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

by F. M. Purdum

  The Waitress Who Got Served

  F. M. Purdum

  In 1937, Flint Locke, private investigator, solved some of the most daring cases of his time in Harborland. Under mysterious circumstances, he and his secretary were transported through time from the mean streets of the past to the complex cityscape of today. Follow our hero as he braves his strange new surroundings. No case is too mundane. No crime is too criminal. No villain is too villainous. Flint Locke, PI.

  It had been thirty days since I had been thrown into this strange new world. I looked up at the calendar stuck in 1937, collecting dust. I couldn’t bring myself to toss it. I picked up the cushions off the floor and placed them in the closet — my current routine. Since we couldn’t go home again it made sense for us to sleep at the office, our only familiar space. In the main room, Ruth had a curtain around a cot in the corner, and in my office space I slept on the floor on cushions we found in the dumpster out back. I looked forward to replacing them soon, as they emitted an odor I preferred to not think about. I sat down at my desk without much eagerness for the day.

  Tick tock.

  Tick tock.

  I stared at the Telechron clock on my desk. Or was it staring at me?

  8:45 a.m.

  8:46 a.m.

  Time was such a strange thing. I’d never thought about it much before, but I had trusted it. Now, after being thrown over seventy-five years into the future, I was uncomfortable — my relationship with it blurry. The hows and whys kept repeating in my mind. It didn’t make sense. It was like looking back at my own future.

  A month ago I was sitting at my desk, going over a case of a missing man. Unfortunately, that man turned up dead in a tavern. I wasn’t looking forward to breaking the news to his fiancée, my client. She had more conspiracy theories than FDR had stamps. Personally, I figured he’d just gone on a drunk. She was a piece of work, after all. The prospect of a lifetime married to that dame would turn anyone to liquor. But, she was right — the whole thing was fishy. The stiff? He became Swiss cheese, aged with thirty-eights. It was clearly a struggle, yet no one was talking. I was cooking with gas and…well…no sense thinking about that dead duck now as I had my own predicament to deal with.

  I got up, opened the window and looked out over the neighborhood. Being on the third floor gave me a good view of the activity below. Souped-up cars sped down the empty street while the mailman walked past our building without stopping. This place seemed just fine ignoring me. I leaned out the window and shouted, “Helloooo!” A man walking by gave me the one-finger wave. I waved back.

  ‘The future’ was proving to be not my cup of tea. I hadn’t had one client since we time shifted. I was a gumshoe without a caper. Maybe it was my fault; I honestly didn’t know how to ‘get’ a client here. Normally, someone would show up at my door — tipped off by someone I knew around town. The neighborhood knew I could be trusted and that I was good. But, in this time? Nobody knew me. And, no clients meant no moolah. Both of which I was interested in having.

  The rain beat down with a slight pitter patter, which was calming in contrast to the nervous footsteps in the other room. Ruth was a loyal secretary with the bad luck of being transported into the future with me — but her constant pacing was beginning to get to me.

  “Ruth…Ruth!” I got up and confronted her in the other room. “RUTH!”

  “Yes, sir?” she stopped dead in her tracks.

  “Where’s the paper?”

  “I...I don’t know. Yesterday’s was missing too. Maybe somebody’s been stealing it.” Ruth nodded crookedly with big blinkers and worry. She was a classy dame, always demure — a hot mama who knew how to hide her classy chassis. I gathered she was trying to give me something to investigate, probably to keep me off her back. The end result, however, was a look of stir-crazed insanity.

  I felt sympathetic and at the same time annoyed with her efforts. The last month had been hard on her with the realization that everything and everyone she’d ever known was gone. We spent the first couple of weeks trying to figure out what had happened — recreating the incident by repeating our steps in hopes that it could be reversed. Nothing worked. Each time that we tried and failed seemed to weigh on her even more. Ruth spent most days being emotional, crying over missing her family. She’d gone through more bottles of mascara than a Greta Garbo talking picture. I missed things too — like the local gin mill. We were two birds of a different breed in the same cage. And right now I needed to spread my wings.

  “I got to split and get some breakfast.”

  “But what about the paper? Should I—”

  I walked out and the door slammed behind me with the mocking echo of the bell. The rain picked up as I started down the street and I was thankful for my hat.

  Harborland. A beautiful and dirty city. A place where no matter what collar you wore, you could find a bit of comfort and a decent living. Where dreams stayed dreams until you made them happen.

  This morning the neighborhood was quiet, with a few folks drifting about. A man passed me walking his dog dressed in a costume. The dog made a deposit and the man pulled out a bag and picked it up. What in the world?

  Disturbing.

  I looked past the man to where the automat used to be, now a pawn shop. Most of the buildings on the block looked the same but the storefronts were full of glowing signs and strange wares I couldn’t afford. A “Starbucks” had replaced the pub on the corner and now, instead of sad drunks, there were people with headphones staring at boxes.

  Some of the local youth were milling about out front at a bus stop. As I walked by, a kid with blue hair made a comment about my suit, and the group burst out laughing. My instinct was to give the kid a good smack, but I gave a warning instead. “Watch it, sonny.” More insults came tumbling my direction and I felt surrounded. I decided the smartest maneuver was to 23 skidoo before somebody got hurt.

  I arrived at Dinah’s Diner with a desire for bacon and eggs, sunny side up. The bacon was always dry and the eggs extra greasy. But seeing as how Dinah’s was the only diner within walking distance, I came here often. I sat in my usual booth in the corner facing the door, in case some shifty-eyed individuals had some foolish ideas. I shifted over the tear in the seat bottom, to prevent any scrotal pinching.

  The waitress, Kate, filled my coffee cup without asking. “You want your usual?” she asked with seasoned disdain. If wrinkles could talk, this skirt’s face would be an auctioneer.

  “Actually, today I’d like two sunny side eggs and a side of bacon. And the paper if you have it, my dear.”

  “I’ll look. Be right back,” she responded, sounding rushed.

  The diner was busier than usual and Kate flew around the restaurant like a mosquito in a roomful of sweaty hookers. She wore short skirts, giving everyone a gander at her tight drumsticks. Her low-cut loose tops were a ploy to distract people from a face that only a mother could love. She made a round with the coffee pot and came back with the paper in under two minutes.

  “Much appreciated. It seems awfully busy in here for a Tuesday. Where’s Sandy? Isn’t she usually here today?”

  “Yeah, usually. She quit. Guess she wasn’t up for it. Serving the public ain’t for everybody.” Kate raised an eyebrow and snapped her gum loudly with one hand on her hip. Her second loud snap coincided with the sound of shattering glass.

  “Some days…” she locked eyes with me, shook her head, and then looked at the ceiling. Kate eyed the source of the noise and grumbled, “Little shits,” and hightailed it towards the broken glass.

  A devious and proud-looking child ha
d thrown his glass of orange juice onto the floor out of defiance and Kate furiously attacked the mess with a broom. Possibly the beginnings of a crime-laden life. Hmmm. And reason #61 that I remain childless.

  I opened the paper. January 17th, 2017. It was still hard to get used to that. The paper was an array of chaotic images mixed with words of violence and pessimism. I narrowed my view onto the funny papers. No Superman or The Phantom. Even Little Orphan Annie had given up the ghost. Instead, I was stuck with The Family Circus — which was, frankly, terrible…and confusing.

  A bell dinged twice and a deep voice yelled, “Order up!”

  Kate brought my breakfast, a mess of hash browns swimming in runny scrambled eggs. I raised my arm to protest but Kate was already at another table. I would have passed but I was hungrier than a hobo’s dog with a tapeworm, and instead used the coffee to wash down gulps of food. Sandy would have at least apologized and given me a discount.

  “More coffee?” Kate appeared suddenly and began to pour.

  “Yes, please,” I responded, hacking a bit.

  “How we doing today?”

  I doubted her interest but played along. “Just aces. And you?”

