Page 144 of Nash Falls
“No trouble,” repeated Nash, which got him an exaggerated eye roll from her.
He parked in front of Room 106. A rusted outdoor barbeque grill was located on the grassy area in front of the horseshoe-shaped motel building. On the grill an old man was roasting sausages and burgers. The aroma made Nash hungry.
He locked his door behind him and tested the deadbolt to make sure it held.
He didn’t unpack his bag but did unlock the small, hard-sided gun case Shock had given him. Inside was a Glock nine-mill, and a seven-shot Beretta.
He broke down both weapons and then rebuilt them, all in the dark. It was a confidence-boosting exercise. He locked them away and opened the other pack that he’d brought with him. In it was surveillance equipment that Shock had also provided him. He inspected each piece and then put it away.
In the bathroom Nash checked out his new face and again marveled at how his hairless scalp, beard and goatee, and his broken nose had so transformed his appearance. The chain-link tattoo on his head seemed to give him a tangible tether to the earth, though one part of the chain, Maggie, was now gone.
He then stripped down to look at his body tats. They were all growing on him. When he expanded his back the lion seemed to roar. When he flexed his delt and arm, the dragon and its tail oscillated. However, Lady Justice etched across his chest and belly did nothing. Her image just seemed to stand there… waiting. The thigh shields simply looked cool. The die tats on his calves added a bit of whimsy to the overall impression. Taken together it was… well, weird as shit, like he was looking at someone else. Which, Nash supposed, was the whole point.
There was a bar a few blocks down the street that also servedfood. He got some cash from an ATM and then ventured inside the half-full bar, where beer-drinking working men who looked and dressed like him were scattered around. Toughened but clear-eyed women were also there scoping the men out, each probably looking for someone… acceptable.
Nash sat at the far end of the L-shaped bar away from everyone and ordered a beer, a burger, and onion rings. He was now 215 pounds of tatted flesh, bone, and muscle; it rode like body armor on his tall frame. He would have been nervous as hell coming into a place like this as his old self. Now, he was not anxious.
Well, maybe just a bit—it was his nature, after all.
After he finished his meal he turned on his stool and studied the crowd while sipping his beer. He immediately recognized two guys; they were the same young men who had been working on the Dodge Charger in his parents’ old neighborhood and had scowled at him in his fancy Range Rover. One of them noted his staring and whispered to his mate.
Nash was afraid that they might have recognized him, but when they sauntered over the first one said, “We ain’t never seen you here before.”
“I’ve never been here before,” Nash said.
The other man, larger than his friend but several inches shorter than Nash, glanced at the stool Nash was on and said, “You know you got to pay to lease that real estate.”
Nash looked mildly interested. “You mean the barstool?”
“Yeah, the barstool!”
“Who do I pay?” asked Nash.
“Uh, that would be us, dumbass.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred,” said the bigger man.
Nash graced him with a look. “And of course I get a receipt with your signature and an itemized accounting as to what the payment is for?”
The man held up a fist near Nash’s chin. “Thisis your receipt. You want a taste of it?”
Nash shook his head. “Sorry. My accountant says I always need proper documentation for any business-related expenses. Otherwise you can’t deduct them and if you try, the IRS will perform an audit on you, and that is an expensive proposition. You don’t want to go there if at all possible. And I think it is absolutely possiblenotto do so right here and now.”
The two men glanced at each other in confusion as Nash finished his beer and stood, towering over them both.
“Where you think you’re going?” said the smaller man.
“I had my beer. I tried to have some peace. I didn’t get it, so now I’m leaving.”
“Not without coughin’ up—”
The smaller man couldn’t finish because Nash had gripped his wrist and torqued it to an incapacitating angle with long, sinewy fingers that were now as strong as steel. The fellow dropped to his knees gyrating, his mouth open, his tongue dangling, but no sound coming out; his eyes bulged in agony. His friend swung an arm back to clock Nash, but Nash performed an elbow strike on the man’s neck right between the C4 and C5 vertebrae. As the man began to collapse, Nash grabbed him, guided him around, and dropped him on the stool. The man fell forward and unconscious onto the bar.
“No charge on that prime real estate,” mumbled Nash.
He looked down at the gyrating smaller man before glancing around to see if anyone was taking notice of this virtually silent confrontation. Everyone seemed to be going about their drunken business in the darkened bar.
