5. Freddie’s Bill
Five
Freddie’s Bill
Bullet
The forecast says it’s going to rain again tonight, which means we need to put a tarp over the roof to minimize damage until we can get the materials we need to get the job done right. After lunch, War calls Risk to work with Crush, and War and I decide to go pay Freddie a visit.
Along with Risk come Roscoe and Blade. “Yo, War says you need a hand,” Risk says as he dismounts his bike. “Guard insists that Roscoe and Blade come with you.”
“We just plan on talking,” I reply.
“Guard’s got a gut feeling,” Risk answers.
Guard’s gut is not to be ignored. Our president is more than a leader; he’s a sage.
His ability to read situations and people and to foresee possible problems is a gift.
However, for Guard, it can also be a curse.
For the most part, our leader is even-keeled, but when shit hits the fan, he’s the most lethal man on the planet.
No one and nothing touches our Satan’s Pride club and their families.
I’ve seen the agony of some of the weighty decisions he’s had to make on behalf of the brothers, and I don’t envy his position.
I will follow wherever Guard takes us, because I know that these men are my family.
War grumbles under his breath. “Fucking figures.” War is one of the original members of the Pride and understands the power of Guard’s instincts.
Before Crush and I were even prospects, we heard about the loyalty of the brothers in the club.
Crush and I wanted a family we could trust, so we approached Saint.
Saint has a medical practice in town, and when Crush and I gathered the courage to go to him, he looked us up and down and said to come back the next day after hours.
We did, only to find Guard, War, Risk, Saint, and Orion waiting for us.
Personally, I thought we were going to get the shit kicked out of us.
Instead, they talked to us. I was open with answers, but Crush wasn’t.
I knew then that they were going to deny us the chance to prospect with the club.
Guard took Crush outside, and they walked and walked.
They were gone a long time, and I was getting worried about my best friend.
Twice, I tried to leave to go out looking for them, and the guys made me sit back down.
Eventually, Crush and Guard returned. The expression on Crush’s face was one I rarely see: a calm that comes so seldom that when it appears, you can’t help but notice it.
Guard took us on that night. The club brothers didn’t balk or complain; they accepted us that night and got started on our training.
Hence, when Guard says to take Roscoe and Blade with us, we do without question.
I introduce Amelia to Risk, Roscoe, and Blade, then pull her aside.
“I’ve got to go run an errand. I’ll be back, though.
Crush and Risk are going to tarp the roof to minimize the damage.
We’re expecting more rain tonight. Crush is going to put everything on order.
With any luck, we’ll get a shipment on Monday and get started,” I tell her.
“Payment—”
“We’ll work it out. Can’t have a pretty woman getting rained on in her own house,” I tease.
She gives me a shy grin. “You’re very nice,” she returns quietly.
“Not always. But I’ll always be good to you,” I say. Her eyes sparkle, but she remains quiet. “Do I scare you, Amelia?”
She shakes her head and lets out a breathy “No.”
“Do I excite you?” I already know the answer, but I want to hear it from her lips.
“Yes.”
I smile. “I’ll be back soon.” I bend my head and kiss the corner of her mouth. I feel her shiver with anticipation of what might happen between us. I force myself to step back, give her a quick wink, and join War and the others outside, waiting for me on their bikes.
We ride in tandem, with War and Roscoe leading.
Freddie’s isn’t too far into the next county, but along the way we see the neighborhoods change drastically from a typical suburban subdivision to a rundown, shabby commercial area.
As we get closer to the shop, we see a bunch of cars that have seen better days.
They must be using these heaps for spare parts.
It could be the reason the parts on Amelia’s car looked worn out.
Replacing a broken part with a used part is a hell of a lot cheaper than buying new.
Freddie just doesn’t pass along the savings to the customer.
It’s one thing to give the customer the option, but to pass off an old part for new is not okay.
The mechanics must be on a break because they’re all sitting outside at a picnic table, and what’s more, they’re passing a joint around.
I don’t give a shit what people do in their own time, but these guys are working with dangerous equipment.
They need to keep a clear head. The bay is wide open, and I see at least ten safety codes that could cost them their license.
War stops at the end of the drive. “Bullet and I will go in first. Roscoe, keep your eyes peeled for trouble. Blade, watch those guys.” He indicates the men at the table.
I get off my bike and walk with War into what resembles an office; however, the desk is cluttered with papers and dust, and the computer looks like it was one of the first on the market, with an inch of grime on it.
The young lady behind the desk looks terrified when she sees War and me.
She looks like she’s barely out of high school, but the books on the desk allude to her being older.
She’s cute and petite, with dark, shoulder-length, brown hair, hazel eyes, and large glasses that keep sliding down her nose even though she continues to prop them up.
She doesn’t belong here; anyone could see that.
“We’re looking to speak to the owner, Freddie,” I say.
“Freddie’s not the owner,” she says, adding, “Anymore.”
“Right. Whoever it is, I want a word.”
“Um, he’s not in at the moment. I can take a message and have him call you.” She has her spiel memorized. War glances out to the table with the men around it, then back at the girl.
“Which one?” War asks, jerking his head toward the men.
