Page 56 of Arresting the Warlord

“Very.” Jake grabbed me and teleported.

We appeared in a rutted parking lot with eight old Harley motorcycles parked in a neat row. At one time the dilapidated building had been a convenience store. The windows were boarded over, and a weather-beaten sign dangled by one corner. It squeaked forlornly in the breeze. The faded lettering proclaimed: Billy Bob’s Tavern.

“Look on the bright side. There’s no screaming or gunfire yet,” I said.

Jake scanned the interior of the bar. “The operative word is yet. Ten hostiles have Trayon surrounded.”

“A little rain should cool them down. Sepulcrum ibidem solus novum. Vem Hum. Domum rotundam!” Thunder rumbled inside the bar. Lightning cracked loudly.

“Run! It’s that crazy shaman cop,” a man yelled.

The doors flew open and nine wet, tattooed, long-haired guys burst out.

The bikers took one look at me, skidded to a stop, and raised their hands. “Ma’am,” they all said politely.

I smiled at them. “Howdy boys. You have sixty seconds to get gone. Anyone still here goes to jail.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the bikers cried. They all climbed on the motorcycles and roared off.

His eyes narrowed in concentration, Jake chanted, “Oi-oi-oi-oi solus novum!”

I smiled when the storm died down.

“I think I’ve got it.” Jake walked into the bar.

I followed him inside. Trayon was helping himself to a beer. The bartender cowered in the corner. “Hey, Billy Bob.”

Relief flooded Billy Bob’s face as he hurried over to me. “Officer Tsosie I want that fucking alien arrested.”

“Did he assault you?”

Billy Bob twitched. “No.”

“Did he try to rob you?”

“No, but he helped himself to a beer,” Billy Bob whined.

Jake snorted.

“Did he refuse to pay for the beer?”

“No ma’am, but I don’t serve fucking aliens.”

“You do today,” Jake stated, assuming his scary as hell warlord demeanor.

Trayon bared his fangs and his tentacles slithered like angry snakes.

Billy Bob hurriedly handed Trayon another bottle of beer. “On the house, sir.”

I grimaced. Even with the rainstorm, my boots still stuck to the floor.

“I’ll take a beer and a soda for my lady,” Jake commanded.

Bobbing his head, the bartender quickly complied.

“This place is worse than the dives on Belton Three,” Jake commented as he gave me the soda.

“Whatever you do, stay out of the bathroom. It’s the stuff of nightmares.” I took a long drink and frowned as the crawlies hit me. “We have incoming Askole warriors.”

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