“Your city,” I repeat.
“My city,” he confirms. “It could be ours, Parrish. We could take this fucking town and turn it into something no one expects, have people bowing and praying at our feet but you’ve got to give me the same respect you gave Victor.”
Victor earned my respect.
This guy strode into my chapel and demanded it.
“Not looking to step on your toes man, looking for a partnership. I’m starting out small, it’s going to take a lot to get my name out there, for people to know this face but I’m determined. I want your partnership but I won’t be at your mercy,” he vows, reaching into his pocket to produce a business card. He places it on top of the table and moves it in front of me with his index finger. His green eyes examine me as he shoves his hands back into his pockets and shrugs his shoulders.
“Your call, Parrish. You can either sit back and watch me rise to the top or the Satan’s Knights can ride beside me. It’s what you people do right, ride to the death?” He turns on his heel, his gaze lingering on Bianci for a moment before he walks out the door like he didn’t just turn shit upside down.
“What the fuck was that, Bianci?” Blackie accuses.
“That,” he points his thumb toward the door, “Isn’t going away and apparently neither is the Pastore name.”
“That guy is Vic’s looney toon sister’s kid?” Riggs asks.
“No,” he says. “Look, I’ll give you whatever fucking information you want but the truth is, Vic has trained him for this since before Temptations went up in smoke. He knew Jimmy was a fucking rat bastard before any of us did. He never planned on letting that sick fuck take over anything.”
“You’re telling me that Vic knew before he turned himself in that he would have this guy running his shit?” I ask him, shaking my head as I take it all in.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. You got questions for Vic then you better drag your ass up to visit him because he’s being transferred to the G-Man within a couple of weeks.”
Blackie’s head shot up at that. We all wanted the G-Man to pay for every fucked up thing he did but nobody wanted his blood more than Blackie.
“It’s almost over,” Bianci adds. “Time’s running out.”
He runs his fingers through his hair and stares at the floor.
“I’ve gotta get out of here. I need to get to the gym,” he mutters, lifting his head and starting for the door.
“Bianci,” I call.
“No, Jack, I’m out of here,” he grounds out, taking off before I could get in another word.
“I’d hate to be the heavy bag he’s about to hit,” Wolf comments.
“He misses the life,” Riggs states.
“Ain’t that a fact,” Blackie mumbles.
Lifting the card Rocco left behind, the voices surrounding me fade and I stare at his name. Fucking Vic, man, always one step ahead of everyone. Just when you’re ready to count him out he stands tall and demands the show go on.
“Clear out boys,” Blackie orders, reaching for the gavel and slamming it against the table, knowing I had checked out and was wrapped up in my head.
Once the room empties, Blackie is the only one left. I sink back into my seat and flick the business card at him.
“What’re you thinking, Bulldog?”
“I’m thinking Victor Pastore is someone the world won’t ever forget. That motherfucker won’t let anyone forget him.” I pull out a cigarette, hastily bring it to my mouth and shake my head in wonder. “Just when you think you’re out they pull you back in,” I mutter, the cigarette dangling between my lips.
“You reciting mob movies now?” He pulls the cigarette from my mouth and takes a drag. “Shit, we’re fucked.” He takes another pull before handing me back the cigarette.
We went from passing blunts to passing Marlboros.
Times are changing.
Thank fuck for that.
“Okay, look, the way I see it, and you know I’ve given you all sorts of shit for getting in bed with Vic from the start,” he reminds me, “The way I see it,” he repeats, “Vic’s never steered us wrong. He’s been as loyal to our club as anyone who has ever worn our patch.” He shrugs his shoulders, placing the business card flat on the table. “He’s a man of his word and if he sent Rocco to us, then he did so with good intentions. I say we give the guy a shot.”
I stare back at him, noticing for the first time his hair wasn’t hanging in his face. The son of a bitch even trimmed the scruff on his face. Leaning forward, I inspect my brother, seeing the whites of his eyes. Gone were the beady, blood-shot eyes of an addict. The pain he hung onto for dear life was gone too. And I know if he sheds his jacket I won’t find a track mark either.
Blackie was reborn.
Maybe he was right.
Maybe everyone deserved a shot.
At least one.
“I’ll make arrangements to visit Vic and give Rocco a call,” I say finally.
“Good.”