Five Nights At Freddy's

Chapter Ten: Power Hungry

  An authoritative knock came from the front door only a few minutes later. Mike stood from his seat cautiously, peering out the window as Mrs. Bizet shuffled to answer it.
  "Mrs. Bizet!" Jesse greeted cheerfully, his voice irking a part of Mike that was deeply buried due to years of dealing with overly cocky bosses and jerks in the business. Mrs. Bizet squealed, hugging Jesse tightly.
  "It's so good to see you, dear, why don't you visit more often?"
  "You know," Jesse shrugged, "it's a crazy world out there. I'm awfully busy."
  "I know," she agreed, "oh it's so good to see you despite the circumstances. Speaking of, this is Mike Schmidt, he says you two know each other." Jesse's eyes narrowed on him. Mike stood weakly.
  "Ah, Mr. Schmidt. Yes, we're... acquainted. You're Fitzgerald's friend?"
  "Fitzgerald?" Mrs. Bizet asked, "surely you don't mean...?"
  "The very same," Jesse agreed, "you know he's on parole now?"
  "Oh," Mrs. Bizet managed through her horror, "that makes my blood boil... well..." she looked Mike up and down bitterly, a sudden distaste riddling her gaze. "It was... interesting meeting you, Mr. Schmidt."
  "Likewise," Mike returned bluntly. Mrs. Bizet took a dramatic step back, allowing Mike to pass. She muttered something under her breath and shook her head, snapping the door shut as the two men fled through the pelting rain.

  Jesse made it to the car first, opening the back door for Mike. His face fell, eying the empty front seat. Mike sighed, sliding onto the black leather, his view of the front windshield obstructed by metal bars. Jesse slammed the door, shuffling around to get to the driver's side. He buckled up with a flourish, smirking at Mike in the review mirror.
  "You like metal, Mike?" Jesse asked, turning the key of his car. The engine sputtered to life. Mike thought, his mind wandering to the endoskeletons of the animatronics that awaited him later that night.
  "Not recently, no," Mike informed, thinking of the wires and metal bars shredding his skin. Jesse scoffed, turning up the radio.
  "Suit yourself," he replied with distaste, "I bet you listen to something haughty like... like Jazz... or opera... what do they listen to up in the big Apple?"
  "Oh you mean music," Mike managed, shaking his head, "metal's fine." Jesse smirked.
  "Hm, here I was thinking you could be some criminal mastermind... you're harmless..." he muttered. Mike rolled his eyes, looking out the rain drenched window as Jesse pulled out of the driveway. "So what do you think of Freddy's, Mike?"
  "It's creepy." Jesse barked a laugh in response.
  "I suppose," he snickered, "it is only a children's restaurant after all."
  "It's still creepy," Mike glared. Jesse shrugged, shaking his head and tutting. Mike raised an eyebrow, looking for a dig. "Mrs. Bizet says you're good friends with my coworker, Violet Jackson." Jesse straightened.
  "She said that?"
  "Are you not?"
  "We're..." Jesse cleared his throat, "let's say that we're familiar."
  "How'd you two meet?"
  "It's a small town, Mike," Jesse rolled his eyes, "it's not like the city. We all go to the same school and work at the same ten places."
  "Hm," Mike purred, "I just didn't know you two knew each other before today, Violet never mentioned it." Jesse fell silent, causing a supreme wave of satisfaction to wash over Mike. As petty as it was, he counted it as a win.
  "I take it you talk to Ms. Jackson frequently then?" Jesse asked dryly after a moment of awkward quiet. Mike shrugged.
  "As frequent as two coworkers can."
  "Does she know you're such good friends with the man that killed her high school boyfriend?" Mike paled.
  "I'm sorry?"
  "I take that as a no," Jesse informed, glancing at him in the review mirror.
  "Jack?"
  "Bingo."
  "She... dated Iris's grandson?"
  "Unfortunately," Jesse agreed with a sharp exhale through his nose, "to lose both Dexter and Jack within a few weeks... you know, it'd be a shame if she knew about your breakfast with Fitzgerald the other day." Mike's mouth filled with hot water. If Violet were to grow suspicious of his investigation, it would throw an irreparable wrench in his plan to discover what happened. Unable to explain this out loud, Mike said the first thing that came to mind.
  "Fitzgerald didn't do it..." He muttered, his temper rising.
  "What makes you so sure?" Jesse demanded, his eyes narrowing, "you weren't there. I doubt you knew Fitzgerald before he went to prison. I don't know why you've allowed yourself to be dragged into this decade old case, Mike, but listen- it's closed. Done. Your prodding isn't doing anything but disturbing things that don't need to be disturbed." He glared at Mike with heat through the review mirror. After a moment, he simmered. "Look, if you stop your snooping, I won't tell Violet about your association with Fitzgerald and everything will be fine. I don't want her being more upset than she has to be." Mike's mouth tightened.
  "Fine," he hissed.
  "Again, it's a small town," Jesse reminded, "if you go back on your promise, I will hear about it."
  "Not to worry," Mike agreed through gritted teeth. He had no intention of backing down, especially after seeing the pompous air the police handled the sensitive case with. Jesse relaxed, his eyes flickering back to life with their traditional mischief.
  "I'm glad we could come to some agreement," he grinned, "I suppose you're not a lost cause after all. There's still a bit of human in you, Mike."
  "Wish I could say the same about you," Mike hissed, shutting Jesse up for the remainder of the ride back to the motel.

