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Water dripped down both our faces and I took my jacket off, throwing it back at her.
"Put it on and stay quiet."
She was about to retort when she stared at all the men in the diner. Truckers, mostly. They were all looking in our direction. That's when she realized we weren't safe yet, and it was best she did what I told her to do. She put the jacket on and hid herself against the wall behind the phone.
I quickly dialed out to Riddick, the only number I had memorized. The phone rang once, twice.
"Come on," I uttered.
It rang five times before going to voicemail, and I didn't leave a message. What was the point? I didn't have a callback number since I had left my cellphone back at the apartment. Besides, I had no idea where we were headed. The only person I could think of who could help me was Beau Strick, aka Kingpin, the President of the Nashville chapter. I dialed his number, and he picked up on the second ring.
"This better be worth my time," he grumbled.
"Beau."
He paused for a second before replying, "Snare?"
"That's right, brother."
"How you been, brother?" he asked, sounding genuinely happy to hear from me.
"Good. I'm sorry I didn't call sooner, just getting set up, you know."
"Jameson let me know things were good. Gonna have to go have some drinks up at that new bar of yours soon."
"Absolutely. On the house, of course."
There was a brief silence as I tried to figure out how to ask for help. I had never done this before, so I had no idea how to approach it.
"Everything okay, brother?" Beau asked.
"Yeah. Listen, I'm stuck in a storm on the border of Louisiana and Texas. I lost my wallet and everything. Jameson isn’t answering and neither is Riddick."
"Where are you exactly?"
"The place is called The Eating Tank."
"Ah, shit, what the hell are you doing in that hellhole?"
"Waiting out the storm." I didn’t tell him what was going on, fearing he’d let Jameson know and I wouldn’t get a chance to find out who the hell was after her.
"Listen, there's a hotel up the road. An old Inn, but it's clean. Tell 'em Kingpin sent you. They'll have food and a place to stay. I'll send you some money that way too."
"Fuck, brother, thank you."
"No problem. Can I ask what the hell you’re doing outside of New Orleans?"
"Taking care of some business."
There was a long pause as he waited for more, but when I didn't say anything, he continued. "Must be one helluva storm."
I looked over at Catalina, and our eyes met. "More like the start of a hurricane."
"Well, damn. Get your ass over to that Inn. It's owned by Spectre, one of the Royal Bastards' founding members. He's got a few Inns like that across the country. I don't know where he is - hell, no one ever knows where he is - but if you go there, they'll give you shelter."
"I appreciate that, Beau."
"When you're part of us, we take care of our own. Remember that."
