29. Dine & Dash
Dine it was packed when we arrived.
Jean went straight to work, scanning the entire menu as if he were studying for an exam; the waitress came over to our table not long after.
Jean is the type of person who knows what he wants; he’s direct and focused, except when it comes to food.
He must’ve spent like ten minutes deciding what the hell he wanted to eat because the waitress lost her patience and recommended the day’s special, kebabs with shawarma sushi rolls for him; I ordered some spiced moussaka.
Once she had our orders squared away, she left to grab our appetizers, a mezze platter, when I noticed a rowdy group of men across the room.
There were four of them seated with their backs turned to me, so I couldn’t get a good look at them from my seat, not to mention the support pillar behind Jean that blocked most of my view.
There were plenty of other patrons, but what drew my attention to them was that they were speaking French; but it wasn’t normal French.
It sounded rough, and if I’m not mistaken, certain words from another language were mixed in.
I understood some of the French, but the other words threw me for a loop.
I had never heard their dialect of French.
“Here you are!” the waitress said. She’d finally made it back with the appetizer after some time. Jean was famished. He dug in right away, grabbing pieces of falafel and dipping them into the hummus. I tried a small portion of it, but honestly, I wasn’t hungry at all.
“Hey miss!” I said to the waitress as she turned to go to another table. “Can I ask you a quick question?”
“Oh. I already have a boyfriend,” she replied shyly.
“What?” I said. Jean started laughing and almost choked on the falafel. “No, I need you to look at a picture and tell me if you know this guy?”
I placed a photo of the dead thief, Jason, on the table. Then pushed it towards her. She glanced at it and smirked, then pulled away. I could tell she knew him. Maybe even liked him.
“Is he in trouble again?” The waitress said.
“I guess you could say that,” I replied.
“He’s dead,” Jean quipped, his mouth stuffed with food. The girl gasped and took a step back.
“That’s not possible. I saw him like two weeks ago and?—.”
“Unfortunately, it’s true. I’m doing my best to find the men responsible,” I said, and placed my badge on the table. “What’s your name?”
“Jess,” she replied.
“I’m sorry you have to find out this way, but it’s important that we follow any leads we have on this case. And currently, this is it. Did Jason ever say anything to you that was out of the ordinary, or did he mention someone, or maybe tell you about a job?”
“No, not really. He didn’t really work here. Jason just picked up orders occasionally, and we would talk as they were made. He was a delivery boy. Just a normal guy,” Jess said.
“So, nothing unusual happened with him? What about you? Has anyone asked about him or his friends?” I said.
“His friends? I didn’t know he had any. Can you ask them? Maybe they know more?” Jess replied.
“They’re all dead. That’s why we’re here,” I replied.
Jess approached the table gently. She looked back slyly at a table at the far end of the restaurant. Her breathing sped up and her pupils dilated.
“What’s wrong?” I said.
“There was someone,” Jess said.
“Someone?”
“A man. He came here to ask about Jason several days ago,” Jess replied.
“What did he want? What did he look like?” I said and took out my notepad.
Jess didn’t respond. She turned her head slightly and signaled with her eyes.
“Jason’s hangout spot. That’s what he asked me about. There, in the corner table, near the back, he’s the one sitting on the chair with a bag hanging from its side,” Jess said.
Jess, please go see table three as soon as possible. Played overhead. She was needed elsewhere.
“Thank you,” I said to her. She nodded and walked away.
“What now?” Jean said. “We can’t search them without a warrant, but maybe we can snag some prints. Take some pictures?”
“Yeah. That’s what I was thinking. Wait here,” I said and got up from the chair. “I’m going to head outside, act like a tourist, and take some pictures of the restaurant.”
“Be careful. If they have anything to do with our dead thieves and the attack at the motel,” Jean said, swallowing a falafel. “They’re incredibly dangerous. We need to call for backup.”
“I agree, but I don’t know if it was them.
We can’t arrest them based on suspicion.
And we can’t call for backup just in case they are,” I said.
“Our best bet is to get run facial recognition, grab their prints once they leave, and follow them to see where they go. I’ll call the feds when I’m outside for surveillance and some backup. ”
“I’ll cover the rear,” Jean said.
“And the bill,” I replied jokingly.
I went off towards the entrance to get it done, when I noticed a kid standing by the doorway. Jean was more than happy to stay at the table stuffing his face, but something felt off the moment we locked eyes.
As I approached the entrance, the kid, dressed in slim-fitting black clothes and shoes, bolted at a table directly in front of him and headed straight for the group I intended to take pictures of.
I watched as he crashed into the chair, grabbed the bag, and swiped it from the man before running straight for the entrance; the kid was fast like a track runner.
The men at the table became enraged, with one of them tossing a glass cup at him before he ran out of the restaurant.
“You swine!” one man said.
“We need to grab the fiend,” said another.
That’s when I noticed that one of them was armed. He reached for the grip of a gun at his waist, but stopped when he saw me. I flashed my badge quickly and showed him my firearm, too.
“I’ll grab him. I’m an officer,” I said to the group of men at the table. They looked Middle Eastern, with freshly shaven beards and newly bought clothes. They remained silent. And observant as I rocketed after the kid.