Zero Worship: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective #6

Chapter 22 - Oh-Mee-Nose

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The pizza place "renowned for its cheap prices and not much else" is called Omino's. No one is quite sure how to pronounce it, but most force it to rhyme with "domino." Management, on the other hand, suggests staff pronounce the name as "oh-mee-nose," which is also what customers say when they open the box.

"This place sucks," Chad says from the front passenger seat of Ray's car. Bexley, wisely, refused to let him drive.

It does, but since it's so cheap, it'll be the last pizza place to close in Stevens Point.

The car comes to a stop in the strip mall parking lot outside Omino's. From the backseat, Zandra looks for the masked delivery driver's car. It's missing. Bexley notices that, too.

It's mid-afternoon. He won't start his evening shift for a few hours.

"Do we wait for him to show up?" Bexley says to Zandra.

Zandra opens her door and hobbles onto the parking lot.

"Guess not," Bexley says and follows Zandra.

It takes a minute for Chad to stumble out of the car and onto the pavement.

That's not going to work.

"Stay in the car," Zandra says to Chad.

Chad crawls back into the passenger seat.

Omino's grease-caked ovens fill Zandra's nostrils before they reach the restaurant's front door. A sign on the door reads, "Delivery/Carryout Only." After snuffing their cigarettes, they go inside. The menu boards, posters, and décor forgot to leave the 1990s.

No customers inside. The kitchen is one of those open concepts, so the customers can see the food being prepared when they walk in. There's just one employee here. Excellent. It's good we came during the dead zone between lunch and dinner.

"Welcome to Omino's," a man wearing a pit-stained polo shirt says from behind a grease-stained counter. Garlic and parmesan permeate the air. "You here to pick up?"

You could say that.

Bexley beats Zandra to the punch.

"We're looking for one of your delivery drivers. He wears a mask," Bexley says.

The man's posture straightens. "A mask? Did he rob you?"

"No, like a medical mask."

"Oh. I just work the kitchen and the orders. The drivers, that's the manager's deal," the man says.

"None of the drivers wears a mask?" Bexley says.

"I don't know. We go through drivers a lot. They're hard to find."

OK, that's enough, Bexley. You're not the "psychic detective" in this situation. You're 10 steps behind anyway.

Zandra takes a closer look at the name tag pinned to the man's shirt. Time faded the letters, and scratches covered them up.

He's worked here a long time. A trusted employee. That could be useful.

"I need to speak to the manager," Zandra says.

The man rolls his eyes. He places both hands on the counter, bends his elbows, leans in, squints, and says, "He ain't in."

Get a lot of customer complaints, do you?

Bexley tries to say something, but Zandra shushes her with a knee.

"Then I need to speak with the owner of this fine establishment," Zandra says.