That, and I only have a flip phone no one knows about. And I just don’t have the patience for one of the guys to get me on a computer and show me how to use it. Who has time for that shit?
So I just nod. “I’ll find him.”
Very soon.
Movement in the office catches my eye, and I turn to see Kurt passing through on his way to the clubhouse. I toss my screwdriver at Mac again when he’s not looking, then head in after Kurt as Mac grumbles with some foul fucking language aimed my way.
No fucking respect around here.
The common room of the clubhouse is quiet when I enter, and I find Kurt in the kitchen area, pouring himself a cup of coffee.
“Hey,” I say, slipping my hands into my pockets as I stop across the island from him.
He replaces the pot on the warmer and leans back against the counter. “Hey.”
“Buyers finalized for the auction?”
He just sighs.
Fuck.
“Fewer and fewer every time,” he mutters, rubbing a hand through his hair. “The guy who requested the Porsche 911 backed out.”
I seered. “The fuck? We tracked that car formonths. It took three border hops and two grand in bribes just to get the damn thing over here.”
“I know,” he says gruffly. “It’s getting harder to move these cars. The market is too fucking soft. No one wants to drop cash on luxuries anymore. Not even when they’re heavily discounted.” His eyes sweep the empty clubhouse like it might hold answers. “We’re going to need a club meeting soon to make a plan.”
“Jesus Christ…” I mutter, reaching into the front pocket of my cut and pulling out a pack of smokes. I did quit again, and it’s been ten hours this time. Which is a fucking eternity. But I need a stress reliever, so I’ve earned it.
As I light my cigarette, I notice Kurt gazing towards the meeting room.
“What?” I ask, exhaling smoke in a slow stream as I lean forward to rest my elbows on the island.
He remains quiet for a moment. “We might be at a point where we need to branch out.”
I narrow my eyes, knowing exactly where this is going.
“We could always run guns?—”
“No,” I say immediately, blowing smoke right at him. He may be my president, but he’s also my uncle, so it isn’t disrespect. It’s a family perk.
He holds my gaze, and I take another slow drag, then let the smoke curl between us as I exhale. “We don’t do that.”
Kurt huffs. “Because car theft is so much more ethical?”
“It is,” I shoot back. “We’re not putting weapons into the hands of people who will kill with them. We’re jacking overpriced toys from people who can afford five more. No one’s dying because I lifted a Bimmer.”
Kurt studies me for a moment, then nods.
“Let me talk to the buyers,” I say, straightening up. “I’m persuasive.”
He chuckles and lifts his mug to his lips. “That you are.” He takes a long drink, then sighs. “Alright, you handle this one. Get these fuckers to stop sitting on their stacks and actually spend some of it.”
I stub out my cigarette in the ashtray. “Oh, I will.”
And then it’s time to follow the burn.
To a sweater-wearing, chaos igniting professor who lit the trail.
