The Warrior by Sharon Sala Page B

the counter.
    â€œUh…ma’am…I was wondering if you were working here yesterday?”
    Daisy glared. “I work here every day. You buying gas?”
    Dieter stuttered. “Uh…no, I was wondering if—”
    â€œCokes are on sale. Ninety-nine cents for a 16 ounce.”
    â€œNo thanks, I was just—”
    â€œGoes good with the cinnamon rolls. Dollar apiece, but they’re homemade and worth every penny.”
    Dieter was slow, but he finally caught on. Nothing came free, not even information. He grabbed a Coke and pointed toward the bakery case. “I’ll take two,” he said as he dug in his pocket for money to pay.
    Daisy sacked up two cinnamon rolls, added a napkin and took his money. Only after she’d realized he wasn’t in the market for booze and had done some fair trading—money for goods received—was she ready to listen.
    Dieter stood, waiting for her to nail him again while the condensation on his cold pop ran between his fingers and dripped on the floor. The smell of cinnamon was enticing. He wished he smelled as good, and thought about taking time to find a motel for a shower and shave. But dealing with body odor was going to have to come second to the task at hand.
    â€œUh…”
    Daisy frowned. “Speak your piece, mister. I ain’t got all day.”
    Dieter nodded. “Yesterday, I, uh…”
    â€œOh, I know all about yesterday. You passed outdrunk in your car right out there at my pumps. I don’t take kindly to drunk drivers.”
    Dieter didn’t intend to go into details. He just needed answers, and the way he figured it, an apology would get him further than an explanation.
    â€œI’m real sorry about all that,” he said. “I hope you weren’t put out in any way.”
    Daisy sniffed. “I might have missed a customer or two, seeing as how you were blocking one side of the pumps.”
    Dieter nodded. “Yes, well…like I said. I’m sorry.”
    Daisy frowned. “So what’s your problem today?”
    â€œYesterday, before I…uh, I mean…there was a man at the other pump when I arrived. I was wondering if you noticed who it was…or if you knew him?”
    â€œI didn’t even see you until they came to haul you and your car away. Unless they come in, I don’t pay them much mind. Lots of people come and go here, and most pay at the pump with credit cards these days. Pumps won’t work unless they come in and pay me first, or use a credit card,” Daisy stated. “What did he look like?”
    â€œHe was a little above average height. Native American, with short dark hair and a silver earring in on ear.”
    â€œOh. That sounds like Big John,” Daisy said.
    Dieter’s pulse kicked. She knew him. Maybe things were going to work out after all.
    â€œJohn. Yes, yes, that’s the name he gave. Do you know where I can find him?”
    Daisy’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why?”
    â€œUh, well…we were talking, and he mentioned he had a car for sale. I thought I’d drive by and take a look at it, since I’m still in the area.”
    Daisy frowned. “I don’t know exactly where he lives. All I know is it’s that way.”
    She pointed north.
    â€œI seem to have forgotten his last name,” Dieter added.
    â€œNightwalker,” Daisy said. “His name is John Nightwalker.”
    Dieter smiled. “Thanks so much,” he said, and headed out the door. He opened the Coke and took a big bite of a cinnamon roll before he put the car in gear and drove away. Things were already looking up.
    Â 
    Richard Ponte was alternating between panic and pure unadulterated rage. This was a nightmare. His carefully balanced empire was in danger of toppling, and all because of his own blood. A part of him knew it was his own fault. He’d been so confident of the power he wielded that he’d gotten