What I love about the violent sycophants of the world is their lack of imagination. For a biker clubhouse, the dive bar decor is unsurprising in every way. There are pool tables and dart boards. The bar is a wooden slab where cheap booze abounds. If you want a nice glass of wine or a good Scotch, you’d have to go elsewhere. Not that there’s anything wrong with cheap booze. I was once a connoisseur, so I’m in no position to judge.

It’s just like the movies except the bar doesn’t go quiet when I enter.

There are no shocked gasps, no furrowed brows or angry mutterings. But I know my presence has been noted carefully. I know there are cell phone cameras pointed my way. There’s a man and a woman at the bar, both on their phones. There are available seats all around them. There’s an air of menace about these two that makes everyone but me think twice about sitting too close. I have nothing to lose but my life and the few remaining dollars in my pocket.

As I approach the barstools I check my pocket just to make sure. There are no dollars left. Well, that’s disappointing.

I sit next to the woman and smile at her in my best attempt at sisterly affection.

Her expression doesn’t change.

“Can I get you something?” asks the young waitress wiping down the counter. She’s South Asian, but I guess it’s not that surprising that she’s here, given the large Indian population in Surrey. Though it is a biker bar, so her presence does strike me as odd. Or maybe I don’t know bikers as well as I think I do. Maybe they’re big into diversity these days, who knows?

“No, thanks. I’m just here for the sparkling conversation.”

“Buy something or leave,” says the woman I’m still smiling at.

“Why so hostile?” I ask. “You and your friend here have been looking for me, haven’t you? I just stopped by to make your jobs a little easier. Why don’t you call your little friends who put that watch on me and let them know I’m back in town. In case you forgot where I live, here’s the address.” I recite the details of Leo’s Chinatown apartment. Including the postal code. It feels good to be helpful sometimes.

The man and the woman say nothing, but the young woman behind the bar scuttles away quickly.

Ah, now there’s that silence I’ve been waiting for.