Which basically meant he was reconsidering the coke thing and looking for other avenues of income. Mark maintained a scowl that rivaled my own for much of the trip. He’d talked all that shit about me not being around to traffic for him, and here he was, looking to blow off the deal himself.
We were all sitting around the fire, the other clubs having gone to their own camping areas so we could speak amongst ourselves.
“I… I don’t know, Mark. This is just trading skillets or whatever the women say.” C.C. shrugged.
His brother’s face pinched up and he stared at him, clearly waiting on some elaboration. “What the hell are you on about? Skillets…?”
“You know, trading one pan for another.” C.C. nodded, “Does it really matter, pot, coke, pills…”
“Hell, yes, it fucking matters,” Monty spat back before anyone else could get a word in, “You go wave a bag of coke at a cop and I’ll do the same with some pot. See which one of us gets outbefore we need a wheelchair, and someone to puree our damned food, huh?”
I wiped my face and glanced toward Easy, glad we were never that prone to public disputes. We both had about two goodFuck You’sin us, and if shit wasn’t resolved by then, it was time to get to swinging. C.C. and Monty, the two of them could argue until one of them ended up slurring or passing out.
It was like there was an unspoken contest to see who could make the other huff in exasperation fastest.
C.C. usually won.
“You’ll go to Missouri and pick up a load first thing in the morning then,” Mark announced, without even glancing toward me.
My head snapped up and I looked around. If I wasn’t needed until morning, I had time to replace my phone and get my new number to the Pink Cabaret.
“You heard me. Go on. You and your brother, take Makaveli with you.”
Mak stormed off toward his bike, his jaw clenched in a way that spelled trouble.
“Fuck him,” Mak spat, once I caught up with him. “Let’s go to that titty bar. We got time…”
I couldn’t believe my ears, and damned if I was about to argue.
“What the—? Mak,” Easy spat, ever the soldier.
I rolled my eyes and groaned, turning on him. “You’re a fucking prospect, right? Do prospect shit then… Fuck off.”
He swallowed hard and lifted his chin.
He didn’t fuck off, but he didn’t speak out of turn again, either. He rode with us to Springfield, keeping his distance as we approached the Pink Cabaret.
Easy huffed and took his time getting off his bike.
“Man, that door guy’s already looking at us hard. He probably remembers we’re the ones that tore up the lot not so long ago. Why don’t you just go get your broad? Tell her to bring a friend or something.” Mak cleared his throat and slowed his pace.
I turned my attention toward the door, and sure enough, that nosy bastard was there. He looked every bit the snapping turtle that I remembered. It seemed to be his normal expression when he noticed me.
“Yeah, alright. I’ll be right back.” I hurried toward the door, hoping against all odds the man wouldn’t call the police.
“You good?” he nervously asked, when I stepped inside.
I wasn’t sure if I should ignore him, passively shrug, or act offended. My brief pause gave him time to lean closer and whisper, “She’s not here man. Jay–”
“Get back to work,” the suit snapped, stepping out of the hallway.
My attention pivoted to him as the doorman cleared his throat and moved off toward the bar.
“Crystal no longer works here. I’m going to ask you politely to leave now.”
“Wha–?” The way all the girls looked at me made my stomach twist. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“Call the police,” the suit quietly commanded the girl at the counter.
