“Must be some type of mistake, officer. I can check my account to make sure it’s paid if you like.” I blink up at him with a shit-eating smile, which he does not appreciate at all by the tick of his jaw.
“Step off the bike. I’ll need you to perform a field sobriety test.” I laugh and nod.
“Sure thing. Would you like my license and registration first so you can run my name for warrants? I’d hate to pass your test and leave without you doing your due diligence.” I place my helmet on my seat and offer him the cards.
His radio goes off, calling for all available officers, and he gestures with his arm to take my info.
“I’ll let you go with a warning. Have a nice day.” I give him a mock salute and put my helmet back on.
I sit and wait until he’s pulled off before getting back on my way. I make it to the clubhouse in record time, and when I walk into the mess, I frown.
“Tank!” I call out to my Sergeant at Arms.
The ex-cop turned butcher shop owner stumbles into the main room that’s under construction, run by his brother-in-law’s crew. I’m still trying to learn everyone’s names and roles, but his story hit me the hardest.
Giving his life to a cause for them to then turn you out on your ass like a traitor was bad enough in my case, but Francis Marino’s legacy was destroyed when his partner burned his cover and almost got him killed. But worse was the fact that it was his best friend who turned out to be the most prominent fucking kingpin Philly has seen since prohibition days.
He lost everything, including his life. It’s how he ended up with his road name, solid and bulletproof as a tank.
Clinically, he was dead for almost four minutes. It’s a miracle he survived. I’m not sure what he’ll do if he ever comes face to face with that motherfucker, but I’m one hundred percent sure it’s going to involve three slugs to the chest as payback.
“Prez, how are ya liking the progress?” Tanks waves his arms around the place that looks like it could be the set of Terminator.
“Ask me again when there’s less dust in the air. We good to have Church tonight?” I kick a piece of wood out of my way, so I have a clear path into the back, where the kitchen will be once all this shit is complete.
“Yeah, upstairs is done.” I nod and send thanks up to God for small miracles.
“Hey Prez, you got a second to go over these figures?” I sigh and nod.
“Sure Bars,” I follow my treasurer’s shiny bald head up the stairs and into our new Church.
The place doesn’t look half bad. It’ll be my private office once construction is complete and will double as a safe room. It’s got bulletproof glass overlooking the main room so that we can always see what’s coming our way.
Bars is a newer member of the club.
Twister recruited him for his education and his balls for bucking the system. He’s got a way with numbers and worked forthe IRS until he started padding them in his favor. Twister said he was trying to right the wrongs a few dollars at a time. He got his ass caught and sent to prison, where he was doing the guards’ taxes when Twister found him.
How he was able to get him out early is beyond me, but I’ve learned not to ask questions I don’t want answers to. He earned his road name for the gold bars he bought with the money he laundered ‘cause he doesn’t trust banks.
Our coffers are full, and all our businesses are legit, so he’s doing his job, which is all I fucking care about.
“What you got for me?” I sit down in my chair and move my gavel over so he can pass me the folder of papers he’s holding.
These are our quarterly projections, and here is our current balance sheet. We’ve got a few members behind on their dues, and as you can see here, these two businesses aren’t proceeding as much as we had hoped.” I try to follow as he talks, but I clue in on the last part.
“The dance club and strip club are underproducing? How?” I push the papers back at him with a frown.
“Exactly my point. They shouldn’t be. Something doesn’t smell right here. I think we need to clean house and replace the management.” I sigh and run my hands through my hair.
“If we shut it down, then we lose the ability to cover the girls we’re helping rehome.” I glance at Tank, who’s leaning in the doorway listening in.
“It’ll be short-term, but it’s a must if we have someone leaking money.” Fuck, I don’t like what he’s implying.
“Do it.” He nods and leaves with Bars following close behind.
So, someone’s stealing from my club and trying to undermine me as the new President in my first month? I have to set an example now before word gets out I’m soft.
9
