Page 29 of Innocent Princess

I point to the sign just past his head, “Could I get the WiFi password? Then we can be on our way.”

“No,” he grunts.

I try again. "Look, I don’t have cell service here, and without Internet, I can’t look up a name. So if you could help me out, that would be awesome. Do you have a payphone somewhere?" I dart my eyes around the bar, hoping to spot one.They still put payphones in bars, right?

I thank him and walk down the dark side hall where the bathrooms and back exit are. I find an old, nasty black payphone with a phonebook shoved haphazardly in a cubie under the phone. I pull out the book and flip to the yellow pages, locating the page for mechanics.

The page has been torn out.

"What the fuck?" I mutter. I don't even have the book closed when I'm pushed from behind.

I stumble forward before looking over my shoulder. A giant of a man, decked out in sleeves of tattoos and piercings, towers over me. He's got on a dingy white shirt and, of course, his black leather club vest.

"Excuse me," I say, righting myself.

"What's your problem, little man? You come into my den and fucking swear at my phone?"

Shit. The last thing I need is to pick a fight with the biker boss. I lift my hands in surrender. "I'm sorry, man. I just need a mechanic, and the page for mechanics has been ripped out.”

"You little fuck-witt, there's only one mechanic worth calling in this town, so there's no need for a fucking page of them." He's surly, and he's pissed.

I'm a little pissed myself, but I keep clam. I keep my hands in front of me and walk backward a few steps.

He closes the gap I just put between us.

"That makes sense. If I could just get that number, we could be on our way."

The biker boss growls. I pick up speed in my backward walk until I bump into a barstool. Turning slightly, I move around the bar. The bartender watches from behind the bar but doesn't say a thing. I’ve gotten in plenty of fights in my day. I know how to fight. But this hairy motherfucker is three times my size, he has back up, I don’t, not to mention, I’ve got Zella to worry about it.

I look over my shoulder, and the man is following but not as quickly. When I look ahead at where I left Zella, I come to a stumbling halt.

Just as I realize that the bar is eerily quiet, I notice at least eight bikers of all shapes and sizes gathered around her booth. I can't see her exactly, but I see hair, so I know she's there. I feel the fiery breath of the biker boss down my neck and continue slowly to gather Blondie so we can get the hell out of here.

As I get closer, I hear one of the bikers ask, "I don't understand why she would keep that from you."

Zella's angelic voice rings in response. All the men gathered around her are completely enamored with her.Shit, do I know the feeling.

"I really don't know, Stan. I don't know, I'm past that, and I can't wait to meet them." Upon closer inspection, I realize nearly everyone at the table is smiling. Yikes. Happy biker dudes, it's a strange sight.

I clear my throat, and all eyes dart to me. "Uh, yeah, Blondie. Looks like it's time to get out of here."

Her face brightens. "Oh, wonderful! I was just telling the boys about our trip."

"And her bucket list," a tiny fellow chirps from the other side of the booth.

I mutter under my breath. Leave it to her to share her whole story with a bunch of scary-ass biker dudes.

"You know, we could take care of that tattoo right here, darling," another one tells her. This particular guy is sitting in the booth behind her but turned in the booth in a way that allows him to be part of the group.

"No thanks, fellas, but we've gotta get this show on the road."

I break through the crowd. There's no way I'm letting her get a tattoo in a biker bar in the middle of nowhere. If she wants a tat that bad, we will swing by the parlor I go to on our way back home.

The biker, scooting out of the booth to let Zella out, glares at me. Great. I'm the bad guy here.

Then a gruff voice from the bar adds, "You let us help your girl mark one thing off her list, and I'll give you the contact of the mechanic."

I zero in on the bartender, and as badly as I want to get out of here, I really need that mechanic. Honestly, I will not allow a tattoo in this dingy place, so I'm wondering what they could possibly help with. I cock my eyebrow, and he grins. He's missing a tooth or two.

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