  “Oh, you know, same old stuff, I guess. Understaffed and underpaid.” Kate paused and laughed mildly. “Except SOMEBODY slashed my tires yesterday. You believe that?” She frowned and slammed the coffee pot on the table.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Who would do such a thing?”

  Kate sighed loudly. “Well, you being Magnum P.I. and all maybe you can tell me,” Kate scoffed. I wondered who this Magnum fellow was, as I’d never introduced myself as such. I had mentioned that I was a private eye before so maybe she was just confusing me with someone else. She narrowed her eyes on me. “Actually, though, you know what? Maybe you can help me.”

  “I’m at your service.”

  “Can we talk about it after I get done with my shift this afternoon? I’m swamped here.”

  “Of course. Take my card. My office is a few minutes’ walk from here.” I handed her my card and she eyed it with delight. I was quite proud of the sharp print, myself.

  “Wow, you actually have an office. Great! My car is still parked around back until I can make it over to the tire shop across town. Like I don’t walk enough as it is,” Kate said, put my bill on the counter, and continued her rounds.

  I opened my wallet and stared at the few bills I had left. For the last two weeks, Ruth and I had agreed on a strict budget to stretch the last of the cash in the safe. Though we weren’t happy about being here, we agreed we needed to survive until we figured out how to get back to our time. This potential new case was just what we needed.

  I left a Lincoln on the table and got up to use the marble palace. I normally preferred our private office lavatory, but this breakfast was causing discomfort in my lower regions. Before I could reach the door, a short flustered man ran from the kitchen and snuck in ahead of me. I tried the door handle, but it was locked. A few painful minutes later, the short man reappeared sweaty and dressed in a cook’s uniform. He readjusted the bandana on his head, which was filthy and had a fresh stain of red paint.

  “Sorry, man. Late for my shift,” the grubby man said as he disappeared into the kitchen.

  I barely made it to the latrine in time. I noticed a plethora of graffiti adorned the walls with none of the little poems I was accustomed to. There were a few comments about the state of the world, but most were about sex, Jesus, or poop. One drawing, titled “Pepe does Dallas,” was of a frog wearing a cowboy hat and boots, doing some nasty thing to a lady. I really needed to find a new place for breakfast.

  I rushed back to the office, eager to give Ruth the good news about our potential new client. Billie Holiday was playing on the gramophone and skipped as I slammed the door in excitement. Billie made a screech and then continued her sad interlude.

  “Ruth, Ruth?”

  “Yes, sir?” Ruth ran over, mid-dusting.

  “I believe we may have a case.” I nodded and crossed my arms. I knew she’d be excited.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Don’t act so shocked. I told you I’d work something out,” I lectured. “Our client is expected to arrive after she’s done with work this afternoon. Let’s remember not to bring attention to our time…displacement. I don’t want to scare her off.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. Oh, and I finally got our telephone working again. Ma Bell was a real pain and you wouldn’t guess what, but…our old number wasn’t available. Isn’t that goofy?”

  “Of course it wasn’t,” I huffed. I opened the safe and pulled out a few more bills for my wallet. It seemed a lot of things weren’t available anymore, like cash. I shook my head and locked up the safe. We were in trouble, but I didn’t want to worry Ruth for the time being. We hadn’t been bothered for rent yet, so that was nice. But, simple life expenses were outrageous. A loaf of bread was now $2.47 — it was 9¢! Extortion.

  “I think we should modernize the office a bit.” She began to dust the air.

  “Hmmm. We can discuss that later.” I could see the wheels turning in her mind as the record ended. “Can you turn the platter over?”

  “Sure thing. I like this one.” She turned the record and music began playing again. She waved her arms around emphatically. “I really think this place needs some life...some plants maybe.”

  I wanted to get her mind off of anything that would cost us money.

  “Sure, sure. But our focus right now is on our case. A waitress by the name of Kate Crumdumb will be arriving soon to discuss someone slashing her tires.”

