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Chapter 20 (Adam Novus Chronicles - Book 1)
🕑 Added 2021-06-09 10:39:56 +0000 UTCBeing hungry is not a pleasant condition; even more so for me than it is for regular humans. This body of mine requires plenty of fuel to operate at its optimal efficiency, and that’s why my office has multiple stashes of high-calorie snacks to keep me topped up.
Besides, the gag-inducing stink of Xavier’s decomposing body was still lingering in my nostrils. Anything that can erase that would be a blessing. I sympathized with Julius and his loss, but I couldn't get out of that house soon enough.
After half an hour’s drive, I saw something that lifted my spirits. The light from an old-fashioned diner was to me what a bright flame to a moth is. I made an illegal U-turn hoping there were no cops nearby and parked my clunky car in the first available space, then hurriedly set in the direction of this temple of culinary delights.
The only thing on my mind was to have a seat and enjoy some peace and quiet. A fat cheeseburger, a cup of coffee, and a few slices of a pecan pie—sounded like my version of heaven right now.
The moment I opened the doors all those smells I identified with tasty food went directly to my brain. In my opinion, old fashion diners are unappreciated. Good food, low prices, comfortable seats… What more can one ask for? On the other hand, the waitress’s reproachful look told me she didn't appreciate me coming twenty minutes before closing time, but she fixed a fake smile like a pro and approached my table.
"What can I get you, honey?" She asked me the same question waitresses from time immemorial used on their customers. The honey at the end was always a nice little touch that just about guaranteed a good tip.
“A cheeseburger, a cup of coffee, and two slices of your pecan pie; and don't worry, I’ll be out of your hair before you need to close for the night.”
At least that put a shadow of a real smile on her face. I think it was under five minutes before she was back with my order; that's what I call fast service.
I barely took a sip of my coffee and a few bites out of the cheeseburger (so heavenly greasy, it was enough to induce a coronary), before my plan to relax went down the drain.
The little bell above the doors rang and an idiot walked in. How did I know he was an idiot? Easy, you do not put a women’s stocking on your head if you are gifted in the common-sense department. The first thing out of his mouth proved my assumption.
“Put your hands in the air, this is a robbery!” He yelled while pulling a wicked-looking Rambo knife that would have the best use as a substitute for a wood chopping ax.
First, his poor attempt at cross-dressing clearly showed that he was not a regular customer, so telling everyone (which only included me and the waitress,) that he was there to rob us, was superfluous. I certainly didn't think he was there to sell Girl Scout cookies. Not to mention that there were two security cameras inside the joint, recording everything. Also, nobody except the bad guys in corny westerns talks like that.
The waitress showed that typical deer in headlights look, standing frozen a few feet in front of this Zorro wannabe.
“Give me all your money bitch!” he snarled, threatening her with the knife.
That is another thing, couldn't he get a gun? There are millions of them out there. As a matter of fact, take one strong magnet tied to a long rope and go fishing for them from any bridge above the Harlem River. In no time, you can collect enough to outfit a small army. Some people just do not think things through; I blame it on the poor educational system. OK, maybe I shouldn't be the one to talk, but still.
I could've gone all ‘action hero’ on him, saying a few cool lines and then jumping in to save the day… but I didn't. There were those security cameras, and I wanted to stay under the radar. Moreover, I did not sense any homicidal tendencies in him, only those connected to greed and idiocy. Should I even mention that the cheeseburger was to die for, and I only managed to get a few bites out of it? I took another bite.
Under the robber's command, the waitress went behind the counter and emptied the register. She nervously threw money on the counter and the bills slid all over the floor. It was funny in a way; he was still trying to look threatening while hunched and chasing ten and twenty-dollar bills. Man, if this clown was any dumber, he’d have to be watered twice a week.
Then he saw me, the only customer in the place; looking at him with a smirk on my face while chomping down on my burger. Damn… my luck at being a wallflower had run out.
“You, mofo, git your damn hands in the air, and give me your wallet!” He shouted, stuffing a few more bills in his pants.
I wanted so badly to kill this fool, to feel that moment when his life force was ripped out of him. Just on a general principle for annoying the hell out of me, and disrupting my meal.
