“That’s true,” she agrees, and I’m encouraged.
“Name your price.” I can go as high as a hundred thousand, but this dump isn’t worth more than eighty, ninety thousand tops.
“Five million.”
I rear back. “Are you fuckin’ kidding me?”
“You said name your price.”
“Yeah, and this dump sure ain’t worth five million.”
“It is to me.”
“‘Cause your father gave it to you?”
“Ha, hardly.”
“Then what?”
She pushes out of the chair. “I’m not selling now, tomorrow or next week.” She leaves the office, and I follow her. She stops at the front door and holds it open. “Please leave and don’t come back. Understand?”
“No, I fuckin’ don’t. I don’t understand why you’d want to?—”
She reaches out and pushes me through the entryway. Her sudden move took me completely off guard. So off guard that I’m standing on the cracked cement, staring at the door she just slammed in my face. I hear locks fall into place and stifle a laugh. I could boot this door without even breaking a sweat, but I don’t.
I also have no intention of giving up or finding out how this woman’s mind works. Fuck, I never even got her name, but I have to admire her guts.
I spin toward the parking lot, then stop and lean into the door. Deep, slow, choking sobs seep through the splintered wood. I listen for a few seconds more, then ball my fist and cock my wrist. I’m two seconds from knocking on the door, then my better judgment kicks in. Whatever she’s dealing with, she’s gonna have to deal with it alone, ‘cause I got enough fuckin’ problems without borrowing her’s.
I spin back around and quickly make my way to my Harley. I don’t need to add any more bad decisions to my list.
Next time, and there would be a next time, I’d try a different approach. I don’t know what, but different, ‘cause, one way or another, The End is going to be the new Kings of Anarchy clubhouse before the month is out.
Later that night, me, Speed and Shady head over to Harrah’s Pool After Dark. We could’ve gone up on the boards and looked up Scratch, or gone over to the Hard Rock and wait till Fist’s shift was over, but I wanted to get the meet with Ace done. I had no illusions how it would go down. Ace and I are equals in every way: size, intelligence and self-control, or lack thereof. I gotta admit I’m a little wired to see him for a lot of reasons, but mainly ‘cause, back then, we were the closest. Which probably means he has the biggest grudge against me.
“I texted Ace earlier, so he knows we’re coming.” Shady leads the way through the casino.
The crowded casino has my nerves twitching. Funny thing about being locked up and getting out into the wild again—everything seems amplified. The clanging of the slots, the cheering of the players, the constant movement and flashing lights jangle my nerves. Like the volume is turned up way too high. The adjustment to being around crowds, random noises, and especially strangers amps up my anxiety. Add meeting up with Ace to the mix and my wires are tripping.
“You tell him I was with you?” We finally get through the casino and head to the back of the building where the enclosed pool serves as a nightclub. Hence the name, Harrah’s Pool After Dark.
“He knows.”
At least my being here isn’t a total surprise. I’ve realized these guys rarely if ever communicated over the last five years I was on the inside. Speed mumbled something this morning about bad blood and pissed-off attitudes, but that should be aimed at me, not each other.
Shady stops in front of two huge glass doors with Harrah’s After Dark etched across the front. “You ready to do this?”
“Shit, you make it sound like I’m walking the last mile.”
Shady and Speed exchange a look, but I don’t need to ask. Ace was and probably still is a hard-ass. No doubt.
Ace and I came up together, two street kids from Paterson with not much more than the clothes on our backs. Ace, a.k.a. Tony Morretti, and me, Giovanni Russo, had already lived a lot of life by the time we were teens. We beat it outta that cesspool of a neighborhood at eighteen and headed for the shore. Summer tans, all the booze we could swipe, and hot-and-cold-running women.
When winter came, we bummed around, got odd jobs, and lived rough wherever we could. When we saved up enough, we bought Harleys, and somehow ended up in Atlantic City, where we gave birth to the Kings of Anarchy, Atlantic City Chapter.
Shady says something to the doorman, and we breeze past the line leading up to the check-in where they put your ID through a machine.
I lean in to Shady. “I don’t have a valid ID anymore.”
