Page 16 of Ride Forever
“Raging bitch, that one,” Monroe drawled. “You want a drink?”
I nodded, and he turned to take out a bottle of soda from the refrigerator. Opening the lid, he placed the Coke in front of me. A little vanilla for my tastes, but it was cold.
“So what is it this time?” he asked, settling on the chair opposite. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”
“You’re barely fifty,” I replied, curling my hand around the cool glass.
“You know me, Gunnar. Without this pile-of-shit diner, I’d be out on the street begging for pennies.”
“So, nothing’s changed?”
He inclined his head. “Once you’re in, you never leave.”
I snorted and took a sip of the soda. Bubbles ran down my throat, doing nothing to quench my thirst.
“Why are you here?” Monroe asked. “I know your kind. You never stop by for a friendly chat.”
He was right. Things never got personal between us, though when I was still undercover, I did my best to keep the heat off the guy. Back then, Monroe’s diner had been a hotbed of underworld information gathering. The best way to describe it was the crossroads of the dregs of society. A trading post of sorts. It wasn’t spoken aloud, but Monroe had always been under the Hollow Men’s thumb. In our world, information was more valuable than the shady goods we peddled.
“They tried to hurt someone close to me,” I said. There was no use hiding my reasons. They weren’t unique in the slightest. Revenge was a mill that kept on grinding around here.
Monroe raised his eyebrows and blew through his teeth. “Again? Once wasn’t enough for you, Gunnar?”
“Believe me, it’s a situation I’d rather not be in.”
“So… I assume you want to go back in?”
“Like you said, I never stop by for a friendly chat.”
“Who’s buying?”
“I pay in blood. You know that.”
“Only because you don’t have King’s money anymore.”
“What good is money when your enemies are still breathing?”
“No cash, no deal.” Monroe stood and pointed toward the door. “You know how things work around here. Get your sorry ass out of my diner, or I’ll have to let them know you were here.”
I smiled up at him, realizing hewasold. Not in the age sense, fifty wasn’t ancient, but living his life on the edge of the law had worn him down. His skin was sallow, his eyes watery, and there were lines around his brow and mouth usually reserved for old men. The poor guy had a few liver spots forming, too.
“How long have you had this place?” I asked, staring up at him. “Twenty, thirty years?”
“Gunnar, I’m warning you.”
“I noticed a distinct lack of customers on the way in. The economic downturn doesn’t cater for bacon, eggs, and refillable coffee, does it?”
“What are you getting at, boy?”
“It’s a metaphor, Monroe,” I drawled, smiling at the fact he’d called meboy. “You’re becoming obsolete. Instead of rolling in dirty money, you’re barely keeping the doors open. No one comes north of the Strip.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Depends on how you look at it. I like to view it as anoffer.”
His eyes narrowed. “Which is?”
“You get me a way into the Hollow Men’s operation, I’ll get you out of Las Vegas and set you up. I know a crew who’d appreciate bacon and eggs.”
