Chapter 3
Chapter Three
DEUCE
I wake up just the way I like it after a night of partying hard—alone and satisfied, although I could do without my mouth feeling like sandpaper.
I tilt my head, but I can’t get my bearings.
My brain immediately flips to my home for the last five years, but my prison bunk wasn’t lined in pink velvet.
It also didn’t offer females who drained every ounce of jizz outta my dick.
I shift my gaze and startle. What the fuck is Speed doing laid out on the other couch? Shit, I know things got a little wild last night, but . . .
“Okay, you dirtbags, rise and shine,” Shady’s booming voice echoes through my alcohol-soaked brain.
I crane my neck toward the door, and the bastard is standing there looking rested and almost cheerful. Fuck him.
“I conned the boss into letting you guys sack out in here last night, but now you gotta move your asses. The cleaning staff is here.”
I slowly roll to a seated position as Shady kicks the couch Speed’s sprawled out on. I chuckle to myself ‘cause he’s still wearing that dumb-ass Pizza King t-shirt. Thank fuck he lost the cap somewhere during the night.
Speed moans, throws Shady a deadly glare, then struggles to get upright.
“What the fuck, Deuce?” Speed grumbles. “The minute you’re back, I’m feeling like shit.”
“Who’re you kiddin’? You haven’t had that much fun in five years, three months and sixteen days.”
Speed laughs. “Fuckin’ fact, man.”
“So, who else have you seen so far?” Shady asks.
“Just him.” I jerk my thumb at Speed. “And thank fuck for that, or he’d still be delivering pizza.”
“It wasn’t so bad. Besides, some of my female customers were very appreciative.”
We laugh, and then I sober. “I figured once we connected, you’d hook me up with the others.”
“I don’t think Fist and Scratch wanna be found.”
“I’m looking them up anyway, ‘cause, believe me, the Kings are gonna be on top again.” My voice sounds way more confident than I feel, but if I didn’t believe it, I couldn’t expect them to.
“Last I heard, Fist is a valet at the Hard Rock,” Shady offers.
I can’t stop laughing at that one. Fist loved cars—fast cars—and he drove like a maniac.
“How’s that working out for him?”
“Well, so far he’s been through all the hotels on the boardwalk,” Speed says. “He’s got a little problem with keeping the cars parked. As in, if it’s a high-end car, he likes to take it for a joy ride.”
“Like the Maserati he took to Philly for a day.” Shady cocks his head. “I guess you could say the Hard Rock is his last resort.”
“And Scratch?”
“He’s collecting money at the arcades, then handing it off to the owners. In other words, he’s a bag man for the Russians.”
“Shit, the Russians have their fingers in the boardwalk now?” I knew it was only a matter of time since there was plenty of money to be made.
“Looks that way. Of course, Scratch will tell you different. He claims they run the boards on the up and up.” Shady pulls a face. “Everybody knows those games on the boards are fixed big-time. Back in the day, it was the Mafia; now it’s the Russians.”
“Ace is the only one of us who landed a decent job.”
“Of course he did.” ‘Cause when it came to conning people, Ace was the master. As my VP, he was the perfect right hand. I’d get the ideas, and Ace had the savvy wits to get it done.
“What’s he doin’ that’s so great?” I massage my temples, hoping the bongo drums quiet down.
“He landed his ass at Harrah’s Pool After Dark as a bouncer.”
“Big fuckin’ deal,” I say to Shady. “You’re a bouncer here.”
“Way different, believe me.”
“How?”
“First of all, he’s knee-deep in pussy all night.”
“You’re bouncing in a fuckin strip club.” I wave my hand around the room. “Can’t get closer to pussy than that.”
“Nah, he’s hooking up with the chicks who come to the pool party as guests, not the workers. The last thing I wanna do is get with the chicks here after I see them give it up two, three times a night.”
I’m immediately thankful for the empty foil wrappers strewn over the floor.
“Ace says he’s got stacks of cocktail napkins with phone numbers on them.”