  Jesse dropped him off at the front steps, allowing Mike to escape under the awning. Mike shuffled out, rain drenching him under the waterfall of collected rainwater from above. The police officer rolled down his window, shouting at Mike over the ruckus of the rain.
  "Your car should be fixed by Monday morning next week," Jesse called, "remember what we talked about."
  "Right," Mike agreed. With that, Jesse rolled up the window and drove out of the parking lot, leaving Mike with the overwhelming concept of yet another obstacle.

  Mike's door opened slowly with a creak, the light from the street lamps outside doing little to illuminate the darkened room due to the heavy midday rain. He yawned, batting the wall for the light switch. When the lights came on, he nearly screamed. Jeremy Fitzgerald lifted his head curiously, his hands crossed neatly across his stomach as he laid content on the bed. Mike gasped, clutching his knees as he doubled over, his fear relinquishing it's hold of him.
  "Jeremy-!" He managed.
  "Afternoon Mike," Jeremy greeted, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed toward him. "I saw you pull up in Jesse's police car. Getting a bit careless are we?"
  "It was an accident, I crashed my car," Mike growled. Jeremy stood.
  "No accidents," he snapped, fury riddling his words. Mike straightened, shutting the door behind him firmly.
  "Look I'm sorry, it wasn't intentional. When my car got dinged up, Mrs. Bizet called Jesse to give me a ride back. What else was I supposed to do?"
  "Walk?" Jeremy sputtered, "demand an alternative solution?"
  "That would have been suspicious and you know it," Mike growled. "Look, I'm getting somewhere on the case. Bizet and Jesse accidentally told me a lot of information." Jeremy straightened, his irritation visibly faltering.
  "What did you find out?"
  "One of the missing kids is Mr. Iris's grandson," Mike surmised hurriedly, "he was Violet's high school boyfriend." Jeremy stared in disbelief, sitting back down on the bed as the information washed over him.
  "I'd... forgotten... how'd I forget that?" He stammered, "of course. Jack used to visit the pizzeria all the time to see Violet and hang out with some of the older kids."
  "I guess that rules out Iris as a suspect," Mike shrugged. Jeremy shook his head.
  "Not necessarily, Jack and Iris weren't close at all if I remember correctly. Jack was a bit of a prick, honestly. He messed with the animatronics a lot and bullied some of the younger kids. Having him there was bad for business."
  "But to kill him?" Jeremy sighed.
  "Iris is unpredictable. He may seem meek but deep down he's a mafia guy through and through." Mike hesitated, his mouth tightening.
  "What about Violet?"
  "Violet had an alibi."
  "Jeremy, you of all people know that the police cut corners to shut this case... something about Bizet's testimony isn't sitting right with me."
  "It wasn't her, Mike," Jeremy insisted, "she was just a kid, only a few months older than Jack at the time. Besides, she couldn't have faked the injury, her finger's missing."
  "But what if she was discharged?" Mike pressed, "Bizet said that the bite happened a week or two before the disappearances... do you really think Violet was in the hospital for a full two weeks for a finger amputation?" Jeremy sighed.
  "I don't know, Mike," Jeremy admitted, "it happened so long ago and so many details are so fuzzy now... I genuinely don't know." Mike deflated.
  "It couldn't have been Iris," Mike said finally, pacing, "Iris is a cheapskate, the lawsuits alone have sent him to bankruptcy. He would never do that to himself."
  "Okay, sure," Jeremy humored, "I suppose." Mike scratched his chin, a sudden thought rising to his mind.
  "Who gets the pizzeria when Iris dies?" Jeremy furrowed his brow.
  "I... suppose next of kin?"
  "Who's his next of kin?"
  "Iris never talked about his family," Jeremy informed, "we only knew Jack was his grandson."
  "Okay," Mike winced, holes appearing in his sudden, new theory, "so if there's no next of kin, who gets the business?"
  "It's probably in Iris's will," Jeremy explained excitedly, "you'd have to sneak into his office for that though. I'd bet money that's where he keeps it." Mike whistled.
  "His office? Right next to the stage where three murderous animatronics stand guard?" Jeremy winced, standing.
  "I'll... leave you to rest... you'll need it if you're gonna make it to work early enough to... er... beat the rush, I suppose."