by Jeff Strand
"Thanks." Gertie glanced up at the server. "Think I'm just going to have a Diet Coke."
The server nodded and left.
"Keeping my budget reasonable already," said Ken. "Did you have any trouble finding the place?"
"Nope. The GPS took me right here. Found a parking spot, no problem. Off to a promising start." Gertie opened the menu. "What's good here?"
"The crab cakes as an appetizer. For your main course, you really can't go wrong with any of their fresh catch fish. I've heard the fried shrimp is good but I've never had it."
"Maybe I'll do the salmon."
"Excellent choice."
"What are you getting?"
"The salmon was my pick, too."
"Oh, good." She closed the menu. "That was easy."
"So do you want to hear about Deep Dive Into Heroism?"
"Of course."
"Each episode is an hour. I know that sounds long for a web series, but we may try to shop it to the larger streaming services after we've got a few episodes under our belt. It's mostly going to be interviews with, well, heroes. Like you and your friend. I wish she was here."
"Yeah," said Gertie. "She's not really into any of this. She's way more of a quote unquote hero than I am. I was the driving force, but she's the one who saved the kid. Of course, she's also the one who saw the father...well, you know the story. If I'd seen that, I might not be here with you, either."
"I understand. Anyway, the interview will be a straightforward setup. You in a chair against a green screen. One camera that you look into and one camera on the side. We'll make sure to get whatever you think is your best side." Ken chuckled. "We'll intercut it with other shots, but there aren't going to be any cheesy re-enactments or any of that nonsense. We'll get footage of the alley where it happened, and shots of the streets where you were walking around at night—that kind of stuff."
"You said it wouldn't be sensationalized, right? No shots of blood on the ground in the alley?"
"Oh, no, nothing like that. That's a whole different kind of documentary. Really, this is about you. Your motives. What you were thinking. How you worked up the courage to do what you did. And how it's affected you in the immediate aftermath."
"It sounds good."
"I want to save most of my questions for the show so that it's all fresh and unrehearsed, but I do want to get some basic insight first. Do you—"
The server arrived with Gertie's drink and then took their orders.
"I forget what I was going to ask," said Ken.
"Something that started with 'Do you.'"
"It'll come to me. In the meantime, what questions do you have for me?"
"When would we do this?"
"Whenever you can come back to my studio. Now, the interview will take quite a bit longer than what we use on the show. It'll be at least a couple of hours, maybe three or four, and we'll cut it down."
"So you'll get rid of the parts where I babble and stumble over my words and start picking my nose because I forget that I'm on camera?"
"Yes, indeed. We'll make you look good, I promise. What I'd love to do, if you're available, is get you over there tonight so you can meet the rest of the crew and do some camera tests. They're all in the studio working on one of our other projects."
"I can't do it tonight, but I can do it pretty much any other day. Whatever works for you. If I've got a day or two notice I can swap shifts with one of the other servers."
"Fair enough," said Ken. It had been too much to hope that she'd willingly go back to his "studio" tonight.
"And it's okay if I bring a friend, right?"
"Charlene?"
"No, just somebody to come along with me. They'll stay out of the way."
"I swear to God we're not making a porno."
"I know, I know."
"That is totally fine. We want everybody to feel safe and comfortable. Don't bring your whole entourage, but, yes, if you want to bring a friend, that is absolutely not a problem. We'll put him to work!"
"Thanks," said Gertie. "I'm not saying that I don't trust you. But of course this whole thing happened because women were disappearing!"
"Yep. There is no way I can argue that point. I should've been the one to suggest it, honestly. Pay will be a thousand bucks, flat fee. It's not a lot, but it works out to a pretty good hourly wage."
"Oh, no, that's great. I work for tips, basically. I wasn't even going to try to negotiate."
"So do you think you might be interested?"
"Definitely."
"That's great," said Ken. "I'm thrilled to hear it. And our food hasn't even arrived yet. I guess we could have discussed this over coffee."
"I guess we'll just have to suck it up and enjoy a nice meal."
"Sounds like an evening well spent."
* * *
Warren didn't seem like he was trying to hit on her. Gertie figured he would've taken off his wedding ring if that were the case. Of course, it always left an imprint or a tan line and the guys weren't fooling anybody, but that didn't stop them from trying.
She sure as hell didn't feel comfortable enough to go back to his studio tonight. She was reasonably confident that everything would be fine, and if she got a bad feeling about it she'd simply refuse to go inside, and if he pressured her she'd zap the shit out of him with the stun gun in her purse. But though she didn't get a bad vibe from Warren, going to a non-public place with him after dinner simply wasn't an option. Not for a web series shoot, not for sex, not for anything.
This wouldn't go in a romantic direction even if he were single. A lot of it was superficial stuff, but he was at least ten years older than her and kind of chubby. Though he pulled off the hipster beard thing pretty well, she wasn't a big fan of facial hair. It wasn't a deal-breaker by any means, but it did typically make her less inclined to imagine that there'd be kissing afterward.
