding her.”

  “Hey, Paul! You know that Sandy chick?” the dishwasher yelled out to the cook. He waited for a second and continued, “The hot waitress who got fired?”

  “Yeah,” Paul breathed out heavily.

  “She live around here?” the dishwasher asked.

  “Big brown brick building on the corner of Fortieth and Main,” Paul answered, and I put the dollar back into my pocket and took off. I could hear him call out behind me, “Wait, why?”

  The sun began to set as I ventured towards Fortieth, I felt as though I was time-shifting again. Where I expected mule dung, rubble, and shanties—I saw piles of junk, garbage and tarps. As the neighborhood around my office had transformed into a scene fit for Flash Gordon, these streets had decayed well beyond comprehension. The people lying under their tarps were comatose, likely under the influence of the poppy. And where were all the clotheslines? No clothing fluttered in the winds above me like I was used to. Either the folks around here had no means to wash or the cleaners were cleaning up. On the corner, I noticed what looked like human feces halfway run off from the rain. I took a leap over the contaminated area.

  I passed a deli that used to be a cover for a gambling joint. It looked the same, surprisingly, and was strangely comforting. I looked inside for a little too long and the girl working eyed me sideways. I moved on.

  As I approached what I deemed to be Sandy’s building I noticed a couple of shanty dwellers screaming at each other in an alleyway. The woman threw a shoe at the man. The man retaliated by throwing a blanket onto her. She flailed about like she was on fire. No doubt, they were arguing about who was in charge of getting their next fix. The man noticed me watching and yelled something unintelligible at me. I ignored him and walked to the front of the building.

  The building was average-looking and the only brown one in sight on the block. Rusty fire escapes leaned over the windows with the illusion of safety, while a cat sitting on one had the audacity to look at me skeptically. The buzzer system in front listed off the apartments by first initial and last name. There were two first name “S”s listed: S. Hofmann and S. Beckett. Apartment 3A and 4D, respectively. Not bad. Not bad at all. The buzzer system seemed to be broken but someone had thoughtfully placed a rock in between the door and the wall. I was sitting pretty with a full house.

  I walked up the stairs, found apartment 3A, and knocked on the door. A loud bang erupted from inside.

  “Shit, shit, shit, fuck!” a man’s voice yelled. Footsteps approached and the door opened. “What the hell, dude. I spilled my shit because of you,” he said excitedly and waved a pair of pliers he had in his hand.

  “I…uh. Apologies. I’m looking for a woman named Sandy. Does she live here?” I asked, hoping that she did not.

  “Come over here. You need to help me. I can’t afford to mess up this batch,” he said, pulling me inside. He was wearing thick glasses and a loose shirt with swirling colors on it. His hair was long like a dame’s.

  As I was pulled across the apartment I noticed the walls were covered in tin foil and posters full of glowing shapes that made me dizzy. This was an apartment of a serial killer, but I was mesmerized by the whole situation. He pulled me inside a dark closet that was lit up with a red light. It looked like a darkroom but I saw no photographs. Instead, there were chemistry apparatuses spread on a table.

  Reality hit me. “I would love to help, but I am in a bit of a hurry. Apologies again for the interruption,” I said, pulled free of his arm and skipped towards the door. The strange ‘dude’ ran ahead of me and blocked the door.

  “No, man. You gotta help me.” He motioned me back towards the darkroom. The combination of his crazy eyes and twitchy hand holding pliers made me cautious, and I regretted leaving my pistol back at the office. I preferred using brains over brawn, but some steel would have helped with these negotiations. Not wanting any unnecessary conflict, I decided to play along for a minute and wait it out for a smoother escape.

  He ushered me towards the closet again and said, “Here, keep this steady. It will only take a second.” He put my hands on a bubbler. “I broke my stand and it’s too sensitive to do by myself.”

  He began to measure and pour, taking the bubbler and pouring into another vial. There were four bubblers in the room and what looked like a file system of papers.

  “What exactly are we doing?” I asked cautiously. Were we making bombs?

  “Creating
truth, man.”

  “I see.”

  After a few minutes of him measuring, pouring, and blotting paper with a dropper he started to calm down. “Awesome,” he said and sighed. “Thanks for your help!” He grabbed my shoulder and patted my back a few times. “The universe brought you to me. Outstanding.” The man smiled and put two hands over his heart.

