We ride for a while longer, eventually stopping in a small town called Calle De Norte. I haven’t a clue what it means; I’m not Mexican. I’m gonna guess it’s something North since we’re fairly close to the United States, though.
Ex checks us in, coming out of the office with four room keys. “Bunk together.” He grumbles, handing them out.
Ruger always eager for a job, speaks up, “Are we riding more tomorrow?”
“You saw that Compound we passed resting up on that hill about ten miles back?”
We all nod, paying attention.
“Well get some rest, ‘cause behind that wall is men loaded with heat, not excited to see us.”
He ends his explanation, unlocking his hotel room door. He opens it wide then comes back to roll his bike inside the room with him.
Nightmare shakes his head in Ex’s wake, disappointed most likely because Exterminator’s been cutting him out lately. They’re usually boys and all that, as much as two fuckers who never speak can be anyhow. Now Night’s left out in the cold with us other fuckers when it comes to information it looks like.
A worn out sigh leaves Sinner as he glances at Saint. “Want to lock the bikes up and head down to that bar we passed? We might find us a feisty senorita to share.”
“I want some Mexican snatch and some tequila, but it’ll have to wait ‘til tomorrow. I’m goin’ to rub my cock in the shower and pass out.”
Sinner nods, fist bumping us as him and Saint trek to their room. Realistically they’ll probably end up jacking each other’s cocks off, but whatever floats their fucking boat I suppose.
Spider grins, “Not knocking on the old man, but I’m so glad I don’t have to bunk with Scot tonight. He snores so damn loud and sleeps with his hairy ass hanging out.”
Ruger and I both chuckle used to sharing a room.
“I need something to drink,” Ruger announces, and Spider agrees.
“You two share then, I’m headed in now.”
“Cool.” Ruger nods and I pound Spider’s knuckles, wheeling my bike into my room.
Nice. No sharing tonight.I don’t mind bunking up, but privacy is even better.
Taking a quick, hot shower, I worry about getting the initial layer of road grime off and decide I’ll do a better scrub in the morning. The main thing I’m wanting is sleep. My body is sore, and my ass is chapped from sweating all fucking day long, thanks to Ex’s asshole move making us ride during the hottest part of the day. This run better be worth it with the vague answers and bullshit we’re going through for it.
Lying down on top of the hard, cheap mattress I’m betting is full of shredded cardboard, I power my phone back on. I’ve learned being a Nomad and always on the road to keep it turned off when we’re on a ride. Saves my battery, since I never know when I’ll be able to plug it in.
The first thing that pops up is a message from my Cinderella, sent about four hours ago.
254-200-8699: No worries. I’ll pick up some extra shifts to stay busy. Ride safe, and see you in a week or so. XO –P
Good girl.I can’t help but think as I read it.
She may be Ol’ Lady material after all.
The next morning…
“I got some grub.”Spider walks in as I’m pulling my boots on.
“From where?”
“The front desk told me about a little trailer down the way where you walk up to the window, just like a food truck.” He chuckles, sitting on the opposite, still made-up bed.
“It’s probably ground up cat,” I remark, staring at the brown bag skeptically.
“You guys are so fucked up. First with Saint and Sinner talking about feisty senoritas and tequila and now with you saying these people are cooking cats.”
“Nope, we’re all just telling it like it is. Mexico has good, cheap tequila; of course, they want that shit. I may even take a bottle or two back with me, depending on the haul. They want Mexican snatch because they always want pussy wherever the fuck we go. As far as the food goes, did you see any fucking cats or dogs when we rolled through town?”