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I nod, then stand up from the chair. “Time for me to go get some grub. Anyone else want me to pick them up something?” I ask before walking away.
Both Ice and Screech pale, looking as if they might puke.
“Think we’ll pass on that offer, brother. Good luck.” Screech replies.
Ice smirks. “I got a woman I’m sure is baking cookies at the house. Gotta make sure I save room for dessert.”
Fucking dickhead is so happy with Morgan, and he’s not afraid to rub his happy home in all our faces. Good for him. He deserves it, she deserves it, and they can have all their sweet and their cookies, too.
With the dismissal, I leave Ice’s office and make my way out of the club. It doesn’t take me long to get to Billy Bob’s Barbeque. Fifteen minutes after hitting the highway, I am at my destination.
It looks like any little southern barbeque joint, which sucks, because it would make my job a fuck of a lot easier if there was a giant flashing sign that read “Killer in Here.”
Stepping in through the restaurant’s front double doors, the smell of pork hits me. I love pork. Or, I should say, I used to before this case.
My stomach begins to get a little queasy just thinking about eating meat from this place.
Stepping up to the rinky-dink podium where the hostess is waiting, I tell her a table for one, and then she seats me in a relatively empty section. This is good. It will keep the obstacles from blocking my vision.
The hostess lingers a few beats too long, licking her lips in appreciation of my figure. I get it. Really, the older I get, the more I can distinguish the hunger of lust in a female’s eyes. If only women would realize the danger that can be behind any physique.
I order a sweet tea, and the hostess says it will be out in a moment with my waitress Diana.
When she leaves, I blow out a breath. I like eating alone. In fact, I like being alone. Solitude is my friend. There is peace in not being tied to another person, a safety in it.
Grabbing the menu, I start to check it over. It isn’t very diversified. Lots of pork and barbeque, with only a few other items such as a steak or a burger. If we ever have a pork belly shortage, this place will certainly struggle to stay open.
I try to concentrate on the description of the dishes, but my mind keeps flashing back to the murdered men. The thought of a man instead of a pig with an apple stuck in its mouth almost makes me sick right here at the table, but I manage to reel myself in.
Maybe Pixie has a point about this meat thing. However, there isn’t much else to choose from.
A few moments later, a short, middle-aged Latino woman with curly brown hair stops at my table and sets down a sweet tea. “Here’s your drink, sir. Are you ready to order?”
Slapping the menu down on the table, I surprise even myself when I tell her, “Salad.”
Diana’s eyes widen, and she repeats after me in hesitation, “Salad?”
I give her a nod, reiterating, “Salad.”
She stands there for a second, staring at me as if she is waiting for me to say something else. When I don’t, she looks down to her pad and mutters, “The big, bad biker is getting a salad. Oooooookay.” Looking back at me, she then asks, “What kind of dressing would you like on your salad, sir?”
“Ranch,” I reply crankily. I am hungry. Borderline hangry, as they say. I don’t need this broad judging me for ordering a fucking salad. Just because I eat some green shit doesn’t mean I can’t kick ass.
“Anything else?” Diana asks a little hopefully.
Shaking my head, I see she looks a little disappointed when she walks away with my order.
After she disappears behind a swinging door that reads “Employee’s Only,” I think of her disappointed expression and chuckle to myself. It seems she was hoping for a piece of me.
The thought makes me burn for physical release. It has been far too long since the last time I was inside of a woman, and Precious is now tucked away safely with her son a state away in Alabama. There won’t be any calling her for relief.
As I sit here, considering my other options, Diana makes her way back to my table with a salad on her tray. Dropping it off in front of me, she gives me a wink and says in a sultry voice, “Let me know if you need anything else, handsome.”
I give her a smile, which is all the woman will get from me.
Looking down at the large bowl in front of me, I have to admit the salad looks good. Lots of leafy greens mixed with tomatoes, small slivers of onions, and cucumbers. Grabbing the small bowl of ranch dressing, I am just about to put it on my lunch when I stop.
