The clerk looked up at the man standing before him. He held back a heavy sigh. The man wore a leather vest, leather pants, and sunglasses. He was one of two things: a biker, so a Harley would be parked outside; or a poseur, which meant the Iron Horsemen would beat the shit out of him if they saw him there.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“I need a room. Preferably without windows.”
“Not a problem, sir.” The clerk looked around, making sure there would be no fighting here. “Can you please fill this out?” He handed him a form.
“Jesus, forms.” He started filling them out.
“Did you park your motorcycle in the designated spot in our garage?”
“Yeah,” he said. “If anybody fucks with it, I’ll kill ’em.”
Well, that answered that question. “Check out is 11–”
“I’ll need it for the day.”
“You’ll have to pay for two.”
Bomber looked up at him, pushing down his sunglasses to show him beautiful blue eyes, burning with…something. The clerk gulped. “I…see…”
“One night.”
“One night.”
The man pushed up his sunglasses and went back to filling out the form. “Good man.”
“Put the do-not-disturb card on your doorhandle so you don’t get surprised during the day.”
“Gotcha.”
Then the clerk looked up, and his jaw dropped slightly. The man kept filling out forms, a little slower, as if he was distracted. His nostrils flared, and he stopped, lifting his head slowly.
Beyond the man filling out the forms was a smaller dark-haired man with three women gathered around him. This wasn’t unusual for him to show up with a near harem of women.
“I smell a dead man,” growled the man with the women.
“I smell a dog,” said the man with the forms, starting to turn around.
The clerk ducked, yanking down his partner.
“Bomber, you fuck. You’re still walking around?”
“Nelo. I thought you’d gotten VD and gone insane by now.”
“At least I can get it up.”
“So can I, you have no idea.”
“What the fuck’re you doin’ in my territory?”
“This ain’t your fuckin’ territory.”
“Fuck you it ain’t.” The voice got closer. “You got two seconds to explain what the fuck you’re doin’ here, or I pin your heart to the wall.”
“I don’t haveta explain myself to you, mutt.”
The clerk hunkered down lower, waiting for the crashing of destroyed furntiture to start.
“How long you here, motherfucker?” demanded Nelo.
“A couple days until my paperwork’s cleared up,” said Bomber.
“You stay the fuck outta Sharkhead.”
“I’m stayin’ here an’ Grandville. Got shit t’ do for Scorpion.”
“He’s fuckin’ crazy.”
“He’s a paranoid son of a bitch.”
Then there was the sound of something hard hitting something soft. “You want me to kick your ass in front of your bitches?”
“Hey!” yelled one, and there was the click of a gun.
“He ain’t worth it, Allie.” Nelo expended air, and there was another sound of something hitting something softer.
“Expecting me to fight back?”
“Fuck you, wuss.”
“That’s right.”
The clerk heard people walking away. The man named Bomber leaned over the desk. “You can come out now.”
The clerk raised his head, and his partner did also. “Whew.”
“Don’t worry, he’ll get his.” The man grinned. “When he least expects it.”