Moonlight City Drive 2

1: GARDENIA’S FAMILY RESTAURANT-2

“Can’t tell.”

“They have to walk right past that Dumpster. You sure he’s concealed well enough inside? I’d hate for this to be the way the fuzz finally brings you down.”

“He’s hidden. Don’t worry about that. Just summon the vultures and let me have him.”

Smith redirected his gaze from the rearview mirror and startled when he looked out his driver’s side window. Nikki and Candy stood next to his car, their decrepit fingers slowly caressing the closed window.

Anya leaned forward and signaled for the two ghouls to disappear.

“Okay, just this once, Smith. But I’ll have to wait until Gardenia’s closed. Too many lookie-loos around to smuggle the body from the Dumpster, and certainly too many people around for the vultures to make their descent here.”

“Thank you.”

“He’ll be ready by tomorrow night for you. I’ll even hand deliver him.”

Smith rolled his eyes. “Don’t overexert yourself.”

“Night’s still young, Smith. Still time to head to Hypnotic Encounters and get me a proper one. Just sayin’.”

Smith shook his head and pointed the Pinto homeward as Anya and the book vanished from his passenger seat, leaving her trademarked residual stench of mildew and decay.

Officer Taylor paid his and Officer Raynard’s tab at Gardenia’s bar and headed toward the exit.

“Good evening, officers.”

“Good ta see ya, Rex!” Officer Raynard replied and stopped.

“All quiet on the eastern front tonight, I hope?”

“So far, so good. Just came in for a midshift refreshment.”

Rex grabbed Taylor’s arm and guided the officer downward to whisper, “Any leads on the Wharf Killer? The mayor has been all over my ass about getting this guy locked up so he’ll get out of the f*****g nightly news. It’s killing the tourist business.”

Taylor cleared his throat. “I know, sir. Chief McBrayer has a few task forces in plan to blanket the city at night. Plainclothes officers.”

“When’s he gonna roll that out? Just so I have something to tell the mayor in tomorrow’s city council meeting.”

“He said after New Year’s,” Raynard answered.

“Maybe I’ll come to the station and chat with the chief myself. I just pray every night that one of youse guys catch the killer before we find another mutilated girl.”

Taylor scanned the restaurant. “Doesn’t seem to be hurting business in here.”

“Safety in numbers. People feel secure among a crowd. But take a stroll on the wharf after sunset on any given night? f*****g crickets. And don’t give me that bullshit about it being winter. Downtown commerce has seen a 30 percent decline in sales since this fucktard started leaving girls strewn around the wharf.”

“Don’t worry, Rex. It’s only a matter of time,” Raynard replied.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Taylor’s portable radio chirped, and he raised a finger to silence Rex from speaking.

“Is it for us?” Raynard asked.

“Nah. Something on the west side.”

Raynard slapped Rex on the shoulder. “Take care. Have a merry Christmas if I don’t see you before then.”

“You too, gentlemen. Tell the missus I said hello.”

“I will,” Raynard said, and the two officers left the restaurant just as “Blue Christmas” emanated from the jukebox speakers.

Duston’s infection in his right foot hurt more tonight than it had in recent weeks. He had to use both hands, wrapped around his right knee, to help drudge his leg forward, just to take each step.

The cold pierced through his ragged and unwashed clothes and froze his skin. His stomach growled louder than the passing cars, all spraying gray snow filled with salt and dirt.

“Settle d-d-down in there. Just a few more s-s-steps. Gardenia’s is r-r-right up ahead, and I’m sure their D-D-Dumpster is full tonight.”

Duston’s mouth watered when thinking about the unfinished steak dinners and all the trimmings he’d find discarded inside the massive trash receptacle alongside the building. He propelled his leg to take a few steps through the slush on the sidewalk unaided by his helping hands so he could warm his exposed fingertips. He beat together the threadbare remnants of his mittens to create some warmth as Gardenia’s roadside sign now came into view.

After shambling forward a few more moments, Duston entered the restaurant’s curtilage and spotted the parked police cruiser. He stopped and hesitated.

“Well, w-w-we’s gotsta eat. Hopefully they the friendlies.”

Duston’s ripped and tattered coat opened in the oceanside wind, and he turned his back to the building to shield his front side from the gust. From behind, he heard the two officers exit the restaurant and head toward their cruiser.