“Some people are living proof that total brain failure does not always lead to physical death. Why do I have the misfortune to come across all of them?” I said more to myself, but I guess he heard me.
“What?! Are you dissing me fool?” The robber’s voice was incredulous, and he started coming towards my table.
I looked at him, shaking my head.
“I'm not insulting you— I'm describing you. Calling you an idiot would be an insult to all the other idiots.” Yeah, I said it; there is something about me that just enjoys baiting easily provoked violent people. Maybe because it is a sure way to incite a violent reaction out of them.
Through the fine mesh of some lady's undergarments, I could see his eyes widen and then squint in anger. I say it again; wearing pantyhose on your head does not make one more intimidating, but moronic… with a disgraceful fetish.
“You are dead dawg!” he almost screamed and lunged in my direction.
That thing I said about him having no homicidal tendencies… strike that.
What followed was so easy to avoid—it was embarrassing. You need some skill to wield a knife, or you may as well be holding a piece of wood. My knife instructor was a Spanish knife fighter who could cut you five times before you even figured out that you were in a fight. He purposefully would leave us with a few scars to remind us always to be on our toes.
Anyway, I moved in my seat, just enough for the knife to pass me by a few inches, then caught his arm and pulled it towards me. When you are leaning in and somebody disrupts your center of gravity, you tend to fall, and he did—right across the table. With my other hand, I grasped the back of his pantyhose-covered head and helped his nose to get better acquainted with the tabletop. There was that distinctive sound when the cartilage in the nose gets squashed, reminiscent of breaking an empty eggshell. I think he was a bit woozy as he didn't scream at all. Then again, the plethora of drugs I could smell on him likely worked as a kind of anesthetic.
However, he certainly felt when I started to bend his wrist in a direction that nature never designed it for.
What do most people do when that happens? They tend to move to relieve the strain, it is instinctual. Not surprisingly—he did exactly that—dropping the knife in the process. The consequence of that was that he lost his balance so he sat beside me. Now, he did begin to scream, and quite loudly at that. It was probably due to the fact that I had placed my vertically positioned fork… underneath his ass.
OK, that may be considered cruel and unusual punishment, especially since he had a lot of weight on him and that the fork disappeared as if he was performing a magic trick. In my defense, that was a very good cheeseburger, and I was feeling a bit vindictive towards him for ruining my Zen moment.
I don't like people screaming in my ear, so I banged his head once again on the tabletop, leaving a good size dent in its vinyl-covered stainless-steel surface. Ah, the blessed silence, people don’t appreciate it enough. He will have to deal with a severe concussion besides whatever was happening with my missing fork. I have no intention to pay for it; gonna play dumb if they ask for it.
Surprise, surprise… The flickering light from the outside and the familiar wailing of the siren indicated that the boys in blue were coming to the show. Late to the party—how typical.
The next hour was an exercise of my patience. It involved giving my information and a statement a few times. I have a suspicion that the officer who was interviewing me was a son or a relative of someone with a certain amount of influence. I mean, everyone has the right to be stupid, but some abuse that privilege. He asked me five times why I didn't simply give my wallet to the perp and thus avoided any violence. The first time he asked me, I thought he was pulling my leg, but it seems he was quite serious. What can you do, there is one born every minute. For the last few minutes, I was just nodding to the dum-dum cop while he was going over his notes, reading them back to me, and repeatedly asking, “Is that correct?”
I hoped my ID would stand up to the full scrutiny of a police inquiry; I have this aversion to jail and being trapped in closed spaces. Maybe because I spent a decade in one, and then having to find my way out of the underworld. Note to self: spelunking is a pastime of seriously disturbed individuals.
Finally, a detective arrived at the scene and saved me from being thrown into jail for assaulting an officer. My patience was growing rather thin, and I was beginning to realize that one-celled organisms would outscore this cop in IQ tests.
“So, Mr. Novus, this was quite an exciting evening for you.” The detective (who identified himself as Ramirez) said, sitting opposite me. He introduced himself right away, not like the officer dum-dum, who never did. Loss of manners—it is the first precursor to the decline of a civilization. At least the waitress was kind enough to offer me a free slice of pie; all my food being thoroughly ruined by the idiot who bled all over them.