  “Swell,” I mustered. He seemed satisfied so I took the opportunity to leave. The strange man returned to staring deeply at his experiment and I backed out towards the door slowly, then quickly.

  I was happy to be out of there and continued on my quest. I went up another floor to the other “S” resident in apartment 4D, and hoped for a more successful outcome.

  I found apartment 4D and banged on the door. This had to be Sandy’s residence. Otherwise, that cook had duped me and I’d be out of options.

  “Who is it?” a woman’s voice sweetly asked.

  “Hello, I’m looking for Sandy. Sandy…Beckett? It’s Flint Locke.”

  The door slowly creaked open with a chain taut. Sandy peered out at me.

  “I’m sorry for the intrusion, Sandy,” I apologized and removed my hat.

  “Mr. Locke…what are you doing here? What…how do you know where I live?”

  “As you may remember, I am a private investigator by profession. I’m currently investigating a case involving vandalism outside of Dinah’s Diner.”

  “What? What do you want from me?”

  “I was hoping you could clarify a few details for me. Please, Sandy. It will only take a few minutes.” I tried to explain in the most professional manner to calm her nerves. Her big pretty eyes softened.

  “Oh.” Sandy unlatched the chain and opened the door for me. “I didn’t realize you were actually a REAL private eye. We get a lot of interesting folks at the diner, you know? Come in. Would you like some tea? Or instant coffee? Is it too late for that?” She closed the door and I followed her to her dining table.

  “Coffee would be swell. If it’s no trouble.” My heart didn’t really need any more boosts but I hoped a shared drink would make my visit more casual.

  “No trouble at all. Nothing fancy, but it does the trick.” She began heating some water on the stove.

  I looked around at the joint. Small, but cozy. A few pieces of tasteful art adorned the walls. Colorful furniture and a huge bookcase lined with textbooks. The last bit of light streamed in from the window next to me. She had a nice view of the alleyway below, lit up by a lamppost. I watched the homeless couple continue their argument. “Nice place you got here. Interesting neighbors,” I said, attempting small talk.

  She came back with the coffee. “Sorry, I don’t have any cream. Do you need sugar?”

  “No, thank you. This is perfect.” I took the cup and our hands touched. I smiled with gratitude and possibly something else. She sat down across from me and scooted back.

  “So, vandalism at Dinah’s? What does this have to do with me?” she asked with a serious tone.

  I got down to business and explained the situation. “This crime was actually against your co-worker, Kate Crumdumb. Someone slashed her tires yesterday.”

  “Oh! Well, first of all, that’s ex-co-worker. I don’t work there anymore, which is super lame. I really needed that job.” Sandy crossed her arms and pouted. “I’m not surprised somebody hates her that much, though. She’s a snake. She framed me and got me fired.”

  “Oh? And what makes you so sure?” I asked, watching her movements.

  “Well, first of all, I am not a thief. SHE was the one who put that idea in Carl’s head. And then, during my shift with her, I suddenly have a steak in my purse that she knocks on the floor?”

  Sandy was steady with her criticism. She was agitated but didn’t waver in her intent. My baiting didn’t incite any nervousness and she wasn’t displaying any actions of lying. “Why would she want you fired?” I was genuinely curious.

  “She’s got some thing for Carl, don’t ask me why. I mean, he’s a good boss but kind of a slob. And old! Kate didn’t like that he was nice to me. He got me a birthday present recently and she’s never gotten anything from him. She was convinced I was sleeping with him or something. She told the whole staff that I was doing him—and of course, they believed her. I mean, GROSS, he’s like three times my age.” Sandy stood up and shook her whole body like her soul was trying to get away from herself. “She’s crazy!”

  My coffee cup on the table wobbled with the unsteady frame and Sandy’s enthusiasm. It spilled a little and I wiped it up with my lipstick-stained handkerchief. I chugged the rest of the mug down.

  “I see. That’s quite the accusation.” I wondered how old Carl was—he seemed not much older than me.

  “Look. I don’t steal and I don’t lie.” Sandy’s voice started to rise again. “So, she gets her tires slashed, gets you excited and points you to me. Well, don’t even think about accusing me!” Sandy pointed a shaking finger at me. She seemed upset.

  “No, I, uh. That is not what I…I misspoke. My apologies. I meant her accusation of your…loose...uh…indiscretions. I assure you I don’t think you are a thief…nor…nor a liar,” I managed to sputter out.

