MIdnight Diner 1: Jesus vs. Cthulhu

by Chris Mikesell

  “High price?”

  “Not so much that. Just the kind of scumbag you’d enjoy taking off the streets. Couldn’t pass up the chance.”

  “Who?”

  “The Candy-Man.”

  Jiana stopped stirring her onions and looked at Vega with big brown eyes wide, her mouth half-open in a response she wasn’t yet sure how to phrase.

  “You want in?” Vega asked.

  “This is the Candy-Man? From the news? “Yeah.”

  Jiana looked away, brow furrowing as she considered. When a slight smile curled the corners of her mouth she looked back up at Vega and said, “I would love the opportunity.” The word “I” came out like “Ah,” as was a habit of her southern heritage.

  Vega smiled inwardly. She hadn’t even asked how much. She just wanted to help. “Jiana,” he said, all seriousness now, “This’ll be a tough one . . . mentally . . . emotionally.”

  Jiana’s voice was somber now, “I know,” she said, nodding.

  “These are kids. Lots of bad things have happened to them.”

  Jiana’s silence was enough of an affirmation that she understood. “You can say no . . . if you’re not up for it.”

  “I’m up for it.”

  Vega paused, then nodded, “All right.”

  FOR THE NEXT HOUR, Jiana went over the details of the hunt while Vega was on the phone with a friend in the ACPD obtaining information from the police investigation thus far. He came out of his bedroom, still on the phone, to find Jiana pacing back and forth in the living room, her hands steepled in front of her face.

  “Thanks, Alexis,” Vega said into the phone. “I owe you one.” He slapped his phone closed.

  Jiana was quick to speak. “Hey, I’ve got an idea.” “What’s up?”

  “Dale was arrested two years ago for possession of child pornography. He would have lost the club had the charges not been dropped. I’ll go get dressed.” She tried to head off to her room, all gung-ho and ready to hit the streets, when Vega took her by the wrist. His hand ever-so-slightly brushed across the elongated pale scar set across it. She had an identical scar on her other wrist. More than ever the feeling of it stood out to him.

  “Jiana—no.”

  “Vega, this is an opening.”

  “Not you. If you think this is worth it I’ll question him myself, but you’re not going.“

  “He won’t talk to you. He’ll talk to me. I know he will.”

  Vega sighed. The truth was that he didn’t want Jiana anywhere near Dale Bakke. This was the creep who “helped” Jiana when she was down and out. Abandoned by her mother when she was sixteen she ran away from home. She made her way to Antioch where she found herself homeless and desperate for money, working odd jobs that she could never hold on to.

  When she was seventeen, Dale Bakke did her the “favor” of allowing her to work at his club as a dancer. Strip club owners aren’t typically known as a respectable bunch, but the average owner would not jeopardize his business by hiring underage dancers. Dale took the risk because of his previously mentioned partiality to young girls. He expected Jiana to show how grateful she was for his help, and he expected it soon. After four months on the job she was nearing her eighteenth birthday, and Dale became more blatant in his desire to get her into bed. Somehow, in his mind, it just wouldn’t be as stimulating to score Jiana once she was of age.

  Jiana was no angel, but she refused him—adamantly. It cost her job and, eventually, her apartment. Soon afterward she attempted suicide. It was then that Vega saved her life.

  Vega now looked at the young woman in front of him, sometimes still that lost little girl he first met under less than ideal circumstances. Although she never admitted it, Vega knew it was not just losing her job that drove her to attempt suicide. There was something else. Something she was not yet ready to tell him.

  No, Vega could not allow her to be put into such an emotionally volatile position just to help him. Maybe Cassius was right.

  But then, she was an adult.

  FOR ALL OF ITS’ MULTI-COLORED CITY LIGHTS, brightly animated holo-board advertisements, zooming trams and propulsor-powered monorails high overhead, the average downtown flashiness was dwarfed by the florescent gaudiness of the neon lights of The Kitty Club. Vega and Jiana left the car with the valet in front, bypassed the line and approached the bouncer at the front door. Vega pulled at the chain around his neck, showing what looked like a pair of dog tags but was in fact one dog tag and a gold hunter’s badge the size of a dog tag. Holding it up, he allowed the bouncer to verify it with a handheld scanner as Vega identified himself. “Federal bounty hunters. We need to speak with your boss.”

