The Waffle Man Mystery

Written by Moe Zilla, Published on 1/13/2009, Re-published on 7/21/2010

He was the strangest person I'd ever met.

It was already hot, even at 8 a.m., when we pulled into the restaurant in New Mexico. I don't remember where -- we'd been driving for nearly a hundred miles, and we'd drive another 500 miles before sunset.

But Larry was determined to see the ocean before sunset, even though it meant crossing two states. That was the whole point of the vacation...

I wasn't even sure there'd be a restaurant in Navajo Springs, because the town had looked so small from the highway. There were only a handful of shops, and when we drove past its gas station, we saw a lonely dog barking near The Waffle Shack. The sun felt uncomfortable, so we hurried inside for breakfast. The bell tinkled, the Waffle Shack looked clean, and there weren't too many customers. There were four stools along a short counter, so we sat on the two at the end and waited for our red-headed waitress.

Sitting next to us was a wise-looking old man.

He stared straight ahead, though he'd spread a newspaper on the counter. It was like he was determined to avoid looking to either side. "I think he's glued to that seat," Larry whispered. "I haven't seen him move since we sat down." Larry and I ordered pancakes, and talked about how far we'd driven.

"Out of town, eh?" said the old man -- still looking straight ahead. But we figured he was talking to us, since there was no one else at the counter.

"That's right!" said Larry, glad for some conversation. "We're heading to sunny California!" The old man nodded his head, still looking straight ahead. He didn't move his body at all, even when Larry said, "This is my friend Roger. And I bought him that ugly t-shirt!" The old man just took a sip of his coffee -- and stared straight ahead.

A man in a cowboy hat sat down at the other end of the counter, but the old man never moved his head. "And that's my car out there in the front," I added. The old man still didn't move his head. It was like he was trying to ignore something, I decided. Was there a robbery in progress? There was an awkward pause. The old man seemed to be smiling -- either smiling, or grimacing. "Is there something wrong?" I finally asked.

The old man quietly took a sip of his coffee, stared straight ahead for a few seconds, and then let out a low sigh. "You know how New York City has Spider-Man?" he said finally. Larry and I nodded.

"Well, we have Waffle Man."

He gestured his head to the cash register at the far end of the counter, and there was the strangest man I'd ever seen. Standing by the cash register was a round-faced young man -- wearing a giant waffle costume.

"He says he solves crimes," the old man grumbled.

The redheaded waitress came back with our two plates of pancakes. Larry was so surprised he couldn't eat. "Waffle Man?!" he whined in amazement.

Waffle Man waved. The enormous circle he was wearing over his body was crisscrossed with familiar squares like a waffle iron's grid, with just his hands sticking out from the sides. Right in the center was a large plastic bump shaped like melting butter.

"Personally, he gives me the creeps," said the old man. "That's why I try not to make eye contact."

Larry shoved a forkful of pancakes into his mouth, but stared thoughtfully at the boy in the costume. "So how'd he get to be Waffle Man?" Larry said between mouthfuls. "Was he bitten by a radioactive waffle?"

The old man smiled for a second, then said it was a long story. "They'd hired Buzz last summer to stand in front of the store. You probably noticed there aren't many customers in here. The restaurant's owner thought they'd get more with a giant waffle man standing outside. They figured when people see a giant waffle, they get hungry."

"Did anyone ever try to eat him?" Larry joked. The old man ignored him, and continued his story.

"It was a big honor for Buzz," he said, "who had never accomplished much in this town. He lives with his mother, and it was the only job he'd ever had. But that's not how he became Waffle Man." The old man took another sip of his coffee. Larry was so intrigued that he'd stopped eating his pancakes.

"One day there was a robbery. No guns or anything. Someone had grabbed a handful of twenties from the cash register, and was running for the sidewalk. Buzz heard the bell tinkle, and he'd turned to see Vera -- who's the waitress that's bringing you your pancakes." Larry looked up at Vera, who was bustling back to the kitchen carrying a pile of leftover dishes, spilling syrup and egg yolks onto her apron. I wondered if she was trying to ignore the giant costume too.

"Buzz saw the man running, and he saw Vera shouting after him. 'He stole from the register!' Vera screamed -- and her voice must've electrified Buzz. He looked like a giant waffle -- like a sign or a tree. But when the thief ran by, Buzz tripped him with his foot. And then to keep the thief from running away -- he sat on him.

"Well, fortunately, there was a police car driving by, and they booked the guy and recovered all of Vera's money. But when they saw Buzz sitting, do you know what that police officer said?"

Larry stared back, his eyes deep with questioning.

"'Thanks, Waffle Man.'"

Vera had overheard our conversation, and added that "Buzz got his picture in the paper after that -- and it went to his head. He became a local celebrity for a while!" Vera didn't sound proud -- just annoyed. "For a while, people used to eat at the Waffle Shack just to see him. Then they stopped." She tried to look in his direction without moving her head.

"And now we just let him work the register."

Waffle Man waved again.

"It had meant so much to him," Vera added. "But we don't like to encourage him."

"And he says he solves crimes," the old man grumbled again.

There was an uncomfortable silence at the counter. Larry looked at the last of his pancakes -- which were turning cold -- and spread butter on them. "Which way's the bathroom?" I asked nervously. The old man told me to go out the door to the back and around the corner.

In the hot sun I saw a lizard scrambling for shade.

When I came back to the counter, I saw Larry sitting silently with the old man. "He hasn't moved a muscle since you left!" Larry whispered. But finally, the old man mumbled one last thought.

"I mean, it was over a year ago, for crying out loud!"

Larry laughed, but Vera just sighed wearily and said, "Finish your coffee." She'd brought the old man a fresh cup, and then tucked her apron under the counter and began cleaning up the messy plates by the cash register. But suddenly her voice grew shrill. "Hey! Who's been sitting up here besides you three?"

Larry's mouth was full of pancakes, so I said "No one. Just a guy in a cowboy hat, but he already left."

"Exactly!" said Vera, excitedly. "That's Roderick Jackson, the richest oil man in the state. He comes in here once every month -- and under his plate, he always leaves a tiny envelope with a $50 bill as a tip. But the envelope's empty!"

"Waffle Man to the rescue!" squealed Buzz, running towards the counter. The old man winced as he saw Buzz's enormous waffle costume bobbing towards our seats. Buzz's voice was high with excitement, and he was panting from the exertion. "It's true!" he said to us. "I saw Mr. Jackson putting the envelope under the plate."

"But did you see who TOOK it?" Vera snapped.

"Maybe YOU took it," snapped the old man. "So you could play Waffle Man one more time." It was possible, I thought. Buzz's register was right by the end of the counter, and both Vera and the old man made a point of never looking at him.

"I want my $50," complained Vera. "No games. Just my $50."

I could tell by Buzz's eyes that he was hurt. But was he being framed? Maybe Vera staged the whole thing to discredit the costumed superhero. The old man could've done the same thing. And it turns out that Waffle Man had a different theory.

"Maybe HE took it," he said melodramatically, pointing towards Larry. But Larry didn't say anything, because his mouth was still full. I was half-impressed that Larry was still eating -- until I realized that Larry had stolen some of the pancakes from my plate.

Had he stolen the money from the envelope too?

Someone had pulled a rotten crime in the Navaro Springs Waffle Shack. But fortunately, I already knew who it was.