Ash: Devil's Crucifix MC (34 page)

Neil processed that, then said, "So, he comes at me sideways, and either I'm in debt to the club for twenty-grand, or he is benevolent and lets it slide -- so I'm in debt to him for the personal favor."

"See?" West said, "You didn't need my help at all."

"Thanks West. I think I'm out of this game. I mean, when you have to watch your back from your own team, it kind of sucks."

"You mean you're going to quit the dope running? Hell, I don't blame you," West told him.

"No, I think I'm going to strike my colors. Get out completely," Neil told him.

"Woe there Hoss. That's a little drastic isn't it? Come on man. So the guy tried to fuck with you and you didn't let him do it. You drop the dope running, which serves him right, but drop the club? Seriously?"

"It's changed West. Changed a lot since Jacques. We don’t ride anymore. People don’t wave at us anymore. Hell, I had a woman reach across and lock her damn passenger door as I passed her on the freeway. "

"Well, yes that's true. But you were around when Jacques took over from Hank, right? What was that, eight years ago?"

"Yeah, I remember," Neil agreed.

"Well, then you remember him nearly starting a fucking civil war, right? We had fucking knife fights in the clubhouse almost daily."

"Yeah, yeah I remember," Neil said, more subdued. "Bad times."

"Right, but Jacques got his shit together and became our best. Anton is fucking up. He's trying things and they aren't working. And he's getting flak from guys like you, solid members, and that's got'ta feel like a cold slap in the face too," West pointed out.

Neil recalled his stare down with Anton over the amount he was going to get paid for the bad dope delivery, and then counting the money in the office. He still felt the stare down was justified, but the counting? Maybe that was over the line he admitted,  "Sure, alright, I get that too. Maybe I was a little hard on him, and took it too personally."

West grunted, then said, "Do yourself a favor, stick for six months. At least. Alright? Seriously. You have a lot invested in this club and you have a shit-load of guys that got your back if you decide to ride into hell. Where you going to find that?"

"True," Neil said. "Alright. I'll hang and just drop the dope running. Give it a rest for a while anyway. Let Anton get the kinks worked out."

"Yeah, there you go."

"Thanks West."

"That's what brothers are for, but you owe me a beer."

"You got it, next time I'm in there."

"See ya."

Neil broke the connection and leaned back to look at the sky. Yeah. Maybe he was overreacting. And well, shit. Jacques gets killed, and then his dad passes less than a month later. He's not exactly running on all his cylinders. Add on a new relationship with two hot blonds — alright, overreacting is probably a normal in this state.

He smiled to himself and shook his head. Reaching to start up his trike, his hand paused when he heard at least five large engine bikes coming down the cross street toward the warehouse. Dropping his hand he relaxed as they pulled up to the warehouse bay doors. The riders dismounted, killing their engines and went inside. A few minutes later, he heard a distant pop, pop, pop of muffled gunfire. Then the riders came back out, mounted up and left the way they came.

As they made the turn it was easy to see the Devil Knights patches on their vests. And he was sure he recognized Varnish and Ace in that group.

Chapter 11

Saturday afternoon, Shayla laid on the couch with her shirt and bra off, watching the news, while Sydney laid against her, sucking her breasts and arousing her like never before. Shayla was hoping Neil would come through the door soon, because girl-girl always turned him on, and he would, at least fuck them on the couch again. As it was, her hands were exploring Sydney intimately, and urging her on.

She was about to switch over to the financial channel when the story came up about Juan and Tito Gomez being found murdered in their home.

She sat up, "Sydney! Look!"

Sydney sat up with her and they watched the story. The Gomez brothers were apparently hung by their feet over the inside balcony and then chopped with some kind of heavy blade. Because of this, the police have suggested Cuban or Jamaican posse involvement.

"Do you think it was Anton?" Sydney asked.

"I don't know, but it sure looks suspicious," she told her.

The news segment wasn't long and after it was done, she turned off the TV and shrugged back into her shirt, leaving the bra off, since Sydney was proving to be a tit-hound. She got up and walked into the kitchen not sure why or for what. Her brain was processing too fast.

"He said they were traitors, didn't he?" Sydney asked from the couch, still looking at the blank TV.

"Yeah, he did. Said he was going to take care of them too," she mused.

"Why were they traitors?"

"I don't know honey," she admitted.

"Yeah, but, we need to know, don't we?" Sydney said.

"You're probably right. Neil could tell us, but we got people we can call too -- see what was going on."

After an hour of phone calls the picture was fairly clear. The Gomez brothers turned down the bad coke that Anton was trying to push, and then changed over to deal coke for the Steel Highwaymen. Apparently Anton had been sending seventy and even sixty-five percent to them for several weeks. The fifty-percent was just the last straw.

"What will happen now?" Sydney asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if they were dealing for the Highwaymen, then won't the Highwaymen strike back? Isn't that the way it works?"

"Maybe. I don't know. Neil would know though. What concerns me is what Anton defines as a traitor."

"You think he would try something like that if we just quit?"

"I don't think so, but if he thought we were dealing for someone else, he might," she told Sydney.

"So, we need to make it clear that we’re not dealing for the Highwaymen or anyone else," Sydney told her.

"Yeah. That's a good idea."

Neil didn't get back to the apartment until after ten, and when he came through the door, he looked grim.

