by Bill H Myers
I told Nora my name and put on the white paper hat and matching apron. I joined her behind the serving line. She introduced me to the three other people who were already there. Jean, Sally and Rob.
Jean and Sally looked like church volunteers. Clean, well dressed, all smiles. Rob, on the other hand, looked a lot like some of the people waiting outside. Unshaven, wrinkled clothes, and a frown on his face. I would later learn he was a retired stock broker who had moved to Key West. He volunteered at the food pantry as a form of penance for the things he'd done while selling stocks.
When Nora introduced me, she said, “Walker here will be joining us tonight. He's one of Summer's friends. She's the one who brings us the hot dogs.
“Since he's new at this, we'll start him out easy. Food prep.”
The two ladies, Jean and Sally, groaned at the words “food prep”. I soon found out why.
Nora led me to the food prep area and had me wash up. She explained the rules. “Keep your hands clean. Don't touch any food unless you're wearing gloves. Don't touch your hair, don't smoke, don't hassle the guests, and don't eat unless you go on a break. If you do eat, sit out there with our guests.”
She handed me a knife and pointed to a tray filled with the hot dogs Summer had dropped off earlier. “I need you to cut them up into quarter inch slices. After you finish, take them over to Jean. She'll tell you what to do next.
“We're going to start serving in fifteen minutes, so you need to work fast.”
She walked away, leaving me standing in front of a pan of wieners with a sharp knife in my hand. I pulled on the plastic gloves she'd given me and started cutting the wieners into quarter inch slices, being careful not to cut myself in the process.
The job was easy but boring. Pull a wiener out of the pan and put it on the cutting board. Hold it steady with one hand, then cut it into several small pieces. Dump the pieces into a second pan and start on the next wiener.
Five minutes after she'd left, Nora came back to check on me. She looked at the wieners I'd cut and patted me on the back. “You're doing a good job. You just need to do it faster. We're opening the doors in a few minutes and the wieners need to be ready.”
I'd already gone through more than half of them and felt pretty good about my progress, but if the doors were opening soon for the hungry crowd outside, I needed to speed things up.
To do that, I started cutting wieners two at a time. I lined them up side by side and started slicing. Doing it that way doubled my output and I was soon finished. I proudly took me pan over to Jean. She scooped out an even number of wieners from mine into the three pans of beans on the serving line.
When she was done she handed me a food ladle. “Now you move up the serving line. Your job is to make sure each person gets one helping of beanie weenie. They'll slide their plate under the sneeze guard and you'll put a scoop of wieners and beans on it.
“While you're serving them, smile and don't take offense at anything they might say. Some of them lead a hard life and may be lacking in social skills.
“Nora said you were looking for someone who might be eating here tonight. If you see them, don't say anything to them while you're working the line. After the food service ends and after you help us clean up, you can go outside and talk to them. But not until then. Understand?”
I did. Being on the serving line meant I'd see every person who passed through. If Eugene was among them, I could have a word with him after the meal, but only if he wanted to talk.
After I took my position at the beanie weenie station, I looked up to see Nora smiling. She nodded at me and then rang the old-fashioned school bell she was holding. “Food service starts in one minute. Please take your stations.”
I wasn't prepared for what happened next.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
When the doors opened, I expected a rush of people, all trying to be first in line. But that wasn't what happened.
The crowd waited patiently outside while women with children came in first. The women, some carrying babies, walked up to the serving line, filled their plates and found seats near the side wall.
After the women and children were served, those needing help walking came in and took their place in line. In some cases, able-bodied helpers carried the trays for those that needed help, making sure they got the food selections they wanted and a good place to sit.
The decision to let women with children and the disabled go to the head of the line seemed to have been decided by the crowd outside. As far as I could tell, the pantry staff didn't make or enforce the “who gets fed first” rule. I'd expected a free-for-all when the doors opened but saw order and human kindness instead.
As the line progressed, I noticed the people who passed in front of me were, for the most part, clean and polite and seemed to be happy to be getting a warm meal. There were a few who grumbled about the beanie weenie selection or the size of the serving, but most had no complaints.
As the guests passed by, I saw from their plates that, in addition to the beanie weenie I was serving, the food choices included stewed tomatoes, corn bread, brown rice and mac and cheese. At the far end of the serving line, I could see pans of red and green jello. While the selections wouldn't match the menu at the Waldorf, they weren't bad.
For the next hour, I stayed at my station and dished out beans and wieners. After emptying two of the large serving pans and starting on the third and last, I was worried we might run out of food before everyone in line was served.
I kept checking to see how many people were left and to see if any of them were Eugene, the person I had come looking for. As the line neared the end, there were a few servings of beanie weenie left but no Eugene.
After the last person with a plate passed by, Nora rang the school bell three times. She announced the serving line was closed. She followed that announcement by saying the doors would be closed in thirty minutes and breakfast would served in the morning starting at six thirty.
