Large stacks of money were divided around the table, to everyone but me. When Mark finished passing out what he would, he still had a mountain of cash in front of him. It was probably twice what everyone else had been allotted, if not better.
“Know what this is?” Mark asked, smiling broadly at me.
I tried not to roll my eyes, already knowing he was about to half it between us and say a portion would have been mine.
“Hmm?” He doubled down, when I didn’t take the bait.
I flipped my hand up like I was clueless.
“This is the runner's cut, Anthony. All of it.” He swirled his pointer around the stack, leaving a little smear on the waxed surface of the table. “It would have been yours… but since you were a no call, no show…”
He shrugged and his finger abruptly stopped moving.
I locked my tongue against the back of my teeth just to keep from calling bluff. No way did he mean to give me that much and not his road captain.
I broke eye contact just to glance at C.C.
His elbow was on the table, his chin resting idly on his hand. He didn’t avoid eye contact, but I wasn’t reassured by what I found, either.
“Now.” Mark said the word a little louder than necessary, “Now, we’re all stuck paying a little from our own individual pocketsto go with this. You know, to cover the person who stood in for you.”
He snapped his finger, tapped that stubby pointer on the table. A chorus of grumbling erupted as stacks were passed back, until the pile was increased by a third.
“The guys have to pay to cover your fuck up.” He sneered, like I was too slow to catch on the first time he spelled it all out.
I boiled inside all over again. I knew better than to meet his gaze, I’d swing.
“It’s alright, you’ll make your absence up to them, same as me,” a quiet, bass-filled tone rumbled from the doorway.
“Get the fuck out,” Makaveli laughed, shooting out of the seat next to his father.
“Holy shit, they finally let you out?” C.C. grinned, as our vice president, Slutty Benji, strolled in and paused to shake up with him.
“They had to, I served the whole damn bit. Fuck them and their parole.” Benji smiled like he’d really stuck it to them. He took his cut off the back of the chair that had been reserved for him, even during his incarceration, and shoved an arm into it.
He’d done a dime for the club, came out and been named vice president. His parole officer knew what he was up to with the Steel Disciples, but he could never catch Benji. They began making his life miserable, adding court recommended evaluations and finding reasons to mess with him. When they insisted on an ankle monitor, he held firm and opted for prison time instead.
I thought he was nuts, but he swore every day out in the world was worth two in as far as the time counting goes with sentencing.
I don’t know how to do inmate math. How do you get excited about a year of shared showers? For me, it wasn’t just the lack of pussy, but the actually being told when you can touch your own dick that made me twitchy about police encounters.
I’d hit a century and not think twice, before I pulled over most days…
And, Slutty Benji had just walked in and let them cuff him?
Absolutely not. Ten minutes in a cell was too fucking long by my math, and I didn’t give a damn if they were selling good time or any of that, I still wasn’t biting.
The thought of sitting in a cell and not knowing when I’d see her again would drive me over the edge. I’d hurt someone or lose my mind.
It was a helluva thought to have, considering my occupation.
I stared at the mountain at the end of the table and swallowed hard.
What would that money mean to her? A girl who was too stressed to smile over a lousy-ass night shift at a place like the Pink Cabaret?
Jesus.
I hated her being so far away. What if someone got out of hand? Would those goons get to her quickly enough? I’d put myself between them and her, hadn’t I?
