Free Sons of Mayhem 2 Chaser (Sons of Mayhem Novels, #2) by Nikki Pink Page B

kind of Harley Davidson (bikes weren’t really his thing, but he could read the name on the gas tank), and that probably meant the owner knew the Sons of Dumbness.
    Dewey closed the car door behind him, adjusted his sunglasses, and then headed toward the door of the office.
    When he pushed the flimsy door open a bell attached to the frame let out a weak tinkle.
    The room had a couple of lawn chairs off to the side, and a counter with a wide eyed and confused young man behind it.
    “Good evening,” he said to the glassy eyed youth behind the counter.
    The clerk opened his mouth but nothing came out. What the hell was wrong with him? Dewey estimated him to be a similar age to himself, maybe a couple of years younger, but it was obvious he’d made some poor life choices, unlike Dewey.
    “Sorry to disturb you so late,” he tried again.
    This time the man behind the front desk managed to work his mouth. “’Evenin’”
    Dewey flashed his white teeth in a smile. “I was wondering, do you have any rooms available?”
    The clerk blinked. “Rooms?”
    “Yes. Of course, if you’re full, I’ll be on my way.”
    “Rooms. We got rooms. Sure.”
    Dewey gave a broad smile of relief. “Fantastic. I’d like to stay for two or three nights, if that’s okay?”
    The clerk’s mouth gaped open then slammed shut again as he recovered. “Sure. Stay as long as you want. It’s fifty a night.”
    “A bargain!”
    The clerk nodded as if a little uncertain. He didn’t seem to agree that it was that good value for money.
    “Could you write your name here?”
    Dewey nodded, and then paused. He leaned in conspirationally. “Why don’t we call it sixty a night? Three nights?”
    “The room’s fifty.”
    “How about I give you sixty though. And I forget to write my name.”
    “Forget?”
    He was beginning to get annoyed. “Yes, forget.”
    Realization finally flashed across his face. “Oh yeah. Right. Forget .” He laughed. “I forget a lot of stuff.”
    Dewey smiled kindly. “I bet you do.” Moron.
    “That’ll be a hundred eighty dollars then.”
    Dewey cocked his head. Had that imbecile really managed to multiply sixty dollars by three nights in his head so quickly? Maybe he wasn’t quite as dumb as he seemed. Maybe.
    Dewey handed the money over to the young man who counted it carefully.
    “Here’s the key. I’ve given you number twelve. I’ll walk you over.”
    “Oh don’t worry, there’s no need.”
    The clerk flicked his hair away from his eyes as he headed around the counter. “It’s no problem man. It’s cool.”
    “I said,” Dewey’s voice was cold, “there’s no need. I’ll show myself.”
    Dewey held up a hand to block the young man who was still walking toward him. The man bumped into it, and slow as molasses he again finally understood.
    “Cool. Okay. Cool. Sorry.” The clerk headed back to his position behind the counter.
    “That’s okay. You have a good night now.” Dewey flashed him another friendly smile before leaving. Being polite was fucking annoying when dealing with stoned morons.
    “You too sir. Thank you.”
    Dewey raised a hand in the air as a final farewell as he left the office.
    He quickly went to the room, and looked around. It was worse than he had imagined. It looked like it had been designed in the eighties by someone using junk left over from the seventies and installed and maintained by drunks.
    He ruffled the bed and tried to turn on the lamp next to it. It didn’t work. Of course.
    Dewey checked his reflection in the grimy bathroom mirror. He looked good. Of course. He grinned. Karen would be so surprised to see how he had matured. He still had his wrestler’s body, but now his face was more chiseled, more refined. “Like a fine wine...” he muttered to himself. He was the best looking person he knew.
    He left the main light on as he exited the room. He had no intention of staying there.
    He banged the trunk of his car as he passed it on his way to the