  Jiana followed suit with her dog tags.

  The bouncer, tall, stone-faced, and with a voice as deep as Barry White’s, said “Mr. Bakke is busy at the moment. I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  Jiana stepped forward. “Tell him Jiana Lyman wants to talk to him. He’ll know who I am.“

  “Sir,” Vega interjected, “your boss is in no trouble, I assure you, but if you wish we can obtain a warrant. Just know that if we have to, we’ll also come back with a few questions concerning the validity of his liquor license. . . and not before a full background check on you,” Vega leaned forward and eyed his name tag, “LeKendrick.”

  LeKendrick peered down at the shorter hunter, who returned the look with a polite smile. LeKendrick turned his back on the two and pressed his headset to his ear, whispering. Finally, he faced them again and said, “Mr. Bakke will meet you at the bar.”

  Jiana passed him by, “I know the way.” Vega followed.

  Inside, Jiana found herself surprisingly uncomfortable for such a familiar setting. Looking over her shoulder she spied Vega, eyes alert but diverted more to the ground and away from the topless bodies seductively gyrating against the poles on stage. Jiana smiled. In spite of his unshakable stoicism he always seemed shy in places like this.

  He’s so cute. Her giggle was lost in the deafening thrum of music.

  Dale Bakke was at the end of the bar, cleaning a glass. He was a thick, balding, sweaty lump with a plump, red nose and an offensive way about him. When the two approached him, his first comment confirmed his appalling nature. “Jiana! Take a look at you. You could still put asses in the seats, sweetheart.”

  Jiana ignored the comment, just like the old days. “We need to talk in private, Dale.”

  He looked past her at Vega. “Who’s the statue?” “My conscience.”

  Dale eyed him warily, and then jerked his head toward the back. “In my office.”

  DALE’S OFFICE WALLS WERE ADORNED with naked women and framed photos of him shaking hands with various celebrity customers. He walked in first, asking what the visit was about. When Jiana used the phrases “Nighttime Candy-Man“ and “child pornography ring” Dale Bakke froze in mid-stride, turned on his heels, and said “I have nothing to do with that.”

  “Didn’t say you did,” Vega replied, speaking for the first time.

  “No, but what you are saying is that I’m somehow involved with people that do. Whatever charges were brought against me were dropped—“

  “By legal loopholes, not lack of evidence,” Jiana interjected.

  “Nevertheless, if you’re somehow trying to trap me, you can forget about it. I’m not involved in anything.”

  Vega stepped forward, his voice menacing, “We’re not interested in you, Mr. Bakke. Barring current evidence we’re perfectly happy to leave you be. All we want is a name. Or we can start digging, starting with your internet transactions.”

  “However deplorable my clients may be, I don’t delve into their personal lives, and wouldn’t betray their privacy even if I did.”

  “We’re talking about children, Dale. Children!“ Jiana said. Dale smirked, “Like you got a place to stand, Ji-ji?”

  It was in that instant that Dale found his breath cut off. Vega clamped his hand onto Dale’s throat and tossed him backward onto his own desk. Dale clawed at V
ega’s hand to no avail. Vega leaned over and whispered into his ear, “That’s not nice.” He pinched Dale’s trachea harder. “Now, how ‘bout a name.”

  Dale’s voice barely pushed past his throat, “I . . . don’t . . . know . . . nothin’! Whatever . . . I used to be involved in . . . was all video and pictures off the net.” Vega loosened his grip just slightly. Dale continued, “I ain’t never bought no kid. Don’t know anything about no kidnappings. I ain’t never touched no kid!”

  “Yeah,” Vega said, “You’re a real standup guy.” He took a beer mug from Dale’s desk, slammed it down next to his head, and, taking hold of Dale’s thinning hair, set the back of his skull on the rim of the mug. Vega drew his 9 mm HK pistol and pressed the barrel against Dale’s forehead. “Last chance. I’m getting thirsty.”

  “Alright! There might be one guy that comes here. Heard rumors about him. Don’t know nothing solid.”

  “A name, Dale.” Vega pulled back the hammer of his gun. Dale hesitated.

