Chapter Eighteen
Side Mission
Big Vick
I loved poker runs or any nice, relaxing ride really. This wasn’t that. City traffic was no joke, and neither was the weight we hauled back down state with us.
Traffic and trafficking new product weren’t the only things making the trip miserable, our road captain, C.C.
, and Mark had been exchanging death glares ever since we left Chicago.
We took seventy to Effingham on the way up, but when it was time to come home, Mark took the lead and picked a new route.
I had a feeling that was what had C.C. in a snit.
I filled my tank with everyone else and noticed him heading into the gas station.
I decided to follow while everyone else stretched.
He entered the men’s room, without a backwards glance.
His long, blond hair swayed down his back while he shot through the length of the room, shoving stall doors open until he was assured that the room was ours.
“What the fuck?” he hissed as he whirled around, “This cowboy shit ain’t cute, Vick. This last-minute route change… He’s gonna have us all sitting down somewhere before this shit is over.”
I pressed the air down between us and glanced back at the door, slowly shaking my head as I tried to choose my words as carefully as I could.
“We voted–”
“We voted for shit! I didn’t vote for this. You can’t tell me you did, either…”
I swallowed and cleared my throat. “He’s our president. We need to just…” I sighed, his expression and those icy-blue eyes burning through the bullshit as fast as I could spew it at him.
C.C. scoffed and shot out of the restroom, letting the door slap off the wall loudly enough to make the cashier eye us as I followed him back out to the guys and bikes.
Everyone was on edge. No one wanted to run coke, and yet, no one, apparently, had the backbone to tell Mark that it wasn’t going to happen.
His son was all in.
Of course, he was. Makaveli loved his nose candy. Monty had seconded the venture, and despite C.C.’s bitching, he had rode with his brother, as he always did on votes. So, in the end, it didn’t matter what I wanted to do.
The numbers were already set; we were coke dealers.
I shook my head, fired the bike up, and glanced at Mark.
“C.C. is taking the guys home. You’re with me.”
I shot a panicked look toward C.C. and George. Ol’ George shrugged and started his bike.
Great.
This was bullshit, exactly as C.C. called it, but I was no better than the rest. I didn’t want to deal with the temper tantrum that would come if I denied him. I could already tell it was more the mob sister, than the boss he was really interested in.
It was shitty he was dragging us all into this just to smile at the broad, but what could I say without proof?
He’d deny it if I confronted him and we’d be at odds.
I’d been doing this outlaw shit since I was a teenager and wearing his patch every step of the way.
I wasn’t new to dancing with Mark’s moody ass.
He was all smiles.
And that was a problem.
I expected him to froth at the mouth about sending them off. Instead, there was a sick, smugness in his weathered smile that left me uneasy and more than a little worried. The concern doubled when he switched lanes as we navigated the interstate around Springfield.
“Goddamn it,” I huffed under my breath, when he signaled and turned toward the Pink Cabaret.
Mark wasn’t a titty-bar-type of man. He was the fucking club president. An original disciple.
What need did he have in paying for a peek?
I let off the throttle and rolled up next to him when he stopped on the edge of the lot.
“You know they charge double for the drinks in these hellholes, right?” I flashed him a grin that I hoped would encourage him along, but he was already climbing off.
“Shit,” I whispered, as I hopped off and followed him toward the door.
He sauntered right up to the gal at the front counter, flashing her that toothy, brilliant grin of his as he plucked his glasses up to rest on top of his head.
“How’s it goin’, Ginger-Doll?” Without waiting for a response, he took up the entire surface of her narrow countertop with his arrogant lean and flipped the air like he was trying to find the right words, “Listen, why don’t you run along and get that jerk that paid for my drinks the other night.”
“My name is Melanie!” she scoffed, her face pinching up with distaste. “If you want someone fetched, I suggest you wolf-whistle, flash your little single bill, and hope for the best.”
