“You really went all out,” Pipe proclaims as he butters a piece of bread. “I hear The Knot is hiring if you’re looking to hang up your cut and plan weddings and shit.”
I chuckle, reaching for my beer, finishing it and signaling the waiter for another.
“Fuck you,” Wolf hisses. “You should thank me, if it was up to the rest of these clowns we’d be having cherry pie and fake beer while Blackie and Lacey play footsies under the goddamn table.” He points his finger toward Riggs, “And this guy would chase his kitty all over the fucking place.”
Wolf drapes an arm around Stryker and reaches for the whiskey again. “Don’t you worry, man, Uncle Wolf knows how to throw a party. Part of the reason I reserved the room for four hours was because the girls are due to arrive soon.”
“What girls?” Blackie asks.
“My man, Stryker has seen nothing but dick for months. Got him some top notch girls. The pussy on tonight’s menu is as prime as the cuts of beef are. You are all pussy whipped fools,” Wolf mutters, throwing his other arm around Linc. “Not us. Shit, we ain’t going down like that, right boys?”
“Fuck no,” Linc agrees.
“Yeah,” Stryker mutters, refilling his glass.
I laughed to myself, recalling a time when I said those exact words. It takes just one woman to make you eat those fucking words. I can’t wait to watch the other half of this table chow down on them.
Wolf wasn’t bullshitting, the cuts of beef were prime and by the time our bellies were full his girls showed up. That was my cue to leave. I grabbed the waiter and gave him my credit card before saying my goodbyes. Blackie and Riggs followed me out of the steakhouse but once we straddled our bikes, we went our separate ways.
With the wind at my back I rode my Harley home to my woman. I miss having Reina on the back of my bike, her arms wrapped tightly around me, her thighs molded to mine as her tits press against my back but there was no way I would let her ride while she was pregnant. I’m not taking any fucking chances. Way too much precious cargo.
I pull into the driveway, kill my engine and turn off the lights. I hang my helmet on my handlebars before striding toward my house. I stare at the front door, waiting for Reina to pull it open and greet me with a smile like she usually does when she hears my pipes wake the neighborhood. I reach the top step but the door doesn’t open causing me to pick up my pace and reach for my keys.
“Reina,” I holler, kicking open the door.
I followed the sound of the television and step into the living room just as she stands from the couch and turns to face me.
“Jack,” she murmurs, swallowing as her eyes work me over. Her teeth dig into her bottom lip as she cautiously steps to me.
“What’s going on, Reina?” I question, sensing she’s off. The woman is as jittery as a fucking virgin on her wedding night. Her fucking hormones have got her head spinning all the time and I’m the one getting whiplash. Then there’s the wedding, she’s breaking my balls left and right to keep things simple but drags my ass to a cake tasting thing.
I follow the path her eyes take as I close the distance between us and focus on the television.
“It’s on every channel,” she says, taking my hand and lacing our fingers together. I stare at Vic’s mug shot on the screen and reach for the remote, raising the volume as my eyes follow the ticker on the bottom.
If you’re just joining us, a riot has broken out in Bennettsville Federal Prison. The prison is on lockdown and the riot squad is trying to get control of the situation. We have confirmation that several inmates have been injured and at least two fatalities. Earlier this morning, New York City’s convicted mob boss, Victor Pastore, transferred to Bennettsville from Otisville. We have since learned the infamous mobster has been battling lung cancer. There has been no word on whether Pastore was involved in the riot.
“Jack?”
I slump down, dropping onto the coffee table as I stare at the chaos on the television, I feel Reina behind me. She places her hands on my shoulders and begins to knead them with her fingers, her eyes glued to the screen like mine.
“You don’t think…” her words fade as the screen changes and another mug shot fills the frame.
Motherfucker.
We just got word in that another inmate in Bennettsville is a rival of Pastore’s, the notorious gang leader, Thomas Gregorio, who is known by most as the G-Man.
Staring into the eyes of the G-Man, I realize how long it’s been since I’ve seen a photograph of the man who took so much from all of us, mainly our dignity. Like the rest of us he has aged, but instead of focusing on the lines that mark his skin I stare at the three tear drops strategically placed beneath his eyes.
I clench my fists as I lean forward, lost in my head as I stare into the eyes of the enemy.
“Who is that?” She asks. I don’t answer until she steps in front of the television and presses her finger under my chin, forcing me to meet her worried gaze. “Jack, who is that man on the television?”