High Steaks: A Bjorn Trilogeé Adventure

Chapter 12: Bjorn

Bjorn sat at the hotel bar and silently drank his Shirley Temple. The bartender had put on the news and the lead story was about the explosion at the Senators home. This was much bigger than Bjorn had anticipated. "Hopefully no one saw me leaving the scene of the crime."

The bartender came over and asked Bjorn if he wanted something to eat, a burger perhaps. They were suppose to have a really great hamburger at this place. Bjorn just ordered a salad with dandelion greens, much to the bartender's eternal chagrin.

After receiving about ten phone calls and twenty text messages from General Muhdeer, Bjorn surmised that it would be just better to simply shut the phone off. He was going to be killed at some point, he figured, no need to be killed and to be annoyed at the same time.

He sat there staring into his drink, twirling the ice around with his straw. After a short while, a woman came and sat down right next to him. Bjorn looked around and noticed that the room was rather empty, it's not like she had to take that chair right next to him. Bjorn wasn't really in the mood for company.

"Hi, how's it going? The name is Sheila," she said with a smile.

Looks like Bjorn isn't going to be left alone. He gave her a quick look up and down. He'd guess she was close to forty, not sure if it was coming or going though. She wasn't bad looking for an older woman. She had on a low cut cocktail dress that was about 15 years and 15 pounds too late for her. Her large breasts were practically falling out of the dress and they were covered in age spots ("I mean freckles" thought Bjorn "Freckles! Let us not judge her too quickly"). She had the body of a middle aged divorced woman who spends every day at the gym on the treadmill (lowest setting) while reading the latest clap trap best seller and wearing yoga pants stretched well beyond their 'ass capacity' so that you are able to see their giant white bloomers underneath. "Maybe if I was drunk or a Mexican, I'd bang her" considered Bjorn, but then he realized how racist that was and felt a tad guilty.

"Oh hey, the name's Bjorn," he said, and then quickly went back to stirring his drink. Hopefully she would take the hint and go away (she didn't).

"Tough day at work, huh? Me too, I'm just down here on an acting gig," she said taking the cherry out of his Shirley Temple and rubbing it around her lips before finally putting in her mouth.

"Oh, okay I was going to eat that but alright," said Bjorn under his breath. What kind of acting gig was she doing? They must be bringing back Golden Girls. Then he thought, "that was mean" and again felt a little guilty about it.

"I'm here on business too, my boss is probably going to kill me though. So what kind of acting gig?" asked Bjorn figuring she wasn't going away, so he might as well be nice to her.

"Just shooting an underwear commercial."

Bjorn was starting to find this slightly unbelievable.

"Oh that's cool." He smiled at her, she smiled back with coffee stained teeth.

"Doing anything tonight? I'm just so bored right now"

"Well, I guess not," said Bjorn. This is a slam dunk if Bjorn really wanted it. He was still questioning this but seeing as how he is going to be killed later on ... well he might as well toss it in her. It's a well-known fact that if a lonely older woman talks to you in a hotel bar, it's a one-way ticket to sex town. After some more meaningless small talk Bjorn told Sheila to meet him on the third floor. Just knock on the janitor's closet ... as it was his room. This probably was a very dumb move, not very secret-spy-like, but nothing really mattered anymore.

Bjorn, in his hotel room, quickly cleaned up the mess, hiding most of his secret spy stuff under the bed and putting his fish gun into the closet. He paced back and forth waiting for Sheila to show up, this was a very bad idea. The last time a woman tried to sleep with him when he was on a mission she turned out to be a killer spy for a foreign intelligence agency. "What country would send a middle aged woman to fuck-kill him?" he thought. Maybe Canada.