Eats to Die For! by Michael Mallory

object; the bug had been placed behind the Cohen poster.
    â€œDid you find something?” Avery Klemmer asked.
    â€œMm-hmm,” I uttered, pulling the bug off the backing and carefully stepping through the mess on the floor to the bathroom, which had also been ransacked. Hair stuff and a few pill bottles were strewn around the counter, including one for birth control pills.
    The bare-chested guy in the photo was a lucky dude, and had I known who he was, I’d contact him immediately to see if he had any insight into Louie’s disappearance. As for the bug, I didn’t bother putting this one in the toilet tank. I simply flushed it down the stool.
    Except for the fact that the place was trashed, this had the same M.O. as my break-in, which meant the burglar had probably picked the front lock to gain entry, and while I had no proof that it had been the same person who had broken into my office, it argued so. What’s more, the fact that my place was left neat—neater than it had been before, in fact—while Louie’s place was a mess, argued that the burglar knew she wouldn’t be coming back. Like maybe the burglar was the one responsible for her disappearance.
    Not so fast, kid , Bogart chimed in. Something doesn’t add up.
    â€œWhat?” I asked aloud.
    â€œWhat?” Avery responded.
    â€œOh, I was just thinking out loud. I do that sometimes.”
    â€œYeah, the people in my games do that, too.”
    Swell. I was about to phrase my confusion over Bogie’s comment in the form of a mental question when it finally hit me. If the burglar knew Louie was not going to be coming back, why did he bother to plant a bug? Unless the bug had been planted some time earlier, but had yielded no information, so whoever is listening was forced to go to the next level, breaking in and turning the apartment over…and possibly taking Louie.
    â€œDo you know who this is?” Avery was asking, as he stared at the photo of Louie and Mr. America.
    â€œJoe Six-Pack Abs? No, I have no idea. You live here, have you ever seen him?”
    â€œNo, but I hate him. He probably hates me, too.”
    â€œIf he knew you existed, he might,” I said before I could stop myself, and immediately the voice of Sabu—said: You must not damage your Karma, master . I’ll try to remember that, Sabu. I’ll try to be nicer to those few individuals in the world who are worse off than me. But what do you care anyway? You were Muslim, not Hindu. You didn’t know from Karma. Still, the Elephant Boy had a point.
    As I moved toward the bedroom, the door of which was hanging open, Avery said: “You’re not going to search her bedroom, are you?”
    â€œThere might be evidence in there.”
    â€œBut that’s an invasion of privacy. I mean, it’s her bedroom. You can’t just go in and search it.”
    â€œI’ll leave a chocolate on the pillow when I’m done. That’ll make it all better.”
    Not bad, kid , Bogie said in my head.
    Switching on the bedroom lights I saw an even bigger, more concentrated mess than existed in the living room. Every bit of clothing from the closet and dresser must have been pulled out and tossed into a variety of piles. Kneeling, I peered under the bed, but found nothing. I’m not sure what I’d been expecting to find, but it was the cleanest under-bed space I’d ever seen. There weren’t even any shoes.
    If there was some indication as to the disappearance of Louie Sandoval in this room, I wasn’t getting the message.
    Message .
    That had been my own voice inside my head, clueing me into what a dope I was being. Message. I had called Louie several times and left a message on her phone machine, which had to be here somewhere.
    Going back out to the living room, I began searching again.
    â€œWhat are you looking for now?” Avery asked.
    â€œA telephone with a phone answering machine. I left messages