Replaceable: An Alan Lamb Thriller by J.W. Bouchard Page B

Guy said. He shook his glass until the ice cubes shifted and then took a drink.
    “These two jokers phoned the front desk and said their air conditioning unit was on the fritz,” High Bob said. “Then they have the gall to leave a crack pipe laying out in the open when we showed up to fix it.”
    Biker Bob shoved a hand into his pocket and when he brought it out he was holding a narrow glass cylinder. “Finders keepers,” he said and dropped it back into the pocket of his pants. He grinned at Alan, revealing a mouthful of rotting teeth. “Be surprised what people leave in their rooms.”
    “And you just confiscate it?”
    “If it’s contraband? Sure.”
    Guy said, “These people, they always make a fuss. They’re clearly in the wrong, yet they act like their rights are being infringed upon. They’re two weeks behind on rent. Erik gave the greenlight to give them the boot. I’m surprised Bruno’s stayed cool for this long. Maybe therapy is working.”
    But the optimism was missing from Guy’s voice. And, sure enough, as one of the angry Latino men violated Bruno’s invisible bubble of personal space, the stacked bodyguard clamped a hand around the man’s throat and smashed him up against the wall. The other Latino, this one larger than his companion, dressed in jeans several sizes too big and a soiled wife beater, attempted to intervene. He grabbed Bruno’s arm. Bruno’s arm formed a ninety degree angle. He brought it back swiftly, his elbow making brutal contact with the Latino in the saggy pant’s face.
    The Latino man crumpled to the ground.
    With his hand still choking the life out of the smaller man, Bruno delivered a quick kick to the man’s shin and then tossed him to the ground.
    Bruno towered over them, waiting to see if either of the men were dumb enough to retaliate.
    Neither of them did.
    The smaller of the men helped his friend up and they limped their way over to an old Dodge pickup. The larger man left a trail of blood behind him, both hands cupped over his broken nose.
    “He gets a lot of enjoyment out of what he does,” Guy said. “How does the old saying go? ‘If you love what you do, you’ll never work a day in your life.’ Bruno is in love with his job.”
    At that moment, Bruno glanced up to where they stood against the railing of the second floor walkway. He waved up to them, seeming to have forgotten that he had an audience.
    “One step closer to cleaning up the community,” Guy said and raised his empty glass toward Bruno.
    “It’s the Lord’s work,” High Bob said.
    Alan said, “You have a minute?”
    “For you? I’ve got all the time in the world. What’s up?”
    “I may have some work for you.”
    “I see. Let’s step into my office.” To the two Bobs he said: “We’ll talk to you gentleman later.”
    The door to Guy’s room stood slightly ajar. He pushed it open and stepped aside, gesturing for Alan to enter first.
    This was the first time Alan had been in Guy Bernard’s makeshift office. It was a standard-sized room, same layout as Alan had on the first floor, but Guy had taken the time to furnish it himself. A 55-inch plasma screen TV sat atop an expensive-looking entertainment center the color of polished obsidian. The counter top that served as a kitchen area was decorated with a number of neatly stacked glasses, flanked by an assortment of various bottles of liquor. The twin-sized bed was shoved up against the outer wall to make room for a long oak desk that was at least three times the size of the one that had come standard in Alan’s room. In addition to an open laptop and a laser printer, the desk was piled high with stacks of case files.
    “Can I get you a drink?”
    “No thanks.”
    “This feels too formal,” Guy said. “Have a drink. I insist. I’ll even make it for you.”
    “All right. Rum and Coke then.”
    “Simple yet elegant,” Guy said and moved over to the counter. He dumped his dirty glass in the sink and pulled out two clean