  Vega took the gun and pointed it down at Dale’s foot. “How ‘bout I take off a pinky toe. Nobody really needs a pinky toe.”

  “Alright, alright! The name’s Alfred Glass. High roller in these parts. Comes here three times a week. Got his address in my desk.”

  Slowly, Vega holstered his gun, pulled Dale back up by the hair, and gave him a push around the desk, where Dale got the address out of a client roster. “You were right, Jiana. He is an easy guy to talk to.”

  Jiana smiled sweetly. “Told you so.”

  GIVEN THE CAPACITY THAT THE CHURCH COULD HOLD, the shortage of members in attendance made it look all the more empty. Vega was there, eyes closed as he listened to the closing prayer. On his left was his other roommate, Joseph “Tech” Gardner. African-American, tall, lean, and muscular, Tech was the brains behind Vega’s more technologically demanding hunts.

  Vega wished that Jiana were also here. She would have fit in very well with the youth group. They may have been mostly church kids since birth, but they were understanding and accepting.

  Jiana had no problem with Vega’s faith. It was one of the things she loved about him. She only expressed that she wasn’t ready for it herself. “Maybe someday,” she had said, making no promises.

  “So, you said this morning that you need some help on this one?” Tech asked, drawing Vega out of his thoughts as the congregation stood to leave. “I need access to Alfred Glass’s financial records. I need to know if

  Bakke’s information on this guy was accurate.”

  “You mean you can’t take the strip club owner’s word for it? Lying is morally reprehensible. Why would a guy like that stoop so low?”

  “Funny.”

  “I’m going to need the name of his bank.”

  “First National. Jiana got it out of his files while he was getting me

  Glass’s address.”

  “That was easy. Hardly worth the two grand you’re paying me.” “I can pay you less.”

  “Well, when you hire the best you expect to pay top dollar. Don’t even trip about it, g. Get me to my laptop and I’ll have your information in under fifteen minutes.”

  “Done deal,” Vega said. “I’ll meet you at Shannon’s.”

  “Alright, then.” Tech and Vega parted ways. Tech left in his truck. Vega was just about to climb onto his motorcycle when Roddy Darlington, youth pastor of the church, called out to him. Vega turned to see Roddy waving him down. Roddy turned away to say a few quick words to a handful of boys and girls from his youth group, and then jogged over to Vega.

  Vega smiled to acknowledge him. Roddy was a good guy. He was tall and clean cut. Late twenties, wire-framed glasses, and a slight spike to his sandy blonde hair. He had obtained his masters’ degree in business but was now in his first year of seminary. He had turned down a good selection of well-paying jobs because he professed, quite enthusiastically, that the Lord was leading him to a life of spreading the gospel. “What’s up, Roddy?”

  “Brother James,” Roddy responded with a bright smile and brotherly embrace.

  Vega wasn’t much for hugging, but managed to work an arm around him.

  “Pastor Steiger tells me you’re on a new hunt.” “As of yesterday.”

  “Don’t worry, he didn’t tell me the details. But he did imply that it wasn’t your average hunt. I got the impression that it’s going to be dangerous.”

  “There’s really not much to imply anything dangerous, it’s just that . . . well, a lot is riding on this one. A lot of people to protect.”

  “I understand,” Roddy said, his smile fading to a more serious expression. “Pastor Steiger said that he prayed with you. If you don’t mind, I’d like to do the same.”

  “Of course.”

  Roddy placed his hand on Vega’s shoulder, and the two of them bowed their heads. “Father God,” Roddy began, “we come before You today on behalf of Your faithful servant, James Vega, and for Jiana Lyman. We ask that You would grant them wisdom and protection as they seek justice in this job which You have placed before them. We ask that You place Your guardian angels around them, guide them, and keep them in Your care. Show them Your perfect will. Bless them and strengthen them in this hunt, and grant them success. It‘s in the holy name of Your Son, Jesus Christ, that we pray this. Amen.”

  “Amen.”

  “Take care, brother,” Roddy finished with a slap of Vega’s shoulder. Vega smiled again. Roddy had a way of making him do that. “Alright, man.”