In less superficial territory, his personality was...fine. He was friendly and pleasant to talk to and clearly had multiple functioning brain cells. There just wasn't any strong connection. She preferred guys with a sharper wit. A heartier laugh—he laughed, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
Not that any of this mattered. He'd made no indication that he was trying to get into her pants, or that his interest in her was any different from their stated reason for having dinner together.
She really wished Charlene would be part of what Gertie jokingly called "the publicity tour" but which was really limited to a few quick interviews. It wasn't as if she was shamelessly cashing in on the situation—this would be the first paid interview, and nobody had yet offered to make a major motion picture out of her life story—yet she couldn't help but feel a little bit guilty about getting all of this praise while Kimberly was still missing. Gertie knew that Kimberly was almost certainly dead, and she wasn't sure if that made the publicity tour better or worse. If Charlene was along for the ride with her, she'd feel better about the whole experience.
Her parents, and even her aunt, had assured her that she was doing nothing wrong. (Though, not surprisingly, they emphatically did not approve of her trying to offer herself up as bait for the abductor.) It wasn't as if she was embarking on a vile cash grab like selling authorized t-shirts or charging for pictures. She made sure to give Charlene the appropriate credit every time she spoke to the media. She truly believed that they'd done a good deed, even if the piece of shit father killed himself, and she didn't see anything wrong with talking about it.
The salmon was delicious. Warren suggested pairing it with a glass of white wine, but she stuck with Diet Coke. As they ate, he asked a lot of questions but didn't seem all that interested in the answers. He didn't check his cell phone or stare at other women or anything like that, but there was very much a "just waiting for his turn to talk" facet to the conversation. Warren wasn't a very good storyteller, offering up anecdotes about his childhood in Michigan that ended without much of a point, and it was entirely possible that she was subconsciously doing the "waiting for
her turn to talk" thing as well.
When the server offered dessert, she felt guilty about saying yes, but this wasn't a date. She was still going to do his show, and he wasn't paying for the meal himself, so why not indulge in the seven-layer chocolate cake?
"Do you want to split it?" she asked.
"Sure."
"One cake, two forks," said the server. "Got it."
As the server walked away, Gertie pushed back her chair. "I shouldn't have had that third Coke. Back in a minute." She picked up her purse and headed to the restroom.
* * *
Ken wasn't sure if she didn't trust him to be alone with her purse, or if she was on the rag. Either way, half of her drink was left. Rich chocolate cake tended to make you thirsty. She might finish it off.
He glanced around. There were other diners, but none of them were at adjacent tables, and none of them were looking at him. The restaurant had a nice dim atmosphere. He could empty the tiny vial into her drink in two seconds. Everybody seemed immersed in their meals and conversations.
He took the vial out of his pocket. Keeping it hidden under the table, he twisted off the lid.
A busboy walked over to the booth in front of theirs and began to pick up dishes and put them in his plastic tub.
Damn it.
The busboy wasn't looking at him.
If he asked Vivian what she thought he should do, she would lose her shit over the idea of him even considering trying to drug Gertie's drink when somebody was standing right there. But Vivian had no emotional investment in Gertie's fate. She didn't care what happened. It would destroy Ken to have wasted an evening in this stupid restaurant when he could've been sitting in the basement.
If the busboy happened to glance over, Ken was utterly screwed. There was no alternate explanation except that he was trying to slip drugs into Gertie's drink.
It was too risky.
If he got caught, he'd spend the rest of his life in prison, cursing the moment of sheer stupidity when he broke the very smart rule that he and Vivian had set.
Let her go.
Nobody was watching him.
He quickly poured the contents of the vial into his mouth.
Nobody noticed.
He reached across the table, picked up Gertie's glass, and pretended to take a drink while letting the clear liquid run out of his mouth into her Diet Coke. He set the glass back.
Nobody noticed that, either. If they had, they'd just have thought he was taking a drink of her soda. No big deal. Maybe they were married and didn't have beverage boundaries.
He picked up his glass of water, took a drink, swished it around, and spat it back. Then did it once more.
Success!
* * *
It's going fine, Gertie texted as she sat on the toilet. About to have dessert. He's not a weirdo or anything.
Thanks for the update, Charlene texted back. You're going straight home after dinner?
Yes. I'll let you know when I've left. Nothing to worry about, though. I don't think you'd like him but he's not sleazy.
What's for dessert?
Chocolate cake!!!
Enjoy!
* * *
"Here you go," said the server. Ken wasn't a big fan of chocolate cake, but it sure looked fancy. "All on one check?"
"Yes, please. As soon as you're ready."
"I'll go get it now."
Gertie returned to the booth just as the server left. "Oh my God, that looks good."
"Dig in."
Gertie picked up her knife and divided the cake into two equal sections. Apparently she didn't want to catch his germs. Well, fuck you, too.
After they'd had a couple of bites, the server returned with the check. Seventy-one bucks and they hadn't even ordered alcohol. More reason to be pissed if Gertie escaped. He took out his wallet, counted out four twenties and a five, which was neither a memorably good tip nor a memorably bad one. Right in line with what society said he was supposed to give her. "No change," he told the server as she collected the cash.
