5. Poker
CHAPTER 5
POKER
My brain is flooded with images of a woman in a sleek green dress.
“Fuck, this makes me feel old.”
I smirk at Journey, who’s sitting in the booth across from me at the only restaurant in this stupid town. We’ve been here for a little over an hour, surveilling the pricks across the street. Normally, we wouldn’t give two shits about low-level dealers slinging their shit two hours from Marble Falls, but we got word that they’re using our brand on whatever it is they’re peddling.
And if I’m being honest with myself, the distraction is exactly what I need. Ever since Meri got those damn flowers the other night, I can’t get her out of my head.
Not that you ever can.
“The second you let yourself get tied down,” Python begins. “You got old. Might as well be a fuckin’ grandpa.”
Journey elbows him in the gut right as he takes a sip of his Coke, and Python scrunches his face at the burn from it coming out his nose.
“They can’t be more than fifteen,” Screamer comments, staring at the scrawny idiots who think they’re being sneaky by sticking to a recessed entry of an abandoned storefront.
“The info Tracer got says they’re mid-twenties,” I remind my brothers. “Stop thinking of them as kids.”
A blacked-out Escalade pulls up to the curb in front of the boys—let’s face it, that’s what they are—and I nod in their direction to get the others to look.
“The boss?” Python asks.
“Has to be,” Journey concurs.
“Well, VP, what’ll it be?” I query. “Can’t exactly confront them in broad daylight.”
“You and Screamer tail the SUV,” our VP replies, his tone hard. “Python and I will stay here and keep an eye on the other two.”
“You got it.”
I toss a twenty on the table to contribute to the bill before Python and I make our way outside to our bikes. It’s not like we have stealth on our side, so we don’t bother to hide the fact that we’re following the Escalade as we trail it out of town.
Fifteen miles after clearing the town limits, the vehicle turns off the main road and eases off to the side. I go around to the front while Python stays at the back, and both of us climb off our Harleys, guns drawn.
The driver’s side window in the back slides down. “What’s the meaning of this?” the man demands, his voice heavy with a Spanish accent.
“Who are you?” Python demands.
“The better question is,” he drawls. “What the fuck you’re doing on my turf?”
“Wouldn’t need to be on your turf if you sold your own shit,” I bark.
The door opens, and the man steps out. My eyes slide from his snakeskin boots to his expensive suit to his slicked back hair. He’s young, maybe thirty, and he exudes power.
“Gentlemen, lower your weapons,” he commands. His tone brooks no argument, and I find myself listening. Since I outrank him, Python follows my lead. “Now, let’s talk like grown men, and I’m sure we can sort this out.”
I may have lowered my gun, but my grip is still solid, and I’m still poised to take him out if necessary. “I’m Poker, and that’s Python,” I say, nodding at my brother. “We got intel that your dealers have been selling shit with the Soulless Kings MC brand on it.”
The man dips his head. “Ah, yes, I have heard of the Soulless Kings. Ruthless motherfuckers, I’m told,” he says with a grin that tells me he means it as a compliment. “I’m Esteban. I can assure you, I have no interest in utilizing any brand other than my own. If what you say is true, I will handle it.”
Python laughs. “And we should trust you because?”
Esteban slowly swivels his head to stare at him. “Because I am a man of my word.”
“And I’m fucking Santa Claus,” I counter, firing my weapon at his feet, gravel spraying at the impact. “Ho, ho, ho, asshole.”
Seemingly undisturbed, Esteban tilts his head. “That was unnecessary. If there’s something you want, simply ask. I’m a fairly accommodating man.”
“You can do what you need to do to handle your own crew, but we’ll be there to make sure it gets done,” I state.
He takes a deep breath, then another, and I start to think he’s not going to agree, but then he nods. “That’s fair.” He moves to return to the back seat of the Escalade. “Meet me at the old Crane building at nine tonight.”
With that, he closes the door behind him, and his driver peels away, leaving Python and me in a cloud of dust.
“We’re just gonna let him go?” Python snaps. “And where the fuck is the old Crane building?”
“Tracer can figure that out for us,” I say, referring to our tech guy. “And yeah, we’re letting him go. Journey and Screamer are still on the dealers, so if Esteban doesn’t live up to his end, then we’ll handle things ourselves.”
Fortunately, later that night, Esteban does hold up his end of the deal. His dealers are taken out, and we’re given assurances that our brand will never be on his product again.
As soon as club business is handled, the four of us make our way back to Marble Falls, and the entire way, my brain is flooded with images of a woman in a sleek green dress.