And then…bam!
Flour everywhere.
It took him three showers to get it all off him and Charlie was in damn stitches she was laughing so hard. She fell over and Tutu had to catch her. It was one of those laughs that made everyone else laugh. It was a good fucking day.
“Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know how to tell her she’s been in the middle of a budding drug empire. And I don’t know how to tell her that the men that have died from their crew weren’t in car accidents but were murdered. Or how about the man she thought was her husband is working his way through killing God and everybody before he finally gets to her? It isn’t exactly an easy conversation to have.”
“No, but you have to have it. It isn’t her fault, and it isn’t your sister’s. It’s Kenneth’s. Scapegoat became exactly what he wanted it to and what sucks is I bet it is as big as it is because he was skimming money from her dad’s company.”
“Right. Another thing she will feel guilty for. She doesn’t need to feel guilty about anything, One. I want to protect her from this. Things are going to get messy and—”
He cuts me off before I can finish my sentence. “—Brother, it’s already messy. Not telling her the truth won’t make it messier, it will just make it harder for her to trust you and after everything she’s been through, I bet one wrong move could cause her trust to be gone forever.”
I scrub my hands over my face and hang my head. “I know. You’re right. I just hate to fucking burden her with this.”
“Hate to break up the pillow talk, but I’m calling Church. Whistler, you’re going to want to get a drink. Or six.” Mercy walks into the kitchen.
It’s become the place where everyone meets which will change soon since the foundation for the clubhouse is built.
“Doesn’t sound promising,” One grumbles and picks up his plate that has a freshly built triple-decker sandwich on it along with a glass of milk. “Come on, let’s sit down. I don’t feel like getting yelled at.”
Me either.
Mercy has fallen into his role as Prez really well. He’s helped Bookie, the man behind balancing the books, come out from hiding. He likes being out of sight and out of mind. He’s so good at it, I forgot he existed to be honest. Now, he hangs out with us, quiet as ever, just figuring out the math of income and how much money is coming in and out for the club.
There’s drilling and hammering going on next door, which is where my Cupcake is. She loves working with her hands. She’s brilliant with them, actually. She’s more than a helping hand for her father. I think she could customize furniture with her own two hands, but she’s too nervous to try right now. She’s always worked for her dad and that’s how she wants it to stay.
She has so much potential. I want more for her.
I want her to have everything because she’s capable of anything.
I drag one of the stools out and prop my boots on a table. One bites into his sandwich and a glob of mayonnaise falls onto the table.
The man is the messiest eater alive.
“Oopsie,” he mumbles around a mouthful of food.
“Didn’t your momma ever teach you not to talk with your mouth full?”
“No. She said if I had something to say to always say it.” He harrumphs while taking another bite of his triple-decker.
Mercy is up front while everyone else is sitting turned toward him. He points the remote at a TV he installed for I.E.D. to watch cooking shows on and turns it on. “Okay, I know things have been less than ideal lately. I had hoped starting this Ruthless Hellhounds Chapter meant a little peace and quiet, but when you’re in this life, that’s too much to ask. Quiet doesn’t exist. We got this in the mail today. And it has our favorite logo on it from the Scapegoats. I haven’t watched it. I figured it would do us all good to see it for the first time together.” He sets the remote down without pressing play. “Let me make this perfectly clear,” he sneers, casting his menacing gaze on all of us at once. “I want this issue done and buried. I don’t want to wait for more bodies to appear and I sure as fuck don’t care about preserving someone’s feelings.” His attention falls to me. “I understand there are people involved that we care about, but it can’t cloud our judgment. This needs to stop. Now, I’ve called other clubs I have contacts with. I tried smaller clubs at first, thinking maybe Kenneth has stayed small. I called the La Grange, Texas Ruthless Kings chapter, but the daughter of the Prez says they haven’t had it down in their parts yet. And The Ruthless Kings Atlantic City Chapter hasn’t heard of the Scapegoats or its most popular pill ‘Scapegoat’, but Boomer did me a solid and he contacted a buddy of his in New York. Some Irish guy named O’Crowely.”
“I’ve heard of him,” I say, wondering simultaneously how the Prez in La Grange is doing. Last I heard, he was ill, and his kids, triplets I think, were taking care of him. “They call him The Irish Crow. He is the head of the Irish Mob up there and he is deep within the cartels. He deals drugs. A shit ton of them.”
Mercy nods. “That’s right. He isn’t exactly a man you want on your bad side. O’Crowely called me and said he’s heard of the Scapegoats. They have been trying to sneak their product in with his and he has a bounty out on their heads for it.”
“You’d think he wants the business,” One states as he swallows another bite of his sandwich. “More product. More money, right?”
“Wrong. O’Crowely likes to call the shots and be in control, but he doesn’t do anything as…what did he say…” Mercy ponders before snapping his fingers. “Weak and juvenile. His runners do not sell shit college kids can get their hands on. So he wants this to be stopped too. He was happy to hear his issue was over here on the West Coast so we could deal with it.”
I snort and lick the pad of my thumb to get a scuff off my boot. “Spoken like a man who doesn’t want to get his hands dirty.”
“He sent some men to help us, but he didn’t come. He is visiting Boomer soon to see his godchildren and family isn’t something he fucks around with. He rules the East. O’Crowely is allowed not to lift a finger and usually when he does, someone dies.”
“Wicked,” Halfpint chimes in. “He’s powerful and if you stay on his good side, he is a beneficial ally. My Uncles work for him, and they make great money and have enough for their family's family for the next three hundred years.”
Everyone turns around to stare at him. “That mean you’re rich, Halfpint?”
“No,” he snorts. “I’m disowned cause I choose to be with you fucks instead.”
It gathers a few chuckles, but Mercy raises his hands in the air signaling us to calm down. “Okay, okay. Enough about him. We need to play this and figure out a game plan. I don’t know about you guys but sitting around and waiting doesn’t work for me.”
Everyone stomps their feet against the floor, and it sounds like a stampede or a roll of thunder, a way to tell Mercy we all agree.
“Great. Now, let’s see what our friend has to say.” He aims the remote at the fifty-four−inch flat screen TV hanging above a counter.