After her announcement, she came behind the serving line and spoke to each of us individually. I was thinking she was going to thank us for doing a good job, but I was wrong. She was explaining how it was our duty to carry the pans and utensils we had served from to the dishwasher in the back. When we were done, we were free to go.
I carried my three pans and helped the woman who had been serving stewed tomatoes carry hers. After that, I washed up, took off my hat and apron and went outside to see if I could find Eugene.
Most of those who had eaten had moved behind the food pantry and were standing in the parking lot in front of the homeless shelter. The shelter wouldn't open for another thirty minutes and because it was first come first serve, those who wanted to spend the night stayed close to the front door.
I stood at the back, trying to see if I could find Eugene in the crowd of about a hundred men and women. Many seemed to know each other and were huddled in small groups. Some were smoking, some were laughing, and others were telling stories.
I didn't know any of the people there and didn't want to push my way into their little groups so I held back and just watched, hoping to see Eugene. Thirty minutes later, the doors to the homeless shelter opened and most of the people standing outside made their way in.
One man didn't go in with the others. Instead he made his way over to me. He looked to be about sixty. Short and bald and missing his front teeth. He walked up to me and said, “You worked at the Wiener Girl today, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Good. I have a message for you.”
“From who?”
“Don't know. He just said tell you I had a message. He said you'd give me five dollars for it.”
I smiled. “You sure he said I'd give you five dollars? You're not making that part up?”
The man looked at the doors of the homeless shelter. “I need to get in there before it fills up. You want the message or not?”
I didn't know if I was being played, but if the message was from Eugene, it would be
worth five dollars to get it.
I pulled out my wallet and found a fiver. I held it up so the man could see. “Tell me the message and I'll give you the money.”
He shook his head. “Nothing to tell. He just gave me this slip of paper. Give me the money and you can have it.”
I handed the man the five and he handed me the paper. He quickly walked away, smiling as he put the five dollar bill in his pocket.
I unfolded the paper and read the message. It said, “It wasn't me who did it. E.”
Chapter Thirty
Since the message was signed 'E', I had to assume it was from Eugene. I hadn't seen him in the food line, but I could have easily missed him. He could have come through while I was changing out the beanie pans. Or maybe he had cleaned up and changed clothes and I hadn't recognized him.
It didn't matter. If the message was from Eugene, it was apparently important enough to him that he took the time to write it out and have someone deliver it to me. But I wasn't sure what it meant.
“It wasn't me who did it,” didn't tell me much. It just sounded like Eugene wanted me to know that it wasn't him who had done something. But he didn't say what had been done or who had done it. That would be something I'd have to figure out on my own
It was after eight and even though I'd spent most of my day serving food, first at Wiener Girl and then at the food pantry, I hadn't taken the time to eat.
I put Eugene's message in my pocket, got in the Prius and started driving back to Uncle Leo's. I figured on the way I'd see plenty of places to eat and I'd stop at one of them.
The first place I saw was a pizza parlor. It looked inviting but I was too hungry to wait to have a pizza made. Just beyond the pizza place was Chico's Cantina. It didn't look too crowded so I pulled in and parked. Inside, the place was clean and the service was quick. I ordered two shredded chicken tacos to go. The server brought me chips and salsa while I waited.
I munched on the chips and thought about Eugene's message and the meeting Kat had set up for me the next morning. She had said the man had a computer problem. She didn't say what kind. She'd also said the man didn't like to be disappointed. I'm not sure what she meant by that, but it probably wasn't good.
I'd almost finished the chips and salsa when the waitress brought out my to-go order. I paid the bill, put a few dollars on the table as a tip, and headed back to the motorhome. As usual, Bob was waiting for me at the door. I gave him a pet and put the food bag on the table. He hopped up and gave it a few sniffs, then jumped down and walked away.
Apparently he wasn't a fan of Mexican food.
Turn out, it was actually pretty good. Much better than I expected. I made a mental note that if I had to stay in town much longer, I'd eat there again.
After eating, I cleaned off the table and got out my laptop. I checked email to see if the client I was doing security work for had replied. They hadn't. But there was another email from Lawyer Bob. Like the earlier one, it just said, “Call me.”
It'd been almost six months since I last talked to him. Getting two emails in a row from him telling me to call meant something was up. It wouldn't be a social call. They never are with lawyers. I still hadn't picked a burner phone so I wouldn't be calling him back until I did.
The meeting Kat had set up was still on my mind. I wasn't sure what kind of computer problem her contact had, but I wanted to be prepared. Back when I was doing cyber security full time, I had assembled a collection of software I used to analyze and break into computer networks.
Usually, it was all I needed to get the job done. I still had the collection on my laptop and figured it would be a good idea to take the computer with me to the meeting Kat had set up. I powered it down, then plugged it into the wall to charge it up.
It was getting late but I wasn't ready to go to sleep just yet. I decided to see if could catch some news on TV. They didn't have cable hookup at Uncle Leo's. The only channels I could get were the three local over the air stations.