He occasionally wished he had a credit card under a fake name, but he didn't have the resources to make that happen, so it was always cash payments in situations like these. Though most diners paid with credit cards, leaving eighty-five bucks in cash wasn't weird enough to call attention to him.
He and Gertie continued to eat the cake. She raved about its sheer deliciousness, while he found it sickeningly sweet. He pretended that it was simply delectable, of course.
She wasn't drinking any of her Diet Coke.
He wasn't sure how to encourage her to take a drink. It would be strange to suggest to another adult that they finish their beverage. He could take a drink of his water to send a subtle reminder that her drink existed, but it had trace amounts of Rohypnol in it, so that would be a remarkably poor choice on his part.
They finished the cake. She scraped up the frosting from her side of the plate, getting every last trace.
How did you convince somebody to take a drink without it seeming unusual?
"That was some seriously good cake," he said. "Made me thirsty."
God, that was lame. Why had he said that? He picked up his glass and pretended to take a drink, not letting any get into his mouth. He set down the glass.
Gertie didn't take a drink from hers.
Goddamn it.
There was nothing he could do. Unless she grabbed it and took one last swig as they got up to leave, she was going to leave the glass half-full.
"Should we head off?" she asked.
No, he wanted to say. How about you finish that fucking glass of Diet Coke that I paid for, bitch?
"Yep," he said, sliding out of the booth.
Gertie slid out of the booth as well. She did not pick up the glass for one last swig.
They walked together toward the restaurant exit.
* * *
Gertie wanted to throw up.
She wouldn't have drank from a glass that she left unattended anyway. And the fact that his eyes kept darting to her glass didn't necessarily mean that he'd done anything to it. He'd have to be incredibly bold to drug her drink right here in a restaurant, with other diners around. What if the ladies' restroom had been occupied and she'd come right back to the table?
So she wasn't too concerned about her drink, although of course she was going to leave it untouched. A slight uneasy feeling and nothing more.
When they walked away from the table, she got frightened.
He hadn't taken his receipt.
How was he expensing this meal if he paid in cash and left his receipt behind? Did his investors work on the honor system? Business people dining with clients always wanted their receipts.
Eyes darting to her drink and an abandoned receipt weren't enough for her to point at him and scream "Killer! Killer!" But it was enough to scare her.
Was this the man who'd abducted Kimberly? Or was he just some guy who wanted to rape her? Or was she making a mistake?
She'd spent many hours walking the streets of Hornbeam Ridge after dark, hoping he'd show up to try to make her his prey. Now that he might very well be walking right next to her, she didn't think she wanted that at all. She wanted to be as far away from him as she could get.
Yet she did have her stun gun.
If he made a move, any move, she could zap the shit out of him and then make him tell her what he'd done with her cousin.
The smart plan would be to not walk out to the parking lot with him. Come up with an excuse to stay behind, then call the police. They might decide that she had too little to go on, but surely they would agree that the abductor had a motive to come after her. If she got back to the table before the server cleared it, she could turn her drink over to the authorities and let them test it.
Gertie knew what he looked like, though she suddenly thought the beard might be fake. She would be able to easily pick him out in a police lineup, but she might not be able to help create a police sketch that was good enough for them to catch h
im.
They'd exchanged e-mails. Surely he'd covered his tracks there. He wouldn't be dumb enough to communicate with a victim using an e-mail address that could be traced back to him.
What should she do? Surely she shouldn't just walk out of the restaurant with him. Yet if she pretended to have sudden stomach troubles and returned to the restroom, he'd get away and the police might not be able to find him. Kimberly was probably dead...but what if she wasn't?
The boldest option would be to zap him right here in the restaurant.
Yet what did she have to go on? He'd glanced at her drink and he didn't take his receipt. If he was innocent, she could be charged with assault. If you were going to slam a stun gun into somebody who'd made no aggressive moves toward you, you needed to be very sure he was really the bad guy.
She'd walk to the parking lot with him. Try to see his license plate. She had her purse over her right shoulder, and he was on her left side, so she casually unzipped it as they walked through the restaurant. If he tried anything at all, she'd zap him.
He took a mint from the bowl at the hostess's station and then held the door for her as she walked outside.
"Thanks for dinner," she said. "It was delicious. So you'll just e-mail me and we can take the next step?"
He nodded but didn't say anything.
* * *
She knew.
Ken had no idea how she'd figured it out. But Gertie was suddenly acting a bit nervous and weird, and though he'd like to believe that it was simply him being paranoid, he had to assume that she knew who he was.
Which meant that they absolutely could not part ways tonight.
CHAPTER TEN
"Yes," Ken finally said. "I'll send you an e-mail with everything you need to know. The sooner we can make this happen the better, but of course we'll work with your schedule."
"Great. Well, I look forward to working with you." Gertie's voice had just a hint of a tremor. The bitch was doing an admirable job of pretending that everything was fine, but her act wasn't quite good enough to fool him.
