Fuck You Very Much from Big Joe Foy
“Is that all of them?” Joe contemplated the stack of documents K-P sat on his desk, right next to his many wills. “Did you hide any other documents any place else?”
K-P shook his head. Ever since he’d lost his eye during a “friendly” scuffle with Joey, he’d kept his head bald. Joe could never get rid of his hair.
It would take him hours to get through everything. K-P had collected a lot over the years, but Joe was happy to have those papers out of Roxanne’s house. He’d never been comfortable with them there, always worried Sharper, Logan, Rack, or Cee Cee getting wind of their location.
They’d never believe her ignorance of their existence. But the meeting wasn’t about everything K-P collected. It wasn’t about a videotape K-P recently added that Joe had no interest in watching.
He grabbed the small stack of wills. He’d written many over the years because his mind changed according to his happiness with the men involved or the drugs in his system.
Some wills didn’t have dates. Others didn’t have witnesses. In two, he hadn’t even signed his name.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” K-P’s resigned voice washed over Joe. “No one but Wilkins has the actual will. You can name whoever you want.”
“I’m the one who took out the fucking loans,” Joe growled, lucid for now but needing a hit. “I get to choose who I leave it to. The club belongs to all of us. The land and the buildings are mine.”
K-P blew out another heavy breath.
“You and me agreed we don’t want our girls to own it because that’ll put a target on their backs.”
“Another target on Meggie’s back,” K-P reminded Joe.
When he didn’t need a fucking reminder. If K-P hadn’t come to him with the fucking truth about what the fuck they planned for Meggie, Joe would’ve believed Cee Cee’s bullshit about helping him and having his best interest in mind.
Motherfucker.
“You don’t want to leave it to Roxanne.”
“I love that woman,” K-P said harshly. “Why would I endanger her?”
“Good for you. You could protect her.”
“If something happens to you, I’m not far behind.”
“We’re brothers, Kaleb Paul.”
A guilty expression crossed K-P’s features and he glanced away. Joe would ask about it another time.
“I’d never endanger you—”
“You’re sober now, motherfucker. When you’re high, you endanger me, Christopher, Meggie, and everyone else we’ve tried to protect.”
Joe wanted another stint in rehab, but he was tiring of that, too. The moment he returned to the club, he found someone to feed his drug habit.
“Leave everything to the boys, Joe,” K-P suggested. “Split it equally between Christopher, Johnnie, Joey, Mortician, Digger, and Val. None of them will feel left out. It might even soothe the big hole in Joey’s—”
“Nothing will soothe that boy. He’s a fucking psycho.”
“Aren’t we all? What the fuck is wrong with you? Snake is a product of his environment—”
“Snake’s a fucking snake. Christopher got it right. