“You want me to meet you? I’m way on the other side of town,” Rohan said.
“I’ll handle it. Just keeping you in the loop.”
“Thanks, Boss.”
“Most Superior Goddess works, too.”
“Goof,” he said, and hung up.
About twenty minutes later, I pulled up to Rocco’s Pizzeria, a squat brick storefront off West Tenth Avenue that wasn’t too far from our mansion. Close to the University of British Columbia, it was a popular student hangout for its huge portions. I salivated just thinking about their pesto pancetta slices.
Yes, pancetta, my not-so-secret love. I was a bad Jew. Jew-ish.
I slung the laminated press pass identifying me as one of the reporters for The Vancouver Sun newspaper over the business casual blouse and linen pants that I’d changed into, and fished a spiral bound notebook and pen from my purse.
Crime scene tape had been strung across the open door, allowing the scent of baking dough and spicy tomato sauce to drift out into the street. Cops milled about.
The first officer I spoke to directed me to another cop who was willing to say that an alleged assault and death had occurred on the premises.
A crying Indo-Canadian woman a few years older than me was inside the restaurant speaking with an officer, but there was no way to get to her. Other than her there were just a lot of gawkers out on the sidewalk speculating on what had happened.
I headed into the alley behind the store. The dumpster hadn’t been emptied and the stench of rotting food in this heat made my stomach lurch. Luckily, I didn’t have to wait there for very long. The back door opened and I fished a new pack of cigarettes out of my purse, making a big show of unwrapping it.
“Could I bum one of those?” An unshaven dude in a sauce-stained apron with a dusting of flour along his jaw nodded at the pack.
Thanks to Yael’s many stories from her years of working in kitchens, it had been a fair assumption that someone in this place was a smoker.
I held the pack out. “Help yourself.”
He jammed a cigarette in the corner of his mouth, flicking open his lighter and lit up. He closed his eyes to better savor that first deep drag. “Need a light?” He sparked the flame for me.
That was the only downside to my plan. Cigarettes were gross. I took the barest drag and then mostly held it.
He gestured at my press pass. “I can’t talk about what happened.”
“Sweet Tooth is a really shitty drug,” I said.
He flicked his tongue over his lips before puffing away some more. “Got that out of the cops?”
I shook my head. “My friend had a bad experience on it a few days ago. Surgery bad. She assaulted someone, too.” A long column of ash fell onto my open-toed sandals, startling me out of my daze. I ground the tip into the brick wall.
“Sorry to hear it.”
“Everyone affected has friends, family. If you could just tell me–”
He crushed the butt under his shoe. “Sorry.”
The door to the pizzeria closed behind him with a reverberating thud.
“Was that just bullshit for the story?” The Indo-Canadian woman watched me from the mouth of the alley with red-rimmed, puffy eyes. “About your friend?”
“No.” I walked over to her, glad to get away from the garbage. “One of my friends did Sweet Tooth and was fine. The other one?” I shook my head.
She drew in a shaky breath that racked her slight frame.
I handed her an unopened water bottle. I’d been taught all kinds of tricks for getting victims or their family and friends to open up. This particular purse held all my props. Yeah, it was kind of cold and manipulative, as was exploiting Naomi’s tragedy, but if this got me to Candyman and made sure that no one else got hurt, I’d be as manipulative as it took.
“Was it your friend?” I said.
“Cousin. Jake.” She twisted the cap off but didn’t drink.
“I’m so sorry. What’s your name?”
“Harjit.”
“I’m Nava. Did you take any?” I checked her pupils but didn’t see any dilation.
“No. It wasn’t my thing. Caffeine junkie, yeah.”
“Can I buy you one? I mean, it is recess time. I generally need a hit about now.” She mustered up a weak smile, but I could sense her hesitation, so I bulldozed over it. “There’s a café about half a block from here. Blast Brew Bar. You know it?”
“The hipster place?”
“Yeah.” I started walking, maintaining eye contact and essentially forcing her to come with me. “They do that handmade, pour-over coffee thing, which yes, is so pretentious, but they’re close.”
“They’re kind of overpriced.”
I leaned in conspiratorially. “That’s because they factor in the price of the physio from their carpel tunnel. It’s my treat. Come on. Let me buy you a hot drink and get some sugar into your system. If you don’t want to talk, you don’t have to.”
Harjit nodded, hesitant, but still agreeing to come. The cops had cut her loose for the moment and she looked adrift. She hadn’t immediately gone home so I figured she wanted a chance to steady herself after the loss she’d suffered.
Not letting up my stream of chatter, I led her over to Blast and got us settled in with coffee and biscotti. The Brew Bar was all distressed wood, copper accents, and caffeine condescension with a massive stainless steel espresso maker focal point. The barista rubbed it down like he was jerking it off.
I worried my Starbucks-loving ass might be outed and I’d be run out of the place in a flurry of manbunned indignation, but I managed to place my order with enough ennui to make it seem like I belonged.
True to my word, I powered through my bitter brew, letting Harjit have her space. She broke her biscotti into smaller and smaller pieces until the crumbs mounted on her plate. “I wasn’t even supposed to see Jake today. I’d only met up with him to get on his case for ditching his treatment.”
“Substance abuse?” I licked my finger and pressed it to the three measly crumbs on my plate. I’d inhaled my biscotti and having gone this far, was committed to leaving no trace.
She pushed her plate away. “No.”
“Okay, so you met up and he had already taken the Sweet Tooth?” She nodded. “Was there a sudden shift in his behavior? Like zero to extreme and it was terrifying?”
She glanced up at me, startled.
“It’s what happened with my friend,” I said gently.
“Jake had ordered his pizza, but he didn’t have any cash and I was so mad at him that I didn’t want to pay.” Her eyes filled with tears. “Rocco? The owner? He’s a big guy. He was behind the counter and when he told Jake to come back with money or leave, Jake casually grabbed this decorative vase on the counter and bashed Rocco with it.” Harjit lined up the creamer and sugar bowls. “Then Jake jumped the counter and started stuffing pizza slices in his mouth. He wasn’t even chewing them, just swallowing them down whole. I was freaking out calling 911.”