The Killing League

42.

Truck Drivin’ Man

There wasn’t any room for the big rig in the hotel parking lot, so Roger Dawson pulled into the Outback Steakhouse parking lot where it butted up against the west side of the Holiday Inn.

He could have used the plane tickets they sent him, but he preferred to drive. Besides, he’d wanted to give the organizer of this thing a big ‘f*ck- you’ of sorts.

Now, he clambered down from the truck cab and walked across the parking lot to the hotel. He wasn’t nervous. He felt instead a sort of anxiousness. Kind of like in high school just before he’d pick a fight with one of the football players who didn’t really know how to fight. Those f*cking clods were so big no one ever challenged them. Dawson loved to pick a fight and stomp on their instep, knee ‘em in the balls, and give ‘em an elbow right across the jaw. They’d even tried to gang up on him once, but they just couldn’t handle being hit without wearing a helmet. Nothing like a broken nose to discourage namby pamby rich boys.

He ambled across the parking lot and walked through the hotel doors after they whisked open. Speaking of namby pamby rich boys, Dawson thought, whoever put this stupid ass thing together was light in the loafers. Sending out those faggy little envelopes with the fancy writing. Dawson would love to crack this dude’s skull as soon as he got a chance.

Dawson walked into the lobby and glanced at the welcome desk. There was no one there. He stepped into the hallway, and looked down toward the open doors with signs in front of them. He spotted the KL logo, remembered it from the envelope that fag prick had sent him, and walked into the room.

He spotted the big slab of meat standing by the door. Big guns on the guy. Dawson recognized a hired enforcer when he saw one. The guy had probably never been in a real fight in his life. Or he’d gotten his ass kicked when he was young and hit the weight room, hoping big muscles would scare off anyone. Total p-ssy, Dawson thought. Sure as shit.

Dawson looked around at the rest of the people in the room. What a bunch of a*sholes. The guy in the suit was sort of interesting. He had a brief fantasy about getting the guy up in one of the rooms, hitting him over the head and having his way with him.

Leave him up there until the maids come the next morning and find whatever was left of him.

Dawson started to get a hardon.

He went over to the guy in the suit. He sat in the empty chair next to him. Dawson could smell his cologne.

It smelled good.

Dude wouldn’t smell so good after he was done with him, Dawson thought.