Duston felt relief when he turned around and saw who they were.

“Yep, it’s a g-g-good thing it is the friendlies workin’ tah-night,” he mumbled.

“Duston!” Officer Taylor called from the walkway that connected the front doors to the parking lot.

Duston raised his right hand in a meek hello gesture, then crammed it inside his jacket for warmth.

“No shelter tonight?” Raynard asked as they approached.

“All f-f-full, Off-f-ficer Raynard, s-sir.”

“You aren’t gonna sleep out here on the wharf, are you?”

“N-n-no, sir. Just want to eat f-f-first, then might s-s-see if M-M-Ma is alone tonight.”

Taylor sighed. “Would you like me to buy you dinner? No reason for you to go Dumpster-diving tonight. Plus that Dumpster”—Taylor glanced at the receptacle alongside the building—“has probably seen more sanitized days.”

“Oh, n-n-no, Mr. Taylor, s-s-sir. I’d feel too bad to t-t-take youse monies. But that’s mighty n-n-nice of ya.”

“Alright, Duston. Listen. See that pay phone across the street in front of the Witch Museum? If you can’t find anywhere to go, use that phone to call 9-1-1. This is our beat all night, so it’ll be us who gets dispatched to you. We’ll help you find somewhere cozy, if you run out of options.”

Duston tried to smile but the cold only allowed one side of his frozen lips to rise. He nodded and gave a short embarrassed wave before turning toward the Dumpster that hopefully held tonight’s dinner.

Taylor and Raynard shuttled into their patrol car, trying to keep the blustery night air outside the vehicle. Taylor started the car and activated the window defogger. They could barely decipher Duston’s blue jeans as he scaled the top lip of the Dumpster through the layers of fog blanketing the glass.

Duston landed with a wet thwap! inside the blue Dumpster. A mound of boxes cascaded downward, like a too-tall tower of sand on a beach. Wilted lettuce, bruised fruit, and decaying fungi rolled on top of him. Pain seared through his lame foot, but he gritted his teeth and bore the pain.

He stuffed his exposed fingers into the trash heap below him and shoveled aside as many cardboard boxes as he could, scavenging for any real food—a half-eaten kid’s chicken-finger platter would even suffice at this point.

On his hands and knees, Duston grazed a thick french fry underneath a mound of food-stained napkins.

“Bingo,” he whispered, his breath creating a rolling mushroom cloud of moisture.

He grabbed the fry and yanked. When the fry wouldn’t budge, he sifted away more debris from the pile.

And noticed his prized potato slice donned a fingernail.

“Do ya hear something?” Raynard asked.

Taylor leaned forward and wiped the remaining fog from the windshield with the cuff of his uniform jacket.

“s**t! That’s Duston!” Raynard flung open the car door.

Raynard could hear Duston’s stuttered screams clearer now as the two officers sprinted toward him.

“Are you hurt? I’ve told you to stop climbing over—”

“Th-th-th-th-there’s s-s-s-s-s …”

“Okay, slow down,” Taylor said as he reached Duston. “Just tell us what happened.”

Duston swallowed hard and composed himself as a spinach leaf slid off his shoulder. “I think a b-b-body’s in there.”

“In … the Dumpster?”

Duston nodded.

“Why don’t you take a seat in the back of the cruiser? We’ll check it out,” Raynard said.

The two officers exchanged a how-much-has-he-had-to-drink-tonight glance before heading toward the Dumpster. The squad car’s door closed behind them, and Taylor thought, At least he’ll be warm for a few minutes.

Raynard was the first to reach the Dumpster, when Rex called out to them from the front of Gardenia’s, “Everything kosher, guys?”

Taylor quickly exhaled in disgust. “Everything’s fine, Rex. Go home. Nothing to see here.”

Rex was already halfway to the Dumpster. “I’m not going anywhere until I make sure whatever it is your noses have picked up isn’t another dead girl.”

“f*****g great,” Raynard mumbled as he went head over feet into the pile of food waste.

Taylor stayed planted to intercept Rex’s prying eyes. “Look, Rex. Let us do our job. Go home. I promise you’ll be the first one we call if we find anything.”

