Eats to Die For! (19 page)

“So they can't let that happen,” I muttered, “and they'll do anything to keep that from happening. Including…”

“We're really in danger, aren't we, Dave?”

“Yeah, I'd have to say—”

“Hold me!” She practically jumped into my arms. Then she started tonguing my nipple through my stiff white shirt.

“Um, what are you doing?” I asked.

“It's the danger, Dave. Being in danger does something to me. I told you if you were lucky, you'd find out about it.”

Then she unbuttoned my shirt and started nibbling on my nipple directly. It was getting awfully crowded below my belt.

“Don't just stand there,” she panted, pulling off her own shirt, then her bra. “Kiss me back, anywhere you want.”

Within about five seconds we were both completely naked.

I can honestly say I have never made love sitting on a toilet before.

I can also honestly say that if you haven't tried it, don't knock it.

After we had finished, both flushed (so to speak), wet, and sticking to each other, she said, “The feeling of danger has been building up for a few days. It just got to be too much. Thanks.”

My intent was to be as cool and witty as James Bond in response and say something like, “You're quite welcome,” or “Now I'm glad I came,” but instead what came out was: “I think I love you.”

Louie chuckled, “You don't, really.”

“Maybe not, but I'm trying to be a sensitive man. In any event, how about we do this again so I can decide conclusively.”

She kissed me on the lips, and until that moment, I didn't think it was possible that there enough respect left in Little Dave to stand up in a lady's presence, but I was wrong.

This time we did it in the shower. Some twenty minutes later I staggered out into the steam-filled bathroom, and said, “Wow.”

Louie turned off the water and stepped out, leaning on me for support. “You know, to look at you, you wouldn't think you're that hot.”

“Oddly enough, I've been told that once before.”

For the record, sport, I'm jealous
, I heard Errol Flynn say.

The steam was beginning to abate, but it was still too sultry in the room to actual dry ourselves, so we took our towels out into the hallway, which was much cooler, so cool, in fact, that we had to huddle nakedly together to keep our goosebumps from getting out of hand. Damn.

“Do you really think they have cameras in here?” Louie asked. “I mean, could they see us in action?”

“I wondered about that,” I said. “Honestly, it wouldn't shock me, but you know what? I think seeing us doing what we just did would make their day.”

“Perverts.”

“Yeah, quite possibly,” I whispered, “but what I meant was I think they threw us together in here because they wanted us to become lovers. That way they think they've gained leverage over us, by telling us if we don't talk, they'll do something to the other one.”

“I wouldn't want that to happen.”

“Neither would I. That's why we should talk.”

“That show you were talking about?”

“Yeah. Do you, uh, think we should get dressed?”

With a quick, almost sisterly kiss, her “danger jones” as Zarian had described it assuaged (though now I wondered how
he
had found out about it)
,
she pulled away and went back into the bathroom for her clothes. I followed, and found that while our respective outfits were slightly moist from the steam, they were not uncomfortable. In fact, if had softened them up a bit.

Back in the living room, Louie said, “Trashing my apartment like that, I feel so violated!”

She said it loudly enough as to indicate that the curtain had gone up on the “show.”

“They really did a thorough job of it, too,” I replied.

“They really think I'm so stupid as to leave my research in the apartment? I mailed my memory stick to Aunt Dolores for safekeeping. That's usually what I do for important investigations.”

I doubted she even had an Aunt Dolores. “I still can't believe I was so stupid as to buy the story from that guy pretending to be your brother,” I said, not only for the benefit of the presumed listeners, but also truthfully.

“Dave, don't beat yourself up over it. These are devious, evil people hiding behind the tax-exempt mask of a church. They are devils. And I have the evidence for that. I just hope they never find out about Aunt Dolores.”

I approached her and took her in an embrace, using that opportunity to whisper in her ear: “Don't overplay it.”

We separated and she nodded slightly, having gotten the message.

“So, did you uncover proof that the Temple owns Burger Heaven?” I asked.

“Not conclusive proof, no,” she said. “I mean, there is no doubt in my mind that they do, as well as dozens of other front businesses, but they are masters at covering their paper trails. Think of the Temple as a modern-day Mafia, investing in legitimate companies for the revenue and to launder the money from their shakier endeavors. And since everybody loves Burger Heaven, there's a lot of money coming in. It's just that all those customers don't realize
why
they love Burger Heaven so much.”

Like me.

“Yeah, about that,” I said. “I was actually able to sneak a portion of burger out of one of the restaurants.”

“You're kidding!”

“No, I managed, and I sent it on to Za…greb, they have a great scientific lab over there in Croatia, but it came back with negative results.”

Now she looked genuinely perplexed. “That can't be.”

“Sorry, but all the lab found was pepper and MSG.”

“That's what…ZZ Top sang to you?”

It wasn't the most graceful code, but it would do. “Yeah. Nothing else.”

She stood in thought for a few moments, then said: “How were you able to get the sample out?”

“I just walked out.”

“That's all? There was nothing unusual about it?”

I thought back. “Well, the only thing unusual was that it was a freebie.”

Her eyes started to sparkle, and a smile crossed her lips, and danged if I didn't want to drag her into the bathroom again and tear that Theotologics uniform off her like husks off an ear of corn.

But we had other things to accomplish.

“A freebie, huh?” she said.

“Yeah, I was given a complimentary coupon because my food from an earlier visit had accidentally been thrown away, and—”

It hit me then, and until that moment I had not bothered to stop and think that maybe that coupon had special significance. What if that coupon was restaurant code for
Give the Bearer of This Paper a Genuine 100% Beef Hamburger Patty
, and handed out only to those who seem to want to take a sample of the food home?