Two of them had nothing but video clips from local bars and restaurants. The host of one these shows seemed to be drinking a lot. At every bar he visited, he'd down their special drink and talk about how good it was. He was totally off script and slurred a lot. It was entertaining, but not what I was looking for.
The third station did have news. Mostly local. The lead story was about a rash of scooter crashes involving underage drivers. That was followed by a story about the high demand for retail space and zoning problems in Key West's old town. What Summer had said about high residential rents seemed to apply to commercial properties as well.
I'd had enough for the day so I turned off the TV and got ready for bed. My plan was to get up around eight the next morning, catch breakfast at a drive-thru and meet the girls at the hot dog stand around nine thirty.
I set the alarm on my phone, turned off the lights and hit the sack.
Chapter Thirty-One
An incoming call on my phone woke me. At first, I thought it was the alarm going off, but it wasn't the alarm. It was a call from Lori. I answered.
“Lori, what's up?”
In a squeaky, panicky voice she said, “They killed Little. You need to come down here now. Bring your gun.”
“Lori, what are you talking about? Are you drunk?”
“No Walker, I'm not drunk and this is serious. Someone messed with the hot dog stand. They killed Little. There's blood everywhere. You need to get down here, now.”
The tone in her voice told me she was serious. I could hear Summer sobbing in the background. Something bad had happened.
“Lori, don't touch anything. Call the police. You and Summer go across the street. Wait for me there in the parking lot.”
She said she would and ended the call.
I had a gun in the motorhome. I'd had it a long time. A 357 Smith & Wesson. It was one of the few things that stayed with me throughout the years. The last time I'd shot it was when I was visiting a friend's farm in rural Arkansas. They had a rabid skunk problem. The skunk had chased his wife and almost bit her. The 357 solved the problem.
I kept it locked up in a safe hidden under the bed in my motorhome. I wasn't licensed to carry in Florida, but because the motorhome was considered my home, I could legally keep it inside.
Even though Lori had told me to bring a gun, I wasn't going to. Carrying a gun in public, especially at a crime scene, could create problems. Instead of getting the gun out, I slipped on the clothes I'd worn the day before, grabbed the Prius keys and headed out.
Traffic was light and it took me less than ten minutes to reach the parking lot across from Wiener Girl. I expected to see police cars and an ambulance in front of the hot dog stand. I was surprised that there were none there. Surely cops and ambulances could get there quicker than I could from Uncle Leo's. The only explanation was they hadn't been called.
I'd asked Lori to call 9-1-1 and to get away from the crime scene. She and Summer were supposed to meet me in the parking lot across the street from the hot dog stand, but they weren't there.
I got out of the Prius and looked toward Wiener Girl. From a distance, everything looked normal. The window panels were closed and the trailer locked up. There didn't seem to be anyone inside, but as I got closer, I could hear Lori's voice. Behind her someone was crying.
As I walked toward their voices I started to see blood on the ground. Bright red, fresh. More and more of it as I got closer to the back of the trailer. The trail of blood ended in a large puddle at the trailer's back door. There was no body, but the words 'U R Next' were painted in blood on the trailer door.
Lori and Summer were standing further back in the alley, their backs to me. Lori had her arm around Summer and was speaking to her softly. Neither of them noticed me.
“Lori, I'm here. Tell me what's going on.”
At the sound of my voice, she turned in my direction and shook her head. She walked over and pointed at a bloody puddle in front of the trailer door. “They killed Little.”
I nodded. “Where's the body?”
She pointed over her shoulder to a bloodstained Wiener Girl T-shirt covering a small lump on the ground.
“Over there. Go look for yourself.”
I didn't want to touch the shirt. If this was a crime scene, we needed to back away, call the police and let them process it.
“Did you call 9-1-1?”
She shook her head. “No, it won't do any good.”
I pulled out my phone and started to dial. She stopped me. “Don't call.”
“Why?”
“Look at the body and you'll understand.”
I didn't want to disturb the crime scene any more than Summer and Lori already had, but I needed to see why she didn't want me to call the police.
I walked over to the bloody T-shirt and gently lifted it. I was surprised that underneath was a headless chicken, its white feathers covered in blood.
Summer sobbed. “That's Little.”
It slowly dawned on me that the victim was a chicken. One of the wild ones that roam much of Key West. Apparently this one was named “Little”, as in “Chicken Little”.
I was relieved that neither Summer nor Lori had been hurt and that the only death was that of a chicken. I was also relieved I hadn't called 9-1-1 to report the murder of a fowl.
“So tell me what happened.”
Lori wiped the tears from her eyes and softly spoke. “Summer decided she wanted to get up early and come over here to get her food order in. The people who deliver usually show up before ten and she wanted to be here when they arrived.
“When we got here, we went to the back of the trailer and saw the blood. Someone had cut off the chicken's head and tied its body around the door handle. They wrote 'You're Next' in blood on the door.
“Summer freaked out. She wanted to get a gun and go after Eugene, but I calmed her down. We moved Little's body away from the trailer and covered it. We don't know what to do with it now.”
