The door of the IHOP swung open, and my nostrils were greeted with the familiar scent of pancakes and other breakfast foods, despite the fact that it was well past midnight. But there was something else under that scent, something more… sinister. It took me a moment to realize that it was the smell of clove cigarettes.
The waiter ushered me to my booth and that’s when I saw him, a black shadow that took over the back corner of the restaurant, a cloud of smoke hovering over his head like a warning.
“Robert Smith,” I growled.
He turned slowly, raccoon eyes narrowing as he focused on my form. I was reminded briefly of Jabba the Hut from the Star Wars movies, which I had never actually seen but had seen enough parodies of to get the gist.
“It is time,” he said with a wise nod.