“It was a dummy burger, wasn't it? My god, are they really that diabolically prepared?”

“I think the short answer is yes. The fact that we're both here is a testament to their ability to cover all bases.”

“Where is here, anyway?” I asked.

“I'm not positive, Dave, but I think we're in Canada.”

“
Canada
?”

“Somewhere in Alberta,” Louie said. “The Temple built a complex on the site of an old World War II POW camp.”

“Louie, you've got to be kidding me.”

“I wish I were. I heard about this place when I was doing my research. It's where they take members who don't conform, or people like us who become a little too troublesome.”

“Good lord.” I went to the living room and opened the drapes, not knowing if I would recognize Canada by sight or not, but willing to try.

As it turned out it didn't matter; there was no actual window behind the drapes, only a large painting of a landscape behind what appeared to be thick, bullet-proof Plexiglas.

I tried pounding on it, knowing it would be futile.

“Even if you were to break through, it wouldn't matter,” Louie said. “It's only a concrete wall behind the artwork. See, Dave, we're I think we're underground.”

“Like in a bunker?”

“Exactly.”

I staggered over to the sofa and slumped down on it. “It seems like everybody I know told me the Temple was not an operation to mess with, but I don't get it. How can they actually get away with this?”

She sat down next to me and put a hand on my thigh, which I covered with my own. It was not a romantic or sexual signal, it was simply a gesture between two people who shared a big, big problem reaching out to one another.

“They have money, Dave, more than you can imagine,” she said, “and when you're that rich, you can do anything you want. Rules and laws don't apply because you can make your own. You can buy government officials and politicians at every level and pay them to either look the other way at all times and make certain you're protected against any and all threats. If the threat seems real, you simply pay whoever you have to make it go away.”

Like the theatre critic at the Independent Journal, the one in Chino
, I thought.
Like me, in all likelihood, if I didn't have a friend on the force.

“This sounds like the mob in the thirties,” I said.

“It's even worse,” Louie said. “The mob dealt in commodities like liquor or cigarettes, even things like magazines and records, any product that people would pay for. But the Temple deals in people themselves. It traffics in souls, particularly lost souls, like Regina Fontaine. She got involved with them through their theatre in Hollywood, which she thought was legitimate at first. It didn't take long for the Temple to size her up and get their hooks into her. Regina was a chain-smoker, and someone from the Temple who was working at the theatre told her he knew of a great program to help her quit. That was the beginning of it. She tried desperately to quit, but she was an addictive personality. If she dropped one addiction, she'd replace it with another.”

“So she replaced cigarettes with the Temple?” I said.

“No, she replace cigarettes with Burger Heaven burgers, which she discovered were even more addictive than smoking. That's when she began to suspect there was something extra being put into the meat, and she wondered if it was nicotine, to get people hooked on eating there.”

If that was indeed the case, I had to admit that it worked. I also had to admit that in spite of everything I was hearing, I was craving a Twin Halo.

“But whatever it was,” Louie went on, “because of all the burgers she was eating she started to gain a little weight, not so much that you or I would ever notice, but the people running the theatre did. They told her she had to go into a diet program, and guess who ran it? She even started sneaking cigarettes again hoping to wean herself off the hamburgers.”

“That explains why she nearly jumped out of her skin when I caught her smoking,” I said.

“That's the way the Temple operates. They prey on you, beat you down, make you feel like such a loser that you begin to think every basic human requirement is a personal weakness, including hunger.”

“And she couldn't simply leave?”

“She fantasized about leaving, but by then she was in to the Temple for tens of thousands of dollars, which is also how the operation works. Once you've signed up they bleed your bank account dry with all their classes and workshops and books and tapes and downloads and programs anything else they can think of, and when they've accomplished that they offer you loans from their own private credit union. Once you're in so deeply to them that there's no way out, you have to go to work for them to pay it off, and if you refuse, they threaten you with legal prosecution.” She shook her head.

“A lot of the people working at Burger Heaven aren't working for wages, they're trying to pay off their debt, which they never will. It's a modern form of slavery with the added threat of punishment to anyone who dares trying to approach the authorities with a complaint. Despite that, Regina, had gotten to the point where she was willing to at least try and blow the whistle on them, and rightly or wrongly believing that going to the police or the DA's office was futile, she came to us.”

“And paid the price for it,” I said.

“God,” Louie sighed, shaking her head. “What should I have done differently to protect her?”

“You can't blame yourself.”

“Regina was so vulnerable, so completely vulnerable in that artistic way. Every emotion came through her pores. I really wanted to help her, but I think I got too close to be objective. But why am I telling you that? You've seen the proof. I probably should have let her move into my apartment like she wanted. She already had a key.”

A bell went off in my head. That had to be where the faux Ricky Sandoval had gotten the key; he took it from Regina right before he killed her.

And…
? Bogie prompted.

And while I had suspected Ricky, his possession of the key was absolute proof of his guilt!

Buuuuut
? Robert Mitchum's voice said, and yes, even though it was only one long syllable, I recognized it.

“Oh, jeez,” I uttered, putting my face in my hands.

“What's the matter, Dave?” Louie asked.

Ricky Sandoval had given me the key, from which I had a copy made, both of which I retained. One, in fact, had been in my pants pocket when I'd been drugged and abducted, and so was now back in the possession of the Temple. So my possession of Regina's key now pointed to
me
the prime suspect in her murder, and even if I ever had the chance to dispose of the copy I'd made, the Temple still had the original and could plant it anywhere they wanted to support the theory of my guilt.

Two steps forward, one step back, straight off a cliff
, Fred Astaire sang in my head.

“Are you okay?” Louie was asking.