Her name was Jenny and this time she gave me a genuine smile, and “thank you for saving my life.” I did not want to break her illusions as I don’t think her life was in any real danger, but you can never know with these things. Having said that, there was a free pie in the mix, so I just kept my mouth shut.
“Hmm,” I made a nondescript sound and nodded; my mouth was full of amazing pie. Jenny put a huge dollop of vanilla ice cream on top of it. The woman was a saint.
“Jenny there described you as a hero. She claims you saved her life.” Detective Ramirez said, pointing at my waitress which was having her own problems with the same cop that interviewed me.
“I'm sure she is exaggerating, I was simply doing my citizen’s duty. The perp was so high, a ten-year-old could have knocked him out.” I replied after swallowing.
“Right… I see you are registered as a private investigator; do you have any experience in law enforcement?”
I could tell him that (in a way) I was enforcing the law for a long time, but not in the same manner he understood. More in… preventive kind of way, and without all the inconvenience of a judge and jury.
“No, and being a PI is not as exciting as it seems. My cases are mostly about missing pets, and cheating spouses. Nothing involving physical altercations.”
I know he didn't believe me; I could sense that easily. Nevertheless, he was not feeling overly hostile toward me, quite a difference from that cop that preceded him. That one wanted so badly to arrest me for whatever reason, he was jonesing for it.
“We will contact you if any additional information is required.” He said, and then continued in a lower voice. “Jenny’s husband is actually on the force, so… thank you.”
That was it; I was dismissed. The pie had disappeared down my gullet so nothing was keeping me here.
As I was exiting the diner, detective Ramirez called out to me.
“Mr. Novus… could you explain… the fork?” He said offhandedly, but his emotions and piercing gaze said he really wanted to know. The camera angles were not ideal to show what happened inside my booth.
I gave him one of those tight-lipped smiles and a slight shrug of my shoulders.
“As I said to your officer, it is the weirdest thing. The robber must have knocked it off the table when he tripped, and then sat on it. One of those once in a million things.”
Yeah, I wasn't about to confess to inflicting grave bodily harm to some lowlife. The snickering paramedics had to carry him out on his stomach, considering that the very end of the fork was barely sticking between his butt cheeks. As they say—bullseye.
“I see… Goodbye, Mr. Novus.”
I nodded in his direction, turned around, and went to my car. In a few minutes, I joined the night traffic, giving my best at evading my suicidal yellow nemeses. There are so many of them, I fear they breed like rabbits.
I hope Nina had some leftovers in the fridge, I never got to finish my cheeseburger and was still kind of hungry… damn.
***
The moment I came close to my front door, I knew something was very wrong. Maybe it was that feeling one gets when he enters a familiar space and detects a fundamental difference, or maybe it was that sixth sense so many people believe they have. Whatever it was, I barely made a single step inside when all my muscles became taut; my body readying itself for the attack.
The familiar gun oil scent lingered in the air; I came across it so many times recently that I was starting to be sensitive to that particular brand. I stilled my body, absorbing sounds and the feel of the place. My hand already gripping the handle of the black knife I summoned with a thought.
The house was silent, except for the faint hum of the air conditioning unit in the background and barely perceived creaks that were normal for the houses of this age. However, the light was off, which was highly unusual; Nina always left one on during the night. I prepared myself to act on a moment’s notice, and reached for the switch by the door.
The lobby was a mess.
I didn’t need to be a genius to figure that something was seriously wrong. There were dozens of printer papers strewn all over the lobby floor, and a cup of spilled coffee on Nina’s desk. She was almost obsessively neat and would look at this disarray as sacrilegious.
I usually need to look at someone to feel their emotions, but a few experiments (I will not call it playing around with it) taught me that I could faintly sense a wider area when someone was near—if I concentrated really hard.
That is what I did, took a deep breath, and reached with that sense all around me, like a receiver for the radio signals, and… felt nothing.
I was alone in the house; I could still check, just for my peace of mind, but I was sure there was no one else here.
A quick inspection confirmed what I suspected from the moment I opened the door. Nina was gone… and not of her own free will.