They gave him space, and got him a beer. Took off his jacket and boots and let him sit down and decompress for a while.

After his second beer was nearly done, Sydney went to get him a third, and Shayla asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I quit the dope running. Not going to do that anymore. So, I don't know who is going to be coming over for you, but I want to be here when he shows up." Neil told them.

Shayla looked at Sydney, and then said, "I don't see a problem with that. In fact I'm glad you feel that way. New delivery men always make me nervous."

"Yeah, I heard that Frank gave you a hard time," Neil said, referring to the guy before him.

"No, Frank wanted to give us his hard time and made it clear that he thought he should get a blow job for delivering the coke to us."

"Well, with me here, that won't happen. At least, I don't think anyone in the club is that stupid," Neil mused.

She took of her shirt and snuggled up to him, "So, what made you quit? Just tired? Or did something happen?"

Neil studied her and said, "Something happened. I don't want to talk about it right now though. I'm still working it around in my head."

"Alright, that's fine. If you want to talk some other time, we'll listen. Probably won't have answers, but we'll listen," she offered.

She rubbed up against his side with her breasts, "Um, there is something we want to talk with you about though. Are you in the mood, or too worked up?"

"No, I'm good. What's going on?"

They told him about the Gomez brothers, and then asked about retaliation.

"Well, they weren't with them long, but, it does look bad if they do nothing. I expect we'll get something from them soon. Not sure what, but something will pop."

"I'm glad we never sold coke out of here," Sydney said. "No one except the club knows where we live."

"That's good to know," Neil told her. "Do you have a safe house ?"

"Safe house?" Shayla asked.

"Yeah, a place you keep ready in case you have to run. A place no one knows where to look for you. Usually it's even in another part of the city, but obviously not hard to get to."

"No, but now that you said that, I think that might be a good idea."

"I have two I keep. One is a little studio near downtown and another is a two bedroom up in the north area. I keep cloths, guns, cash and supplies there." Neil tells them.

"Could we use yours?" Sydney asked.

"You mean, stock it with stuff of your own? Sure. I'll give you the address, and get you a key made," Neil told them.

"We should probably get a new safe for that place. Not like this one, but something large and solid," Sydney said.

"How big is the bed," Shayla asked, with a grin.

"Just a full size. I didn't think about company. Besides, it was meant to be a safe house, not a love shack."

"Well, what are the boundaries? I mean, can we put things in there that we feel we need? Like a safe and new curtains, and a few plants, or is it man's house?" Shayla asked. "And don't tell me there's no difference. Most men live like bears, with furniture."

"You're not supposed to visit a safe house often, because you could be followed, and then someone knows where it is, which defeats the whole purpose. So, maybe plants would be a bad choice, along with any food that is going to spoil. Other than that, set it up as you wish," he told them.

"So, if we run, that's where we run to," Shayla affirmed.

"Yes," Neil told her.

"Maybe we should get our own though, or rather a place near the college, that we will all live in as soon as we are quits. We'll just walk away, totally. Get our last names changed and rent it out with our Jackson names. There are what, two billion Jacksons in the city? So, we get it set up, furnished, get most of our things over there, so that we can just walk out of here with a few boxes, lock the door and be gone."

"Like some place in Coconut Grove?" Sydney asked.

"I don't think so," Shayla said with a laugh. "Remember we aren't going to have an income. But maybe Corral Terrace. That's kind of nice isn't it?"

"We can look," Sydney agreed.

*   *   *

Wednesday, Brian, the new delivery man for Neil's route came back from Shayla's and Sydney's apartment with $72,000 in his case.

"Ah, the cunt's money. Good," Anton said as he came through the office door.

"Might want to watch that around Neil, or any of Neil's friends, which is most of the club," Brian told him.

"Watch what?"

"The cunt thing."

"Why? What's that have to do with Neil?" Anton asked.

"When I got over there, he was there."

"What? Like hanging out? Getting a blow job? What?"

"I think he's living with them?" Brian said, setting the case down.

"Living with them? Are you serious? Both of them?"

"I got the feeling that was the case, yes," Brian said, waiting for his payment.

"Are you trying to tell me that Neil, that big dumb muscle bound oaf is doing both of those girls?"

"Did I mention I'm a friend of his too? Maybe I missed that part," Brian said, leveling his eyes with this president. "But yes. I think they are both involved with him. And seeing that they are both wearing the same engagement rings, I think it’s serious."

"Is that so," Anton mused. "So, I have a guy, who quits his route and just walks away from several thousand a week, living with my two best sales girls, who I now have to bribe to do four kilos a week, when they use to do eight. I don't think I like the way this smells."

"Could I get my envelope? I got some things to take care of," Brian asked.

"I mean," Anton said, ignoring Brian, "loosing Neil is one thing. I said
muscle bound
and fuck if he ain't. And a hitter? Shit that guy could stop a Mack truck with his punch. I saw him hit a guy once, and I swear to you, the man went fucking horizontal and flew back four feet. And this was no small guy either. I was fucking amazed.  So, losing Neil would be a bad thing, definitely, but if he’s determined to walk away, then he's going to walk away. I mean, you going to try to stop him? Shit."

Anton leaned forward, his elbows on the desk, his hands clasped,  "But I'll be damned if I'll let him walk away with the best sales team we have. That shit is
not
happening."