  “Oh dear,” said Ruth, looking genuinely shocked. “Who would do that to a lady?”

  “I’m not sure Ms. Crumdumb is a lady. You’ll see soon enough.” I walked into my office.

  “And, what about our case?” Ruth called out to me.

  “What?” I turned around.

  “Getting us back to our time? Or are you just fine being here la-di-dah with the ladies and their tires?” She threw the duster across the room.

  “What do you want me to do about it, huh? We went over this. I don’t know what happened, see? And we tried everything to get back.” We were both frustrated and I wasn’t sure why she felt it was my fault. This conversation was getting old.

  “I miss my house. This office feels like a jail cell!”

  “Well, I’m not holding you hostage here, baby. Get out and see the world if you must. It’s not some sort of gay petting party out there.” My voice raised and I pointed outside with enthusiasm.

  “That’s not what I meant. I just…want to go home.” Ruth slumped down in her chair and hung her head.

  “Our homes are gone. My apartment building is torn down and there’s a family living in your apartment.” I wanted to be patient but something inside me busted loose. “What do you want me to do? Kick them to the curb so you can spend the day dusting it?”

  Ruth’s eyes welled with tears and her face turned red. “We’re out of toothpaste!” she yelled and ran into the bathroom. I heard the click of the lock on the door.

  What a loon. What did she expect from me? I looked at the clock and waited a minute for her to come back out. 10:35 a.m. and I’d already caught my foot in it. After a few more minutes I walked over to the bathroom door. “Fair enough…Pepsodent?” I asked and leaned my ear against the door. She didn’t answer and after a minute of silence I mumbled, “I’ll be back.”

  The corner market didn’t have Ruth’s brand of toothpaste but the clerk directed me to a pharmacy about ten blocks away. I had time so I didn’t mind the walk, and it was good to get away from the office. I hoped that by getting Ruth something familiar that it would help ease her into our situation. Or just mellow her out a bit. The pharmacy had the toothpaste and a million other things as well. It was a bit overwhelming and I had to have an employee point me in the right direction. As I was leaving I noticed a discounted miniature Christmas tree and swooped it up. I hoped this combination
would get Ruth to stop being so hysterical.

  Back at the office, Ruth was asleep in her cot and I decided not to disturb her. I placed the toothpaste and plant square on her desk. I moved the plant a few times behind and to the side of the toothpaste, unsure of the most appealing visual for my gift. After a few tries, I gave up and decided it didn’t matter. She’d either like it or not.

  Since Kate wouldn’t be here for a few hours so, I decided to take a brief nap as well. The chaise lounge was just fine for a short nap; any longer and I’d lose feeling in my legs and wake up falling on the floor. Nature’s alarm clock, I suppose. After a few minutes of adjusting on the lounge, I got dropped into a dream of the day we traveled through time.

  At my desk, going over the case; I made myself a drink. I lifted the rocks glass up to my mouth and a toxic odor hit my nostrils. Was my whiskey a rotten moonshine? I smelled the glass, then the bottle, and gave it a good look. I took a sip straight from the bottle. No, it tasted and smelled fine. I got up to see if Ruth was applying one of her heavy-duty nail polishes. She had stayed late and was listening to her favorite program, The Shadow. I had to admit it was a captivating show and I liked when the baddies got their comeuppance. A bit unrealistic, but entertaining nonetheless. As I was about to ask Ruth about the smell, a bright light and boom hit the room. The office spun like a carousel. I felt nauseous and fell to the floor. I looked up at Ruth. Her hair was an inch higher than usual and she looked affright. I felt dizzy and crawled to the bathroom and emptied my stomach.

  Hearing the office door open and the dinging bell of opportunity jarred me awake. I pulled myself together, wiped the drool off my face, and began to clean up my desk a bit. I glanced at the clock — it was already 2:00 p.m.

  I heard Ruth giving her standard friendly “Welcome.”

  “Um. Hello. Am I in the right place? I’m looking for Mr. Locke.” Kate sounded apprehensive.