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TEN, dinner with a war god
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WITH GROVER'S ABILITY TO read signs, the four friends were currently sitting at a booth in a gleaming chrome diner. It was almost nostalgic; all around them, families were eating burgers and draining malts and sodas. It was a scene straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting.
Finally, the waitress came over to them. She raised her eyebrow skeptically. "Well?" she said, and Percy glanced around nervously.
"We, um, want to order dinner," Percy said. Aster nearly scoffed.
"You kids have money to pay for it?" the waitress asked impatiently.
Grover's lower lip quivered. Aster wasn't sure if he would start bleating, or worse, start eating the linoleum. She was ready to pass out from hunger, and Annabeth didn't look too good either. Aster was too tired to try and think of a sob story to tell.
Just then, a rumble shook the whole building; a motorcycle the size of a baby elephant had pulled up to the curb.
All conversation in the diner stopped. The motorcycle's headlight glared red. Its gas tank had flames painted on it, and a shotgun holster riveted to either side, complete with shotguns. The seat was leather—but leather that looked like... well, Caucasian human skin. Aster sat up straighter.
The guy on the bike would've made pro wrestlers run for their mommy. He was dressed in a red muscle shirt and black jeans and a black leather duster, with a hunting knife strapped to his thigh. He wore red wraparound shades, and he had the cruelest, most brutal face Aster had ever seen, with an oily black crew cut and cheeks that were scarred from many, many fights. His face reminded her of someone back at camp, and she knew immediately who he was. And it wasn't good to make him angry.
As he walked into the diner, a hot, dry wind blew through the place. All the people rose, as if they were hypnotized, but the biker waved his hand dismissively and they all sat down again. Everybody went back to their conversations. The waitress blinked, as if somebody had just pressed the rewind button on her brain. She asked them again, "You kids have money to pay for it?"
The biker said, "It's on me." He slid into their booth, which was way too small for him, and crowded Aster and Annabeth against the window. The man radiated power like a god, and Aster knew it was better not to speak.
The man looked up at the waitress, who was gaping at him, and said, "Are you still here?"
He pointed at her, and she stiffened. She turned as if she'd been spun around manually, then marched back toward the kitchen.
The biker looked at Percy, and his expression turned sour. Aster could feel anger and resentment rising within her, but she managed to keep her face blank.
The biker grinned wickedly. "So you're old Seaweed's kid, huh?"
Percy narrowed his eyes at the biker. "What's it to you?"
