Freedom Beer, Part 6
"I'm hungry, but I don't know if I'm this hungry," Zelphia said, while Hank put down the kickstand on his motorcycle.
She eyed Al's Grub, a concrete wart hiding among the foothills of watermelon-colored mountains. An ancient neon sign hung dormant in the morning light. Long-armed stars of grease radiated from beneath a dumpster like blast scars on rocket's launchpad. The build itself looked like it may have weathered one of the atomic bomb tests.
"Very nice," Hank said as they walked towards the entrance.
"It's a piece of junk."
"Don't you see the Norse Hammer exhaust system?"
Zelphia was confused until she saw that Hank was ogling two dozen motorcycles parked in front of the restaurant.
"And that Nanoscrub air filter! It removes sixty-two percent more impurities than your average filter!"
"Seriously?"
"I wouldn't joke around about something like air quality."
"Come on. The faster that I get food poisoning the sooner it will be over." Zelphia dragged Hank into the diner.
"I'll bet that's them over there," Hank said, looking around the restaurant. Four tables had been pushed together in the corner. From them came a ruckus. Zelphia pulled him into a booth before he could walk over and introduce himself.
"Aww."
"You can go play with your friends after we stop Mr. X and the Viper. They aren't going to help me avoid my death sentence."
"Relax. You're not in any danger."
The waitress frisbeed two menus onto the table and dropped off two unsolicited cups of coffee. Some of it sloshed out of the side.
"That puddle is moving by itself." Zelphia picked up the coffee, wrinkled her nose and took a sip. She sputtered.
"Not in any danger? Last that I checked Listeria was pretty serious. That's boiling hot and I still don't think that its safe to drink."
Hank gulped down his cup before Zelphia had finished talking.
"Ahh, delicious." A few tendrils of steam condensed from his lips.
"How could you drink that? It smells like it was strained through some old socks."
Hank smacked his lips.
"Are you sure? I usually can detect a cottony aftertaste."
Zelphia sook her head and read through the menu.
Hank smiled to himself and drummed his fingers on the table, for all appearances perfectly content and in his element. He fiddled with the salt shaker, papper shaker, napkin dispenser, ketchup bottle, mustard bottle silverware and placements while humming a ditty under his breath.
"I am going to kill you if you don't stop fucking around with the condiments," Zelphia said from behind the menu.
"Deadly women are interesting women."
"Grilled cheese sounds like the safest bet. And I could use the calcium to help my teeth. I've been grinding them a lot lately."
When she put the menu down, she saw that Hank had folded her a rose made from a napkin. She locked eyes with him, picked it up and stuck it bloom-down into her cup of coffee.
"That was for you!"
"I didn't want it! What I want are some fucking answers and a bodyguard, or whatever you are, who is taking the threat to my life fucking seriously instead of pretending that he's off on a boy scout field trip! You made it sound like you'd be able to help me get some answers, but here we are eating some hotted-up, triple-distilled skunkwater and pondering whether we'd like the fried chef's hair or the week-old salmonella steak!"
"Fine."
"I went from stealing ancient artifacts and priceless religious relics to eating a grilled cheese sandwich in what I can only imagine is America's dingiest butthole of a restaurant."
"I get the idea. I made a mistake, toots. I'll be outside when you're ready."
"Sit back down. You're the one who was hungry."
"I've lost my appetite."
He left the restaurant. Zelphia's stomach rumbled so she decided to order the grilled cheese. After her first bite, one of the bikers left the restaurant. One her second, he came rushing back in and said something to his colleagues that sent them bounding from their seats. By her third bite a tide of angry bikers surged out through the front door.
Zelphia dropped her sandwich and followed them.
When she left the restaurant she saw that the motorcycle gang had circled Hank. They all were yelling and threatening him. With the same muscles that let her slither through ventilation shafts she slid in between bulging biceps and embroidered leather. She sprang into the middle of the fray in a fighting stance. Then she realized that Hank was leading the inchoate rage and saw why.
The tires on all of the motorcycles had been slashed into streamers. Zelphia glanced over and saw that somebody had given the same treatment to Hank's bike.
"Mr. X?" Zelphia asked.
"You don't touch a man's machine! You walk up and sock him in the mouth! Teeth grow back; tires don't!"
"Or the Viper?"
"That rat goddamn bastard must have found out that we were traveling by motorcycle! I know who did this!" Hank said to the bikers. They fell dead silent. "It's the same man who is trying to kill the lovely Ms. Dipthong, the same man who crossed an ancient and primeval line when he assaulted our chrome horses!"
"We'll help you!" one of the bikers said.
"How? All of the tires have been slashed."
"We have a follower van to carry tools and parts for emergency repairs. Brutus just checked on it and it hasn't been touched."
"Do you have spare tires?"
"We used them all when we rode past the New Mexico Tack & Nail factory. It'll be cramped in the van but we'll get you where you're going."
"You guys are alright," Hank said. "If you can take myself and Ms. Dipthong to the Hanson Air Force Base, you are all welcome to stop by my brewery for as many beers as you can handle, on the house."
"You're that Hank Rockjaw?"
"Kickass!"
"You got it!"
"Hooray!"
Hank beamed. A few minutes later, he and Zelphia were in the back of the van with two of the bikers at the helm, flying down the highway.
