Chapter Two #2
“Should we offer to walk him across the street?” York asked as he glanced out the window.
“Nah, he’s feeling like a teenager again,” Velle said. “Got a pep in his step and everything.”
“You think this is something we gotta worry about?” I asked, watching Doug make his way across the street toward the fifty-plus community.
“Elderly people dropping in to eat our danishes and stare at our women?” York asked, face scrunched up. “Can’t imagine that’s gonna be the case. Who’s that?” he asked when a bike rumbled down the street before pulling into the driveway.
“McCoy,” I said as he climbed off his bike.
“Uh-oh,” Velle said, voicing my own internal thoughts.
While all the OG club members dropped in here and there and came for all the meetings, if McCoy—who acted as the vice president—was showing up when our actual president was out of town, we had to assume some shit was going on.
“Think it has to do with that new crew Huck was talking about at the last meeting?” York asked.
“Only one way to find out,” I said, pulling open the door just as McCoy was reaching for it.
“Shocked you’re all up,” he said, walking in.
McCoy was a big guy—tall, fit, a little intimidating with his often-stern face—with dark skin, locs, and classic, rugged facial features.
“Is everything alright? Not common for you to show up here this early,” I said.
“Nothing emergent,” he said, walking through to the kitchen.
“Fuck… you… Benny,” Mackie croaked.
“Yeah, nice to see you too, bird. Did anyone feed the tortoise?”
“Yeah, Dixon went out after he got up. You need me to get him and his brother?”
“Nah, I can just tell you and you can relay.” He went to the coffee machine and poured the last of the pot that was probably burnt, but he didn’t seem to mind as he took a sip.
“So, that crew we’re keeping an eye on, the ones who are making a name for themselves with the arms trade… we have a lead.”
“What’s the lead?” I asked.
“Seeley managed to track the shipment from the docks to a freight trucking company. And he’s pretty sure he knows where the contraband shit is going to.”
“Where’s that?”
“Vital Greens.”
“Vital Greens?” I asked.
“It’s a plant store.”
“A plant store is a front for arms dealing?” If my tone sounded dubious, it was because I was.
“I dunno, man. That’s where you guys come in. I need one of you to go to the store. As a customer. Sniff around. Buy some plants. Chat up the employees or owner. You’re suddenly a plant collector. Go there as often as you need to for us to get some kind of information on what is going on.”
“I can do that,” I agreed, stepping up not because of seniority but because, quite frankly, I was kind of bored.
I joined the club after a particularly bad attack that left me really fucked up. But before that, I’d been doing all my own shit. And it often involved a lot of action and suspense and shit like that.
I liked the safety in numbers that came with having a brotherhood like the club. But there were times when I got tired of sitting around doing nothing in between parties.
It was nice to have a task to do.
Even if it was just reconnaissance work.
Anything to break up the days a bit.
“Good. As much information as you can get. If you can maybe get pictures without getting caught, that’d be good too. But be careful. We don’t want this crew to know we’re watching them and give them a chance to strike at us.”
“Got it. Just a guy with a plant hobby. Who occasionally films videos for social media that just so happens to have the shop in the background.”
“Exactly. Have as full a report as you can by the time Huck gets back. But come to me with anything pressing that you find before then.”
“I can do that.”
McCoy gave me a long look before nodding. Like he’d just measured me and found me sufficient. Which felt like high praise from a man not inclined to give it out easily.
“Good. Anything else to tell me?”
“We had a visit from one of the old folks across the street,” I admitted. I wasn’t going to get in trouble for keeping shit from the club higher-ups.
“How’d that go?”
“He came to bitch about the music last night,” I admitted. “Then Caymen’s guest came running through the house topless, and he decided to stop complaining.”
McCoy let out a snorting laugh at that. “That’ll do it, I guess. You think he’ll be a problem moving forward?”
“It was his wife who sent him over. I think our new friend Doug will manage to keep her from doing anything like filing a noise complaint now.”
“Alright. Good. That fucking place is inconvenient as hell, but we gotta try to play as nice as possible with the new locals.”
“We’ll make sure we stay on their good side. Or, barring that, lower the music at the noise variance time,” I said.
“Good,” he said, putting his cup in the sink. “Then we’re settled. I’m gonna take the wife and kids to Teddy’s beach club. I’ll have my phone if you need anything. But I told Che and Remy to keep their volumes up too, just in case.”
With that, he was gone.
“You sure you want to do this one?” Velle asked when we were alone again. “I don’t mind. Sounds like a boring one.”
“I’d like to get out for a while,” I admitted. “Parties aren’t hitting quite like they used to.”
“You didn’t even take anyone upstairs last night,” York observed.
I hadn’t.
The desire hadn’t been there. No matter how pretty the girls were or how willing they made it clear they would be.
I’d barely had anything to drink either.
I went to bed early and watched a documentary about the building of the fucking movie industry until I passed out.
Yeah.
It was time to shake shit up a little.
“Alright. I’m gonna catch a shower and head out. You two hold down the fort.”
“Can do,” York said.
“We’ll make sure the brothers don’t burn the place down,” Velle agreed. “Or get an indecent exposure charge,” he added with a smirk.
With that, I made my way upstairs, looked up some plant content online so I didn’t look like a complete idiot, showered, dressed, plugged in the name of the place to find out where it was, then borrowed the club SUV to make my way over there.
I had no idea what to expect.
Or, more accurately, who to expect.