The worst offenders were a party of four who’d just come from Wednesday night church services. After slamming some shots and wolfing down food as if it was their last supper, they put the bill on a credit card. Their tip was a small brochure. It invited Dani to join their church. They’d added a handwritten note-“Don’t worry, dear, the Lord Jesus will provide.”
Me, personally, I figure that Jesus would have tipped better than 25%, and I made a comment to that effect.
Dani’s eyes sharpened. “Servers are required to tip-out the bussing, bar and kitchen staff based on the charges rung up, not the amount of tip collected. When these folks stiff us for a tip, we end up paying for the privilege of having served them.”
I fingered the brochure. “You mean the bartenders won’t take their cut out of this?”
“Nope, and my landlord won’t accept it for rent, either. Since the Federal Minimum Wage for servers is $2.13 an hour, I’ll be screwed if I get much more Christian kindness. Once I figure out what the heck I’m doing with my life, it’s adios food service and people like that.”
Despite her remarks, she accepted the indignities with a smile and really did a great job making people happy. She might complain on break, but even when she was having a bad day, she turned on the charm. Between the great food and service, she didn’t get stiffed all that often. Chelsea ’s Kitchen draws better-than-average customers who seemed to appreciate Dani’s efforts. Still, after watching for only three days, I could begin to pick out the folks who would be high maintenance.
It wasn’t until the following Saturday that I spotted anyone out of the ordinary. For a moment I thought it might be Dani’s mysterious stranger returned to the scene of the crime, but this man was younger and so cadaverously slender that he’d bulge like a well-fed python if he tried to eat the rib-eye he’d ordered. I noticed him because he was seated in Dani’s section, didn’t order a drink, and watched her very carefully.
I didn’t like it, so I eclipsed his vision of her. “I can get you a box so you can take that home with you.”
Skullface looked up at me, and his smile shrank, which set my hair on edge. Piercing blue eyes raked me up and down, then he nodded to the seat opposite to him. “Please, join me.”
“The help isn’t allowed, sir.”
“But you’re not help, are you, Mr. Moran?”
I still didn’t sit. “What’s on your mind?”
“Your little friend over there has something which does not belong to her. I require it. I am willing to pay her for it.”
“I don’t know what…”
“Spare me, Moran.” He slowly opened his jacket and pulled out a card case. The card he gave me had been printed in black over ivory, with a circle and cross device worked in red in the upper right corner. “Reverend Joseph Bernhard? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of the Church of Jesus Christ Martyr before.”
“Your employer will have. My cell number is on the back. You will have him call me.” He regarded me as a vulture might regard road kill. “Not to be melodramatic, but this can work one of two ways. Either the girl can be enriched by this experience, or it will become a character-building exercise. I know that decision will be made above your pay grade. Pass on the message like a good boy.”
I was tempted to hit him, and I probably would have, but he was expecting it. So, I just returned his smile. “As you wish, sir. Now, do you want a box for this?”
“Not necessary.” He draped his napkin over the bloody steak, then dropped a pair of one hundred dollar bills on top of the growing red stain. “I look forward to the call.”
I let him go, then retreated to the back and called Bloodstone. I let the phone ring twice, then hung up and called back. It rang four more times, then went to voice mail. I almost didn’t leave a message because I knew Bloodstone would never find it-but maybe the CSI guys would. I read the information from the card, including the cell phone number, then repeated my cell number and asked for a quick callback.
I returned to the floor and looked for Dani, but she was gone. I asked another busboy, Luis, where she was and he pointed toward the parking lot. “Table five forgot their dinner. She took it out to them.”
Table five. I closed my eyes for a moment. A pair of young men, well dressed, college or early career. Nothing unusual about them, really.
The squeal of tires from the parking lot snapped my eyes open. I ran for the door just in time to see a white Escalade bouncing onto 40th, heading south. They caught the light at the corner and headed west on Camelback.
Tony, the guy working valet, was sitting on the ground rubbing a hand over his jaw. “They kidnapped Dani. They just shoved her into the Escalade and took off. I tried to stop them but…”
“I know, they were big.” I helped him up. “Did you see the other guy, tall, slender, young, blond hair trimmed short.”
“Mercedes 500SL. Tipped me ten bucks.”
“Which way did he go?”
Tony shrugged. “Out on 40th, same as everyone else. Do I call the cops?”
“Yeah. You have the plate numbers logged?”
“I’ll give them to them. The Mercedes, too?”
“Give me an hour. If I don’t call you, report it.” I headed for the Cougar. “Some decisions need to be made above my pay grade, then I’m going to find Dani and get her back safely.”
Bloodstone wasn’t in the office when I arrived. That was good. It gave me a chance hit the net and Google Reverend Bernhard. I learned quite a bit about him and the weird crap he was into.
When I heard Bloodstone trotting down the stairs I turned my monitor to face the doorway and pointed to it. “This clown is Joseph Bernhard. He kidnapped Dani. He’s seriously looney-tunes. He’s the leader of a Christian Identity sect. His hobbies are loading his own ammunition, reading Mein Kampf in the original German, rescuing Nazi memorabilia from Soviet archives, and denying the Holocaust ever happened. And that’s just what he says about himself on the Sean Hannity-fan dating-site.”
Bloodstone nodded. “Christian Identity is a vile perversion of Christianity. They believe Aryans are the true chosen people, the Jews murdered Jesus and so forth. Racism cum religion.”
“He wants the box. You’re to call him.”
His nostrils flared. “Dial him.”
I did. The line rang twice, then Bernhard answered. “I’ll hold for Bloodstone.”
Bloodstone punched the speaker button on my desk phone. “The girl is safe?”
“You have something of mine, and I want it.”
“Don’t be coy. It was never yours.”
“It was meant to be mine. I have searched long enough. You will bring it to me. An innocent life hangs in the balance.” Bernhard hissed coldly. “Twenty-fourth and Camelback, near the bookstore.
You have twenty-five minutes.” He cut the connection.
I hit the speaker button again. “No cops?”
“Contra-indicated.” He shook his head slowly. “Don’t bother to bring your pistol.”
“Bernhard is a kidnapper, and he likes to play with guns.”
Bloodstone shook his head. “This time he is playing with something far more powerful, and it will consume him. No gun, no violence.”
Our stares met, but it would be easier to win a stare-down with the Lincoln Memorial than with Bloodstone. I raised my hands in surrender. “No gun. No violence.”
“Good.” His eyes became violet slits. “I will get the box. We will take the Jaguar.”
We loaded the box in the trunk, Bloodstone piled into the rear seat, and I slid behind the wheel. We made it to the parking lot with five minutes to spare. Once I found a space, a van pulled up blocking us in. A man emerged from the back, opened our passenger door and dropped into the seat beside me.