Mark grunted, a crisp, snuff of a sound that convinced me she’d tickled some little dark part of his soul.
He whipped out a wad of cash that was too fat for him to really get a good hold on, and I wildly glanced around the vicinity.
The smile never left his stubbled face as he peeled three bills off, glanced pointedly at her panties.
He slowly hooked the front with one finger and slid that money as low as he could.
I didn’t have to look to know he was rubbing it for all he could get by with.
“We can do this nice, or we can do it ugly, Ginger. I don’t rightly give a fuck. It’s been a long fuckin’ night, Doll. I’m sure you know what those are like.” He winked and tipped his chin toward the hallway behind her. “Tell your boss he has an appointment. Do it now.”
Every fiber in her was bristling, I could see it from where I stood.
“Mark,” I quietly bid, just as the office door opened.
The man who had instilled order the night before stepped out in an equally impressive jacket.
“Gentlemen,” he greeted, like we were the oldest of friends. “Gentlemen, come on back. What can I do for you?”
He glanced back several times while leading the way down the short, carpeted hallway.
The office had a leather sofa against one wall.
The other side of the room had a desk large enough to make a medieval banker weep.
A large picture of a red-haired woman sprawled out on her belly hung on the wall behind his seat.
“Please sit down.” He gestured to the sofa.
Mark gave a long, low snorted, “Yeah, no thanks. I ain’t never required a test for venereal disease after sitting on furniture and I’d as soon not make today that day, if it’s all the same to you.”
“Oh– Of, course,” the man nervously stammered, before bleating with laughter that cut short when no one shared his amusement. “Wh–what can I do for you?”
“That little twat that danced for my guy the other night…” Mark began, before leveling a hand at his chest in demonstration.
“Uh—uhh…” The man blinked.
“He means the one that calls herself Jade. Crystal Nance.”
“Yes.” The man spat the word and nodded, his lips pinching together after stammering, “The uh—Well, the Nance girl.”
The man’s posture stiffened and he suddenly looked twice as nervous.
“I–I don’t speak for them. It’s not like that here. If you want her to work for you, you’ll have to ask her yourself. I don’t fix that kind of thing up. I’m no pimp.”
“I don’t want to fix her. I want her gone.” Mark clipped.
The shuddery breath that escaped the strip club owner, and the way he clutched the side of his desk made clear the misunderstanding. I kept my gaze locked on the wall behind him, willing the muscles of my face to be still and not give away my thoughts.
I didn’t like this shit one bit. Why the hell was Mark over here ruining this girl’s livelihood?
“Relax. I’m not asking you to fuckin’ kill her.
I just want you to tell her to fuck off.
Get rid of her. She’s fired. If she ever looks for that biker again it’ll be the last time she dances.
Make it clear. You need to make her understand that this kind of message coming from you is a whole lot more friendly than the type of chat she and I would be having. You follow?”
“Y-yes. She’s fired. She won’t be coming back.”
“No, she won’t.” Mark gave a single shift of his head, without breaking eye contact. “Why the fuck are you still holding the desk, jackass?”
The guy in the suit flinched to life.
“Get her on the phone. Get her in here. Get it done. Immediately!” Mark spat his rapid-fire orders.
“Right,” the guy behind the desk squeaked, before grabbing his cell phone. It shot out of his hand, and he wildly grappled with it a moment before finally securing it. His finger shook as he punched out the numbers and eventually placed the phone to his ear.
“I want to be here when she’s fired. Make it happen,” Mark pep talked.
“Cry–Crystal? Crystal, it’s Jay. I need you to get to my office imme– Hello?” The beep of an answering machine could be heard from across the room.
Apparently, Crystal didn’t answer on her days off.
Smart girl, I inwardly saluted her. I didn’t know her well, as I’d told Anthony the other night, but I could tell she had it tough. I didn’t plan on getting her fired, this wasn’t something we discussed or voted on. The club didn’t know about any of this shit.
What the fuck was Mark doing?