Chapter 3
IT’S NOT A suggestion. Rajan knows this because he knows Nick Dewan.
He gets in, and Nick closes the doors. The truck lurches into motion; a quick glance confirms the driver is the same guy he saw earlier. He doesn’t even look Rajan’s way.
Rajan scans his surroundings. He’s never been in an ice-cream truck before, but he’s pretty sure the serving window wouldn’t normally be covered by aluminum foil. Also, the freezer next to him wouldn’t contain paper-covered bricks instead of ice cream.
“Popsicle?” Nick’s voice cuts through his thoughts.
He’s rummaging through the freezer on his side of the truck, which, Rajan now notes, actually does contain frozen treats.
Nick offers him one. Rajan’s gaze is drawn to his LS tattoo instead, very visible over the collar of his designer tee.
Rajan’s is mostly hidden by his hoodie, and he likes it that way.
But Nick is completely at ease with who he is.
A piece of shit with a goatee, freshly faded hair, artfully ripped jeans, and blindingly white Air Jordans.
The guy’s never been discreet about his wealth.
When Rajan’s silent, Nick tears the Popsicle wrapper. “So? How was Weenie Hut Junior jail?”
“Juvie was fantastic, thanks for asking.” Rajan leans casually against the other freezer, mirroring Nick.
“Yeah?” Nick takes a bite of Popsicle. With his teeth. Rajan wonders if it’s supposed to be some kind of power move. “What’d you do in there all day?”
“Played basketball and finger-painted. It was like kindergarten.” Enough small talk. “Why’re you here?”
Nick doesn’t miss a beat. “Getting you back to work. Or have you forgotten how much money you owe?”
Rajan rolls his eyes to mask his pounding heart.
“I know that, dipshit. But why you?” Nick’s from Surrey, where Rajan met him last summer.
He never imagined he’d see him here. That was partially why he requested probation in Kelowna, rather than down south.
The Lions are based in Vancouver; Kelowna’s just an extension of their operations.
He figured the farther away he went, the easier it would be for them to forget him.
Apparently not.
“Orders from Manny.” Nick tosses out the name of one of the LS godfathers as carelessly as he does the wrapper.
“Why does he care about me?” Rajan’s met him exactly once, during high school, at some party at his mansion.
If you could even call it a meeting; Manny barely spared him a glance, just gave him and a few others free lines of coke like it was Halloween.
He did not, of course, mention what it would cost them down the road.
“It’s not about you, specifically.” Nick finishes his Popsicle and drops the stick on the freezer. “It’s about numbers. The godfathers asked me to help clean up some messes. We’ve been in deep shit around these parts. Cops picking us off like flies, haven’t you heard?”
So he’s recruiting. Rajan remembers the mugshots on TV and shakes his head. He made a promise to himself when he left juvie. “I don’t care. I’m not going back.”
He starts toward the door.
“What, you’re gonna jump out? Brilliant plan.” Nick, looking amused, glances at the driver. “How fast are we going?”
“How fast do you wanna go?” the driver responds.
“Floor it,” Nick says. The truck lurches beneath their feet, gaining speed. Rajan nearly loses his balance. “Jump out now. Seriously. I wanna see.”
Jesus, that guy is driving fast. Rajan glares. “I’m breaching probation just being here. Fuck off.”
“No,” Nick says simply. No other explanation needed. The Lions do not simply fuck off. They linger like blood under fingernails. And they definitely don’t give a shit if you’re on probation. “We missed you, you know. I missed you.”
He almost sounds earnest. Because Nick is good at this. Making you think he likes you—as a person. That you’re unique. Rajan’s fallen for it before, but never again. “Right.”
“I’m serious. Nothing makes people cough up money faster than your left hook. My business suffered without you, man.”
“Maybe it’s because your supply is laced with fentanyl.”
“Still sore about that?” Nick laughs. “We’ve got a new supplier. It’s a great time to come back. At least this time, you’d get to be home.” He pauses. “How’re your brothers, anyway?”
That gets Rajan’s attention. He pushes off the freezer. “Are you threatening them?”
“No.” Nick shrugs. “I’m just saying, once your debts are paid, you can make big money with me. Enough to buy them nice things.”
“And if I decide no? Then what?”
“Then imagine this.” Nick smiles brazenly. “Your brothers finding you bleeding out on their doorstep. Like their mom dying all over again, except this time they actually see the body—”
Rajan punches him across the face. Nick staggers back. Rajan takes the opportunity to shove him against the freezer and pulls back for another hit.
But then cold metal presses against his temple.
“Hit me again.” Nick’s not smiling anymore. “See what happens.”
Rajan seriously debates hitting him anyway.
But eventually, he steps back. Nick lowers his gun.
Slightly. Meanwhile, the driver hasn’t slowed during this entire altercation, just looked in the rearview mirror with detached interest, like this is a TV show he’s watching alongside dinner. “Don’t talk about her.”
“Why not?” Nick mocks him. “It’s not like her dying was a surprise.”
Nick’s clearly trying to piss him off. When Rajan doesn’t reply, Nick produces a paper with an address on it. “This guy owes three grand. Squeeze it out of him. Smash his teeth in if you have to.”
“Or I could smash your teeth in,” Rajan suggests, and Nick chuckles as the truck slows to a stop.
Out the windshield, Rajan can tell they’re in his neighbourhood by the squatting, fifty-year-old houses made of peeling paint and bound by rust. Of course Nick knows where he lives. The Lions know everything.
“I really did miss you, man.” Nick slaps the paper in his palm. “I’m sure your family will, too. You’ve got one week.”