“Rex! Honey! Are you coming? I’m freezing!” his wife yelled from the walkway to the parking lot.

Rex turned to answer her just in time to see her stumble off the concrete path and catch her balance in the crunchy slush covering the dead grass.

“Aww, s**t. Looks like I gotta babysit my f*****g wife now. Goddamn drunk.”

Raynard remained motionless inside the Dumpster after uncovering half of a male face underneath the rubbish. “Well, Taylor …”

“Yeah, buddy?”

“It’s nothing! Just some punk’s book bag,” he said loud enough for Rex to hear.

Taylor shrugged, as if to say, See? I told you so. Now off you go to take care of the grown woman you married.

“Fine!” Rex spat, defeated. “Jen, I’m coming. Stay there!”

Rex’s wife attempted to find the concrete pathway again but lost her balance and fell face-first into the snow.

“Jennayy! Are you okay?” he yelled. Then, in a whisper, he added, “You dumb bitch.”

Taylor waited to make sure Rex and Jennayy were snug inside Rex’s vehicle before speaking. “Find anything?”

“They gone?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Call Sergeant. Tell him to get down here. Don’t put this over the net.”

“What’chya got?”

“Another body.”

“f**k! I knew there’d be another girl before Christmas. I could just feel it in my—”

“It’s a male.”

Sergeant Santana instructed Taylor to go inside Gardenia’s to order Fain to close the restaurant posthaste. “This is now a crime scene” was his ending statement.

Flashing blue lights and strobing red ones littered the Salem night sky. Two rookie officers had been posted at the parking lot entrance to deny any further patrons from entering. Santana had encircled the building with yellow crime-scene tape. Every officer on duty was on scene, regardless if they were out of their assigned patrol zone or not.

“This would be a perfect time for someone to rob a bank,” Taylor whispered to Raynard before he headed inside Gardenia’s.

Fain met the officer at the front door. “I’ve already made an announcement that no more food would be served and for everyone to finish their meals as fast as possible.”

“Anyone complain?”

“Just one toddler who had pooped himself.”

Taylor laughed and shook his head.

“I offered everyone inside a complimentary meal for their next visit,” Fain added.

“Smart man.”

“Minus alcohol.”

“Ha! I knew there had to be a catch,” Taylor said. “Okay, so we really gotta get these people out. We aren’t even touching the package until the premise is completely vacated.”

“I’ll get them out.”

“And that means you too.”

“Ah, shucks, man. Throw me a bone?” Fain asked.

“No can do, boss man.”

“But it’s my place. I can be the media-relations guy—or whatever the official term is—when the reporters arrive. I can plug Gardenia’s on prime-time news as well as give them nothing about what you guys found. It’s a win-win.”

Taylor walked away from Fain without indulging in any further conversation.

The last patron left less than fifteen minutes later.

Raynard glanced at their cruiser and wondered how long the on-call detective planned on interviewing—interrogating—Duston.

“They don’t think he killed the guy, do they?” Taylor asked Raynard.

“Nah. But they have to be thorough.”

“Jeez, if anything, we could be considered alibis for Duston, since we saw him go into the Dumpster.”

Raynard shook his head. “Just stay close, and stop thinkin’ so much.”

Duston stood from the back seat of the cruiser and approached the two officers as the suit-wearing detective walked toward Chief McBrayer.

“Well, f-f-fellas. I’m free to go.”

Taylor scowled in the detective’s direction. “I hope he went easy on you.”

“Oh, he w-w-was very professional. Either of you have a s-s-smoke I can bum?”

Raynard leaned inside the squad car and grabbed his pack of Smolens from the center console.

“Here ya go, pal.”

Duston nodded in thanks and placed the cigarette between his lips. “What a f-f-f*****g night, huh, guys?”

Just then the detectives exhumed the cadaver from the Dumpster in a not-so-graceful fashion; his body bounced like a dead fish when it hit the parking lot’s asphalt. John Doe came to rest, dead eyes still open, facing the rows of police cars and emergency personnel.

“As soon as the medical examiner arrives, we can get the f**k back to a normal night,” Taylor said.

Raynard opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of a dozen flapping wings made him pause.

“Nothing about tonight is normal,” he finally said, searching an empty sky for what seemed to be an invisible flock of birds.