Page 156 of Rags's Awakening
“When we get back, we’ll check what the competition’s pushing on the streets.” Rags shoved the baggies into his pocket.
“What the fuck did you buy?” Puck asked, walking toward them.
“Some weed. We wanna see the grade. I got a feeling it’s low-end shit,” Chas said.
“Me too. Now let’s go inside and see if this asshole I’m paying off is the one cutting into our business,” Rags said.
The three bikers climbed the stairs, each of them resting a hand on their Glock. Before Rags could push the door open, ayoung man stepped out. His white Deftones T-shirt hung off his scrawny frame like sheets on a clothesline.
“Hey,” he mumbled, slipping past them.
“Where are you supposed to meet this guy?” Chas asked.
“Julie said Room 203.” Rags nodded toward the stairway.
He turned the knob and stepped inside, Tank and Chas right behind him.
A balding man sat stiffly behind the desk. Dressed in blue suit jacket and tie, he had a flash of gold at his wrist. Pale blue eyes sat in a round, ordinary face with a pug nose. His jaw slackened, color draining from his face as he stared at the three bikers. His gaze darted toward the middle drawer.
In one fluid motion, three guns cleared leather, the metallic clicks echoing through the small room.
“I wouldn’t do that if you wanna keep breathing,” Rags said, voice low and steely.
The man froze. He stared at the three barrels leveled at his chest, then slowly raised his hands.
“Who are you? I don’t have any money,” he stammered, sweat darkening the fabric beneath his arms.
“What’re you doing in Pinewood Springs?” Chas asked, his Glock still trained on him.
“I’m a businessman,” the guy replied, lowering his hands.
“Keep them on the desk where we can see them,” Rags growled.
“Sure.”
“What’s your business?” Tank asked.
“Uh… loans. I help people out who don’t have good credit.”
“How many customers you got in town?” Tank took a slow step back.
“Uh… not many. I do business around the country. I come and go.” Sweat trickled down the side of his face.
“This is bullshit and you know it.” Rags shifted in place. “We can keep playing questions, or I can start hurting you nice and slow, one bullet at a time. Your choice.”
The man’s eyes bulged. “What do mean? I’ve told you what I do.”
“Who do you work for? There’s no fuckin’ way you just wandered into a town in the Rockies to start a business. You’re a stranger. So let’s start over. Who do you work for, and how many customers you got in town?” Rags rocked back on his heels.
Then he heard it. It was so faint that he wasn’t sure. There was the slightest scrape from a dark corner behind him. The way Tank and Chas tensed, he knew they heard it too. The guy behind the desk kept rambling, but the bikers already knew.
Someone else was in the room.
All at once, Tank pivoted toward the sound while backing up quick. Bending his knees, he dropped into a low, stable stance. At the same moment, Rags grabbed the loan shark by the collar, hauled him upright, and shoved him in front of him like a shield. Chas yanked out his chain and padlock, crouching low.
“Who the fuck’s in the room?” Rags snarled into the man’s ear.
“No one’s in here,” the man whispered.