She leans forward, lowering her voice. “They’re not nice men. You’re not going to get what you want from Sal unless there’s something in it for him, and in the end, he’ll screw you over anyway. Do yourselves a favor and just go.”
Seems to me like she’s talking from experience, which explains the sadness in her eyes. “Is he hurting you?” I ask.
“No. And he won’t. I’m going to be gone before that happens,” she says with determination.
“Which one?” War asks again. He won’t be deterred.
“Dark blue T-shirt,” she huffs. I glance back at the man called Sal, who has a massive beer gut, a receding hairline, and what’s left of his hair in a ponytail at the base of his neck.
His eyes are fixed on us inside the office as he grumbles something to the guy next to him.
That guy looks like Sal, only younger. He’s probably his son.
If he has his father’s genes, aging isn’t going to be kind to him either.
When the younger version of Sal comes to his feet, his buddies stand as well.
War heads back out with me, and we approach Sal and his men.
I pull out the invoice Amelia gave me earlier. “I’m here to talk to you about the work you did on Amelia Ralleigh’s car. This invoice is bullshit. You didn’t use half the materials listed, and the labor cost is highly inflated.”
“If the lady has a problem with it, she should have come herself. I don’t know you, and I don’t discuss my business with people I don’t know,” Sal throws back.
“She’s my woman, and when someone takes advantage of her, I’m the one who does the talking.”
“You’re insulting my team.” Sal grins slyly, and from the corner of my eye, I see one of his guys pick up a two-by-four, obviously trying to intimidate me. “My men don’t like it when you accuse them of shit.”
“I’m not accusing you. I’m damn fucking sure you took advantage of a woman who doesn’t know anything about cars. She trusted you. You took her money and didn’t do the job the way it should have been done. You need to return the money you took from her,” I say.
The big, blond, burly man holding the two-by-four is fast, but not nearly as fast as Blade, who comes out of nowhere to knee the man in the gut, shove him to the ground on his back, and hold the wood to his throat.
Sal’s men react by reaching for their blades and guns. War snaps back the wrist of the man standing in front of him, who’s holding a switchblade. The blade drops to the ground, and the man screams in agony.
Sal looks around and throws his head back in laughter. His belly jiggles. It takes him a minute to catch his breath, then he says, “Look around you. You’re outnumbered, and we’ve got bullets.” He focuses on War. “You can’t catch those, hotshot.”
“We’ve got bullets too,” I reply in a sinister voice.
That’s when Roscoe cocks his gun and puts it right up against the back of Sal’s head, letting him feel the barrel.
“Here’s how this is going to go. Your posse drops their weapons, then you walk inside with us and give us the money you conned my woman out of.
You won’t contact her, and if I see you anywhere near her, I’ll take you out. ”
It’s not like we’re giving Sal a choice, but he holds out for about ten seconds, then finally motions for his men to stand down.
I collect their hardware and corral his men behind the shop, where Roscoe and Blade will guard them until we’re ready to go.
Sal goes into the office and calls out to the young woman we met earlier.
“Violet, get the hell out of here. You’re done for the day. ”
Violet doesn’t need to be asked twice. She gathers her books, tosses them into her backpack, and races out the door.
Sal waits for her to leave, then takes down an old picture of dogs playing poker to reveal a safe.
He covers the dial to keep us from seeing his code and opens the safe to take out a wad of cash.
That’s probably all the cash sales he makes that he doesn’t report to the IRS.
It’s slimy, but it’s not the reason I’m here, so I ignore him and take the money he hands me.
His fingernails are black with grease, and he holds on to the cash for just a second longer than he should. He’s not happy.
I tell him, “Fair warning, bud, we’re part of Satan’s Pride. If you don’t know who we are, ask around. And if you do, be smart and don’t do anything you will live to regret.”
Yeah, his eyes grow big, and for the first time, he notices the insignia on our jackets. “Fuck!” he murmurs under his breath.
“We done here?” War asks.
“Yeah,” I reply. We back out of the office and whistle to get Roscoe’s and Blade’s attention. They hurry to meet up with us, and we leave immediately, leaving a trail of dust behind us.
Risk and Crush are finishing up by the time we get back. They’re loading the ladder back into the van when Crush says, “I got what we need on order. It’ll arrive on Monday afternoon.”
“The tarp’s on good and tight. It’ll hold up in the short term,” Risk adds, then asks, “Did you get her money back?”
I nod.
“Was there trouble?” Risk furrows his brow.
“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” I reply.
“Just a thought, if he was pissed, he could come back and bother Amelia. He’s got her address on file,” Risk points out.
“He’s not that stupid,” War mutters.
“Did you see him? He’s totally that stupid,” Roscoe counters.
“Fuck! I should have thought of that.” I take out Freddie’s invoice, since Sal’s still using old invoices with the original owner’s name, and see that right on it are Amelia’s address and phone number. “Guess I’m spending the night on watch.”
“Guard will want an update. You take the first shift, and I’ll have a brother come by to help, and a couple more to relieve you later,” Risk tells me.
I wait for the guys to drive out of sight before I knock on Amelia’s door to give her the good news about getting her money back. I’ll keep how we got her money from Freddie, or should I say Sal, out of the story.