  SEATED AT A BOOTH at the Seven Days Cafe, Tech’s hands flew across his laptop, eyes fixed, unblinking, on the screen. Vega watched, curious about the lightning fast thoughts and the well of limitless technical knowledge Tech employed without so much as a pause to consider his next move.

  “Check this out,” Tech said, angling the laptop toward Vega. “Glass seems pretty clean for the most part, unless you know to look for something. But here’s this: Glass owns a lot of businesses and has a lot of money moving around. Over the last eight months there’s been several large amounts of money passing through one particular business that doesn’t do anything.”

  “Dummy corporation.”

  “Yeah. And then I tracked where all this money was going. It was filtered into a host of smaller businesses owned by, get this, Vandric Cane.” “Vandric Cane, black market kingpin. Probably not local, but he’s long been

  suspected of buying and selling children out of Romania. Sounds like our guy.”

  “And a guy like Glass doesn’t go to Vandric Cane unless he’s soliciting child prostitutes. How does he continue to get away with something like that?” “Cane and Glass both get away with things for the same two reasons.

  Money, and lots of the right people in his pocket. Good work, Joseph.” Tech shrugged. “I was always smarter than you.”

  “But I was always prettier.”

  “Naw, Jiana’s got you hands down on that.”

  Vega considered that. Then, “Mmm, no, definitely me.” He stood, threw on his trench coat, and headed toward his motorcycle.

  “I DON’T KNOW ABOUT THIS, JIANA.”

  “I think it’s a great idea, girl. Creative,” Tech countered.

  “I thought so, too,” Jiana replied proudly, her hands clasped behind her, swaying side to side. She turned to Vega, her tone imploring, “It’ll work, Vega, I promise.”

  “I’m sure it will. It’s just . . .” Vega didn’t finish the statement. He really didn’t have a reason to dislike her plan. When did I star t acting like an old guy?

  “You don’t have to be my dad or nothin’, you know?” It was like she read his mind.

  “If I was your dad I’d ground you.”

  “I’d sneak out my window and go anyway.” “She got you there,” Tech said.

  Vega pointed at him. “You’re not helping.”

  “It’s not like I want to do this.” She indicated her shirt, “I haven’t worn this thing since I was at the club. It’s embarrassing, but it’ll work.”

 
; “I can tell it’s been a while. It’s too tight on you now.”

  “It’s always been this tight. Why? Do I look like I’ve gained weight?” “I didn’t say that.”

  “Yes you did.”

  “Yes, you did,” Tech agreed.

  Vega looked Jiana up and down. Her shirt bore the Kitty Club name and showed off a lot of midriff. Her jeans looked like they were almost painted on. She wore calf-high black boots with sky-high heels, making her almost as tall as Vega. “It’s not like you’re forcing me,” she pleaded.

  Vega dropped his head and shook it, sighed. “Yeah, it’ll work.”

  Jiana bounced excitedly on her toes, clapping. “I’ll go get my gun.” She ran off to her room and slammed the door.

  Vega called at her futilely, “It’s not like you can hide it anywhere!”

  He and Tech stood there, silent. Tech shook his head. “How could you let her wear that?“

  Vega shot an incredulous glare at him. Tech, triumphant grin on his face, walked to his room and shut the door.

  Vega heard a muffled laugh.

  “I FEEL LIKE AN IDIOT,” Jiana said, puckering her candy-apple-red lips at the rearview mirror to check her lipstick.

  “It was your idea.”

  “I know. It seemed smarter before I had to leave the house dressed like this. I look trashy.”

  “You look fine.” “I’m cold.”

  “It’s seventy degrees out.” “I’m cold.“

  “You’re just nervous.”

  Changing the subject, she said, “Seriously, Vega, do I look like I’ve gained weight.”

  “Would you get off that? I didn’t mean it that way.”

  Jiana poked at her stomach self-consciously, testing the sponginess of it. “Maybe I have,” she said, unconvinced by Vega’s assurances.

  Vega sighed. “No, girl, you’re a total hottie,” he said, as if for her benefit, making the comment as monotone and expressionless as he could.

  Jiana smiled widely, “Really?” Vega grumbled.

  She playfully tapped him on the shoulder with her fist. “I’m just messing with you. You‘re so serious all the time.”