“Knowing Ace, he’s probably bullshitting you,” Speed chimes in.
I nod in agreement, and my skull rebels. Back in the day, Ace made everyone believe whatever he wanted them to believe. No matter who he came in contact with, they thought they were his best friend. He’d get you to hand over your last dollar and thank him for the privilege. Fuckin’ amazing.
“Fact is fact,” Speed says. “The bastard wrangled himself a premium job compared to the rest of us.”
Ace’s connections and contacts ranged from the homeless guy on the corner, to the casino manager at the Borgata, and in one way or another, he got them all to work for him. Craziest part, they loved doing it.
His only loyalty remained to the Kings, and that’s what made him so valuable as a VP.
“I bet that bastard doesn’t have to clean shit up either,” Shady adds.
“Neither do you. You just said the cleaning staff was on its way.”
“Who the fuck do you think is the cleaning staff?” He jerks his thumb at himself. “You know how hard it is to get cum outta velvet couches?”
I shift my gaze from side to side. Probably too late to be wondering what I’ve been sleeping on all night.
“I need some fuckin’ coffee,” Speed moans.
“Don’t look at me, fucker. I gotta get you guys outta here before the boss comes in, or my ass is on the line.”
“Don’t worry, we’re out.” I push off the couch, steady myself and nod to Speed. “I need a room till I get everything on track. Where you livin’?”
“I rent a place down in Margate at the Golden Sands.” Speed shrugs. “It’s a shithole, but it’s a place to lay my head.”
“You think they have any vacancies?”
“The Golden Sands always has a vacancy. Believe me, nobody stays at that dump too long, except me.”
“As long as the room’s got a shower with running water, I’m good. Anything’s an upgrade from my last home away from home.”
I turn to Shady. “You think you can get the night off?”
“Yeah, they owe me some hours.”
“I wanna find Ace over at Harrahs.” Might as well rip that Band-Aid off.
“Ohhh, I won’t miss that.” Shady laughs, then waves his arm at the door. “Get the fuck outta here so I can get all your DNA cleaned up from last night.”
“Shit, man, that sucks. Want us to bring you something back?” I ask.
“Nah,” Shady catches my arm on my way out. “Just make sure you keep your word. ‘Cause the hope of getting back with the Kings is all I got left.”
Shady’s voice is low and desperate. A tone I heard lots in the joint, and it never had a good ending.
I clamp my hand on his shoulder. “I’m gonna make it right.” That short declaration became my cause. Getting the Kings back together was always the plan, but seeing how hard my brothers landed after my fuck-up is weighing heavy on me.
It was about more than pride or proving shit. It was about my brothers and what they lost—and what they needed to regain.
We tap fists, and I follow Speed out to the parking lot. The blaring sun is way too much. “Please tell me the Atlantic Diner is still open.”
“Absolutely.” Speed smirks. “And guess what, fucker, you’re paying.”
“No problem, but first I gotta shower off those females.”
Speed gives me the once-over. “You look fucked out.”
“Those bitches were the perfect remedy for a man locked up for five years, three months and sixteen days.”
The Golden Sands was everything Speed warned. Threadbare carpet, worn bedspread with mystery stains, a cracked mirror over the bathroom sink, and a mildewed shower curtain. What it didn’t have was a line of naked guys scratching their balls while waiting their turn for the shower.
I cranked the hot water all the way up and let it beat on me till it turned cold.
Best fuckin’ shower I’d had in five years.
I dried myself off with the thin, rough towel, feeling like I was in a five-star hotel.
The one plus of being beat down in life, the only way to go is up. A direction I want—with no detours.
After Speed and I polished off two Taylor ham and eggs apiece, home fries, bacon, sausages, and gallons of coffee, my brain was in gear.
“So, what’s this big plan of yours?” Speed drains the last of his coffee. “It better be good ‘cause I didn’t like the look in Shady’s eyes. “For a big fuckin’ guy, he’s got a sensitive side.”