  Sandy was exhilarating. Her sweetness could transform into dynamite, her hair flying everywhere. With a waterproof face to boot. She was very distracting, and I shifted around trying to find something to keep me level.

  I noticed a handwritten note on the floor near the wastebasket. I poked it open with my foot. It said, Sandy, I am nothing without you, a biscuit with no butter. Please come back. It was not signed. She noticed my snooping and motioned for me to hand it to her.

  “Creepy, huh? It was slipped under my door yesterday.” She looked it over and dropped it on the table.

  “Yes, very strange indeed. You don’t know who it could be from?”

  “No, for all I know it could be a customer. Maybe a regular who knows where I live.” Her eyebrows raised and her big eyes turned suspicious while she stared at me for an awkward moment. I needed to leave.

  “Thank you for your help, Sandy. Please be assured that I believe your story and hope to clear this up soon.” I got up and headed for the door.

  “Well, just in case you change your mind, yesterday I was in classes all day and the library at night.”

  “Oh, you’re a student?”

  “I am.”

  “How nice. What are you studying?”

  “I don’t see how that matters…” She squinted at me and continued, “I’m getting my Master’s in Physics.”

  “Gee! You are quite ambitious, aren’t you?” I smiled at the girl and got a stern face in response. After an awkward second, I pulled out my business card and handed it to her. “In case you remember anything else. And…do you mind if I call you with additional questions if they arise?”

  “I suppose not. Um. Sure.” She wrote her telephone number on a piece of note paper that had a strip of some sort of glue or paste on one end. I took it eagerly and she continued, “As long as it’s related to the case.”

  “I’ll be seeing you,” I said and she closed the door after me.

  I headed back to the office to collect my thoughts on the case. As I exited the building I felt compelled to look at the note again. The sticky end was addicting. It was like Scotch tape or a postage stamp and left no residue. I couldn’t help but play with it. I placed my thumb on the sticky part and removed my thumb from it. I did it again. And again. This was quite the invention. Possibly my favorite so far in this new world.

  Thwaackk!!!

  Something hit me from behind and I tumbled to the ground.

  A voice yelled, “Stay away from her!”

  I crawled and rolled over quickly to defend myself against what I expected to be a looming criminal over me. I geared up to give some hooligan a knuckle sandwich. I peered up with squinted eyes and fists ready.

  No one was there. I got up and scanned the street. Not a soul. What the hell? On the ground next to me was a spl
it two-by-four I assumed was the cause of my throbbing skull. I touched the back of my head. A small amount of blood — nothing to worry about. I was more concerned with my hat that had blown down the alleyway. A brief dizziness caused me to stumble as I chased after it, and saw the homeless woman pick it up and hand it to her soulmate. Perfect.

  I reached out towards them and yelled. My words sounded funny and I felt the world spin. The last thing I saw before darkness overwhelmed my senses was the woman pointing at me.

  “Hey, man. You okay?” she asked. “Hey! Hey, man. David! Come here. This guy fell down.”

  I could hear them talking but couldn’t open my eyes or respond.

  “Maybe we should get out of here, Cathy,” a man’s voice was saying.

  For whatever reason, those words brought me back into a functioning state and I mustered together a, “Where’s my hat?” I blinked and saw the woman and man staring at me.

  The woman laughed and snugged my hat onto my head. “Better?”

  I took the hat off my head, looked at it, and put it back on. “Thanks.” Perhaps I misjudged this woman. I could make out a fairly attractive lady under the grime. The man, David, was pacing behind her. I got up slowly and leaned against the building for stability.

  “Did you hit me?” I asked him.

  “What? Me? Asshole.” He disappeared into a tent.

  I wasn’t sure what to make of that so I thought I’d ask the woman, Cathy, as she seemed more agreeable. “Did you see anything? Someone hit me on the head.” I pointed towards the front of the building. “Right over there. Just a few minutes ago.”

  “Well, it sure wasn’t David. He’s too lazy for all that.” She cackled. “Someone took off running down the street, but I wasn’t paying much attention. Looked like a ghost. You gonna call the cops?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, good. They don’t bother us if we keep out of trouble.”

  I looked at her for a minute. It didn’t make sense if these two had attacked me and then helped me. And putting themselves at risk with the authorities. I thanked her and made my way back to the office.