When I walk outside, silence descends and it is a sure giveaway that I am the topic of conversation. But nobody attempts to stop me or say anything. Roach had given them strict orders to let me handle shit. He had put his faith in me this long; there was no sense in doubting me now. When I mount my bike, I look over to find Shady sitting on his, putting his helmet on. I just glare at him. My look speaks more volume than my words.
“Brothers for life. Ride or die. I’m ya boy blue. All that shit,” he says, slapping his chest and throwing up what I’m guessing are gang signs. I don’t need his help, or his love and loyalty. I need his respect. And right now, he needs to respectfully stay the fuck outta my way.
“Don’t.” My one-word warning does nothing. I’m gonna have to fight this asshole.
“Look, man, I push papers. Let me do something,” he says, his voice exasperated. He knew this fight was coming. Paper pusher my ass. Shady has fought plenty of battles. He is sick with a gun. But, if he thinks he is gonna make me feel like shit and I’m gonna cave, he’s wrong. I’m much better at fucking with people’s heads than he is.
“Just what I need. Some-fucking-body else using me to get their thrills.” He knows what I mean and the remorse is on his face. Good. I’ll guilt his ass into staying and save my strength for Death Mob.
I close my shield and tear out, leaving a cloud of dust behind me. When it clears, Shady’s bike comes into view in my mirror. I should have fucking known.
16
IT’S SATURDAY NIGHT at Juke’s Joint and the bar is crowded with Death Mob. More members are pouring in from other states and like Roach said, they’re showing their teeth. And of course, ours are bigger. Only a few cars are out front, which tells me that the only citizens are the people working. They know enough by now to keep their mouth shut. If they don’t, I’ll remind them.
Shady pulls in next to me and I’m sure he is gonna say something stupid to really piss me off. I’m surprised when he doesn’t. I look over at him and his face says he’s ready. Kill-mode ready.
Inside, it’s the typical late-night pool hall. A heavy cloud of smoke hangs in the air, the lighting is dim, and the place smells like beer and piss. I do a quick count and I see seventeen patches. That’s two more than the bikes outside. So either someone is riding bitch or one of the three cars in the parking lot belong to Death Mob.
Behind the bar, a young girl and an older man are working. The owner and a barmaid. That accounts for the other two vehicles. Shady goes to the bar and orders a beer, then says something to the owner, who looks over at me, then nods and steps in the back, taking the barmaid with him.
Only a few noticed when we walked in, but we now have everyone’s attention. Metallica’s “Sad But True” is the only sound, and I can’t keep thoughts of her out of my head. I walk to the jukebox and unplug it from the wall, thinking that it would probably make me feel better if I just smashed the fucking thing in.
The crowd has gathered closer to me, hovering around a pool table, almost closing me in a corner. Good. I like fighting my way out. I put eyes on Shady, who is still at the bar, drinking his beer as if it’s just another Saturday night. He is watching, but doesn’t look the least bit worried. The SA steps forward. I should have known his big ass would be the first one to say something. I’m glad. I like him least anyway.
“I like that song.” Really, motherfucker? That’s the best intimidating line you got? Idiot.
“We think it’s about time y’all get outta Texas,” I tell him, hoping like hell that he takes another step so I can break his fucking legs.
“We?” I hate when they try to play calm. What I want to say is, Control your fucking breathing, dick, then you might actually convince me that you ain’t scared. But I don’t. I let him know so that there is no misunderstanding.
“Sinner’s Creed Nationals. They’ve sent me to ask you nicely to leave. You have your territory and we have ours. We don’t fuck with the northeast and y’all don’t fuck with the southwest. That’s the rules. If you want to expand your business in Arkansas or Louisiana, we can negotiate that territory. But Texas is covered.” That’s how you play calm, and my words are as smooth as satin. I promised to be nice, but only once.
“Sent you to ask us nicely, huh?” He nods his head, looking around the room at his brothers, who all stand stock-still. They’re glaring at me with their arms crossed over their chests. It looks like a scene in an action movie. If I were a laugher, this would be one of my shining moments. When I look over at Shady, he is smiling, fighting hard not to laugh. He sees it too. “So we can stay in the northeast, and we can negotiate for Arkansas and Louisiana, just not Texas.” That’s what I said, dipshit.
“That’s right.” There’s your confirmation, motherfucker. Now, start swingin’ or get the hell out.