Page 15 of Ride Forever
“It’s a risk.”
“A really big one. When are you going?”
“Now,” I replied.
“Now?”
“If I want to catch him unawares, I need to make this a fast turnaround. The less chance he’s got to rat me out, the better.”
Sloane sighed, and her shoulders slumped.
“We’ll only get one chance at this,” I murmured. “We’ve gotta do it right.”
“I know. I’m just…worried about you.”
I kissed her on the lips and leaned my forehead against hers. I traced the curve of her lips with my thumb, studying the dusting of freckles across her nose and cheeks, and breathed in her scent.
“This is what I do,” I murmured. “I’ll be fine.”
* * *
Las Vegas hadn’t changed much over the past seven years.
The Strip was wall-to-wall people, the heat was unbearable, and the neon was still in overdrive, as were the showgirls hustling wide-eyed tourists to pay ten bucks for a selfie.
Pushing past a man touting the latest triple-X sex show, I turned down the seediest lane ever and found my way to the back streets. No one in their right minds came here unless they were trying to rob someone, score the latest hard drug, or had a death wish that landed in the gutter.
After all these years, I still couldn’t get over how dull Las Vegas seemed to my eyes away from the flashy casinos. The buildings ranged from beige to gray, the roads were cracked like mud that had baked too long in the sun, and even all the plants looked like the constant barrage of UV rays was bleaching them.
Monroe’s was a classic American diner that sat just north of the Strip, but it may as well have been in another world. Watching the building from across the street, I wasn’t surprised to find the place empty. Back in the day, it used to be bustling. There would be a row of motorcycles sitting out front, a brawl would spill out onto the pavement at least once a week, and the bacon, eggs, and pie flowed like the information Monroe himself gathered for the highest bidder. Until the Hollow Men tightened the screws. That had a lot to do with me, unfortunately, but I wasn’t a remorseful kind of guy.
Thirty minutes waiting in the sun was enough for me. I crossed the street and slinked down an alley a few buildings down, then circled back toward the diner. Waiting by a dumpster wasn’t my idea of a good time, but Monroe would have to come out eventually.
Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long. The back door opened, and Monroe stepped out, caring a full garbage bag. He was a middle-aged African-American man, Las Vegas born and bred. I remembered him being this muscled monster of a man, but he’d put on a few pounds and had evolved into a different kind of solid.
I watched as he lifted the trash into the dumpster, bottles clinking. Didn’t he know recycling was a thing these days?
I coughed, and the man jumped, spinning on his heel.
“Gunnar Mason,” he drawled the moment his gaze met mine. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”
“Still shoveling shit, I see,” I retorted, leaning against the wall.
“I thought you’d be six feet under by now, man.” He shook his head and closed the lid on the dumpster. Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and flipped it open. He offered it to me, and I shook my head. “Shit, and you gone straight, too. No smoke?”
“I quit.”
“You quit a lot of things, so I sees.”
“Life has a messed up way of coming full circle.”
Monroe eyed me, then glanced up and down the alley. “Come in. It’s fuckin’ hot out here.”
He opened the back door for me, and I stepped into the dreary diner. The kitchen was just as empty as the front, and the sole waitress could be seen through the partition, mopping the floor of the restaurant.
“Heather, take a break!” Monroe called out.
The waitress scowled and dumped the mop, letting it clatter to the floor. She muttered something foul under her breath and stormed out of the diner. A second later, the bell rang furiously, then the door slammed.