“Fuckin’ real, man.” I throw my napkin on my plate. “Before I look up the others, I’m heading over to The End and talk to a guy named Sammy.”
“The End?” Speed’s reaction was the same as Maggie’s.
“I heard from a guy on the inside that this Sammy wants to dump the place.”
“Can’t say I blame him. The place has been boarded up for a few years. I heard the owner don’t want it anymore, so he just abandoned it.”
Not the best arrangement, but maybe it would mean picking it up cheap.
I pick up the check, then leave some bills to cover it and a generous tip.
Speed frowns. “Even though I busted your balls before, you didn’t have to pay for me.”
“Yeah, I did.” We exchange a look, and he stays silent.
“You want me to go with you to The End.”
“Nah, let me go feel the guy out alone. Even though you’re wearing that stupid Pizza King t-shirt, you’re still a scary fucker to most, and the two of us barging in together might be too much for the old guy.”
“Agreed.”
“Rest up, ‘cause if this goes off, we’re gonna have a lot of fuckin’ work ahead of us.” I stuff my money back in my pocket.
We both push out of the booth and face each other. “I promise by the end of the month, both our asses will be outta the Golden Sands.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
I nod, knowing there’s nothing I can say to make him believe me. Why should he? I fucked him and the whole club ‘cause I was too busy thinking I was invincible and letting my guard down. A mistake I’d never make again.
We tap fists in the parking lot, and I nod toward Speed’s beater car. “Where’s your Harley?”
“In hock. A guy down in Margate is holding it for me until I get enough scratch together.”
“We’ll work on that.” I eye the Pizza King t-shirt. “And I don’t ever wanna see that fuckin’ rag on you again.” I shake my head. “I assume you still got your cut.”
“Hanging up in the back of my closet.”
“Get it the fuck out, cause the Kings are gonna ride again.” My brain skitters to my neatly folded cut in the bottom of my duffel bag.
I turn toward my bike ‘cause I can’t stand the look of doubt in Speed’s eyes. Can’t blame him for it, but it hurts just the same. Five years ago, my word was gold. I said jump, and these guys asked how high, but I lost that privilege, and I’d have to break my ass to get it back.
I wheel out of the diner parking lot and head for The End, feeling pretty damn lucky I still have my bike.
Fifteen minutes later, I pull into The End’s lot. Half the letters on the sign are missing. Weeds have taken over the parking lot, some reaching my knees. The blacktop has cracks and craters that could swallow up my Harley. The windows are boarded up, and the front door hangs at an odd angle.
The place looks way worse than Maggie or Speed described.
I carefully ease the door open, not wanting the splintered wood to collapse around me. I wouldn’t have believed it, but the inside looks worse—way worse.
Cobwebs the size of tablecloths hang from the ceiling, and inch-thick dust coats the scarred wooden bar top.
The few stools scattered around the bar are rickety and standing at odd angles.
The rest of the room is empty, no tables, no chairs, just cracked linoleum peeling and curling up, exposing the wood floor underneath.
In short, the place is a disaster, but luckily I have a vision.
Rip up the flooring, sand the bar and throw out anything that isn’t nailed down.
Then get rid of the fuckin’ plate-glass window in the front.
Seen too many drunks go through them during a fight, and it wasn’t a pretty sight.
I’d acquired quite a few skills over my years inside, including basic carpentry.
I actually like working with my hands, and ripping out all this crap and making it look new would fill me with satisfaction.
An army of roaches must’ve read my thoughts because the little fuckers skitter around looking for cover.
Have fun, you bastards, ‘cause the only thing I hate worse than dirt is bugs.
I make my way through the main room, and a constant pounding greets me when I hit the back hallway.
I listen closer, then follow the constant thumping to a closed door at the end of the hall.
I stop outside the door, but I can’t make out the sound.
Maybe a hammer hitting metal? Only one way to find out, so I shoulder though the door.
“What the hell?”