Link
LUNCH WITH EMILY was nice, and I hated to cut it short, but some things couldn’t be helped. My responsibilities, for example. People always said shit rolled downhill, but Pops had taught me differently. He’d shown me that the man on top always needed to get his hands dirty or risk losing the respect of everyone beneath him. I don’t know if it’s true for everyone, but even though he retired a few years ago, when Pops says jump, everyone still finds a damn trampoline.
If I was going to fill his shoes and be the leader the Dead Presidents deserved, I needed to earn that level of respect. Thankfully, Pops had been a good teacher.
Deryk had texted me shortly after Emily arrived to let me know he was at the station, hanging out in his room until she left. It was smart of him to avoid her, so she wouldn’t place him if she caught sight of him on her tail. The kid had been doing his job and deserved a break, but a rare opportunity for a lesson had come up, and I wasn’t about to waste it.
I hurried up to his room and pounded on the door.
When it swung open a bleary-eyed, bare-chested Deryk stood before me. No doubt the kid had just drifted off to sleep.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
“Yeah. I hate to do this to you, but I have some club business I need you in on. Should only take a few minutes, then you can come back and get a nap in.”
Since he was fresh out of the military and used to taking orders, he didn’t argue. “Let me grab my shoes.” He stepped back into his room and rummaged around.
Once Deryk reemerged, we headed out the back, went through the side gate, and I used my key to let us into the side door of the Copper Penny Bar and Grill.
In his time as president, Pops had purchased the fire station and an auto repair shop three blocks down the street. Shortly after Pops retired, the bar next to the station listed for sale. The shop had given us the capital we needed to make the purchase, and the deal was too sweet to pass up. We bought it, so now we had two successful businesses keeping club members and recruits employed and paying the taxes and upkeep on the station.
Pops, the club, and I had all invested a lot of time and money into the businesses. The success or failure of the club hinged on our money makers, and my primary responsibility—as club president—was to protect our investments (the members and the businesses). I watched the books and the cameras like a hawk, which was how I’d figured out that we had a problem.
Beside me, Deryk’s head was on a swivel as he took in the bar. With 70’s style wooden paneling, wooden floors, and a wooden ceiling, the Copper Penny was past due for an update. I’d been saving up money to do just that when the tills had started coming up short. Regardless of the decor, the sound system was top notch. Since it was still early afternoon, low, conversation-level rock music played, but around six p.m., the music would crank up for the wilder crowd. I’d have to bring the kid back in one night when the place was hopping and let him really see it. Maybe for his twenty-first birthday.
With Deryk still in tow, I marched straight into the manager’s office where two men were looking over a report. They stopped what they were doing and turned their attention on me.
“Link,” Flint—the day manager—said by way of greeting, his eyes flashing to the man beside him. Flint had discovered the discrepancies shortly after I had. He’d approached me, but I’d already been pouring over financials and looking into the problem. Three days ago, we’d pulled the bar’s videos and confirmed my suspicions about the culprit. Unfortunately, he’d gone out of town for the past two days, but now he was back, and it was time to handle the situation.
“Hey Link,” Brass said, looking from me to Flint. “What’s up?”
Despite his thin and wiry frame, Brass had a reputation for being mean as fuck. He’d picked up the nickname because of his penchant for brass knuckles. His father had gotten him a pair when he was a kid, and he still used them to this day. I’d always seen brass knuckles as a pussy’s weapon, and his pride in them had been my first red flag. I should have listened to my gut, but I’d wanted to believe all ex-soldiers could be decent human beings.
Turns out, he’d proven me wrong. Pissed beyond reason, I stared him down.
“What’s going on?” Brass asked, almost believable confusion written all over his face.
“I don’t know, Brass, why don’t you tell me?”
His brow furrowed as he scratched his head and looked over my shoulder. “This the new guy? He looking for work? Looks a little young, but we could put him on as one of the door guards.”
“This isn’t about placing Deryk,” I ground out. “You can stop playin’ dumb any time now. You know why I’m here.”
More scratching of his head. “Actually, I’m at a loss, Prez. I got no clue what the hell’s goin’ on.”
I pointed at the camera above his head. “You’re aware we have those things everywhere, right?”
“Yeah.” His expression was blank, but his shoulders tensed up a fraction.
“And you realize they’re on all the time?”
“Yeah.”
“And that I can and do pull video from them at any time?”
He froze.
“What? You didn’t realize that? Think I just mounted them up there for shits and giggles?”
