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I walked through the kitchen to the back door and looked outside. There was no sign that anything out of the ordinary had taken place. The crime scene tape had been taken down. The lone shoe had been removed.
A man appeared at the edge of the parking area. It was Wulf. He crooked a finger at me and motioned me forward. I gave a single shake of my head, no. I mimicked his gesture, motioning him to come to me. He smiled. There was a flash of light, a burst of smoke, and he was gone.
I stepped back, closed the door, and sucked in some air. Hard not to get rattled by Wulf. I wasn’
t bothered by the theatrics. That was just Wulf having fun. I was bothered by the man. I knew him on a superficial level, as my drop-in friend Diesel’s mysterious and complicated cousin. He was a man who tended to live in shadows and to come and go like thunder and lightning. And by “thunder and lightning” I’m not referring to his exit act, but by the disturbing magnetic, almost electric energy that surrounded him. He aroused my curiosity and simultaneously set off stranger-danger alarms. And I was a little freaked out that he was suddenly being seen in the two areas where people had vanished.
Everything seemed to be business as usual at the deli, so I called Connie and asked her to get me some information on the band members. Ten minutes later she texted back.
“I’m going to try to talk to the Armpit guys,” I said to Lula. “I’ll be back for the lunch rush. Do you want to stay here or come with me?”
“I’ll come with you. Just in case you get beamed up off-site, I don’t want to miss it.”
Zigmund Klug was first on the list. He was nineteen and shared the same address as Victor Waggle. His parents lived in Arizona. He had no employment history. I moved him to last on the list.
Jaimie Rolls was living with his parents on Mayberry Street and was a pizza delivery specialist for Noohana’s Pizza Emporium. I was familiar with Mayberry. It was tucked in behind the bonds office on Hamilton. It was a nice neighborhood of well-kept modest houses. I moved Jaimie to the top of the list.
“I heard about Noohana’s,” Lula said. “I saw it advertised on television the other day. They got emporiums all over the country, and if you order before noon and get them delivered after midnight, the pizza is only ninety-nine cents. I think that’s because they must make them in China and ship them over here.”
I found the Rolls house, and Lula and I went to the door. An older woman answered. Her hair was gray and cut short. Her skin was wrinkled and slack. She had a cigarette stuck to her lower lip and an overweight white cat under her arm.
“The cat tries to run out when you open the door,” she said. “Either come in or go away. I can’t hold this cat forever.”
Lula and I stepped inside and closed the door. The woman put the cat down. It gave itself a quick couple licks, and walked away.
“We’re looking for Jaimie Rolls,” I said.
The woman squinted at us. “Are you hookers?”
“Not anymore,” Lula said. “Only once in a while if I really need the money. Like sometimes when Macy’s has a shoe sale.”
I gave the woman my card. “We’re trying to locate Victor Waggle,” I said. “We thought Jaimie might be able to help us.”
“Jaimie is in the cellar,” the woman said. “It’s his man cave. He goes down there to play with himself.”
“Nice to see you’re open-minded about it,” Lula said.
“My daughter-in-law doesn’t like it,” the woman said, “but I don’t see anything wrong with all those video games.”
“Sure,” Lula said. “I knew you were talking about video games.”
The woman led us through the house to the cellar door. “Anyway, playing those games is better than when he tries to sneak the women in. Hookers and groupies and gropers. The worst is that mud wrestler Animal. He says he knows all these women because he’s a rock star, but I think it comes from delivering pizza.”
The cellar was unfinished, with beams and electrical wires overhead. The floor was concrete. Lighting was utilitarian. The furnace and water heater took up one corner, and a lot of the rest of the space was given over to storage. In the midst of all this Jaimie had positioned a bedraggled couch, a large scarred wooden coffee table, and a television on a card table.
He was slouched on the couch in half-darkness, gamer remote in hand, concentrating on digitally killing people. He flicked a look at Lula and me and went back to his game.
“Ten bucks or a BJ for an autograph,” he said.
“We’re looking for Victor Waggle,” I said. “Do you know where we can find him?”
“He’ll be at the Snake Pit on Thursday.”
“How about today?” Lula asked, moving in front of the television.
“Jeez, bitch,” Jaimie said. “You got your fatness in front of my screen. I’m laying waste to the kingdom here. I’m like on a siege.”
“Victor Waggle,” I said. “Where is he?”
