“Yeah.” It’s fucking stupid. We’re grown men, but here we are acting like kids whose parents are getting a divorce. I never really thought about how I’d feel about Pop stepping down before. It’s not something I wanted to think about.
“Might be good, not having that asshole be pres,” he says. “Bad enough he thinks he can still tell us what to do because he’s our dad, no matter how fucking old we get.”
“You mean that?” Even if Pop does get carried away with his controlling bullshit at times, I just don’t buy that Ryan is cool with Wyatt taking Pop’s place. Not that Wyatt isn’t a good man and not that he can’t do the job well, maybe even better than Pop. It’s just weird thinking about Pop not being president.
“Yes,” he says quickly. Then he curses under his breath and kicks at the floor. “No. I don’t fucking know. Won’t be able to tell me where to stick my dick anymore.”
I clench and unclench my fists on the table and take controlled breaths to keep my temper in check. I really don’t need to be reminded where he’s sticking his dick.
“Pop’s going to tell you what to do until one of you dies. Holding the gavel has nothing to do with being your father.”
“So there’s no upside here, then?” He’s sulking and so am I, so I decide it’s not worth calling him out on it.
“Basically.”
Just as we finish our bitching over Pop’s decision, our brothers start to wander into the room. Duke and Diesel have Michael and Leo walking between them. When the four of them get to the open doorway, Diesel stretches out his arm with his palm in the air. Michael and Leo hand over three mobile phones and two knives. I don’t know who the fuck gave them permission to carry a weapon, but I guess they have it. It’s not my fucking business to question the decision, so I keep my mouth shut.
Diesel sits down beside Ryan with Fish and Bear across the table from them. Nobody really sits in Chief’s old seat. It’s not some kind of rule or something, and it’s been eight months since his death, but none of us seem to be ready yet. We’re going to have to patch one of our prospects in soon, though. We function best as a ten-man charter, and with everything going on, it’s dangerous for us to not replace Chief’s spot. There are just some things the prospects can’t do. Pop hasn’t talked about it, but I think he’s been holding off patching Squat in because we’re still waiting on word about Torque’s release. He was supposed to be out a few months ago, but a couple minor infractions earned him extra time.
Leo and Michael stand off to the side and wait for direction. Jeremy strides in with two wooden chairs from the main room that he sets down at the empty end of the table, moves Chief’s chair out of the way with his foot, and puts the chairs from the main room in its place. Michael takes the seat next to Diesel and Leo sits between Michael and Bear. This isn’t an official Church meeting because of the visitors in the room, so I’m not surprised when Pop signals to Jeremy that he can stay. Baby Boy nods his head and moves to stand against the wall behind Michael and Leo.
Michael’s wearing a pair of jeans and a dark-red long-sleeve waffle shirt, and Leo’s wearing a black suit. I withhold the snort that bubbles up. It looks like Ma dressed Michael today. Grady’s chilled out some since shit went down at Ma and Pop’s house. I can tell he doesn’t like working with Leo in particular—and I don’t blame him—but he sees the value in the arrangement. Just yesterday we let Leo go to a hotel in town instead of forcing him to hole up in the extra bedroom at Wyatt’s house with Michael. We haven’t released Michael, though. We talked it over, but Pop likes to be able to keep an eye on him, which really means that Ma doesn’t want her baby boy too far out of her sight. The more I think about it, the more I realize how right it is that Pop steps down. It’s no secret that a brother’s old lady has his ear at home, but Ma’s got Pop’s ear way too often. Her heart is in the right place, but sometimes her priorities are different from the club’s.
Pop takes his seat and stretches his arms out to the corners of the table. His eyes slide to his right and fix on Wyatt. With a nod of his head, he gives his successor the floor and leans back in his chair. Wyatt straightens his back and clears his throat.
“ID on the car at the 101 Club checks out and leads back to the Italians in the city,” Wyatt says. Leo nods at the other end of the table. He told us it would, but we had to check. I settle in my chair a little more, knowing that he’s been straight with us so far.
“What I don’t get is why the WOPs in the city got a problem with us,” Ryan says with a taunting smile in Michael’s direction.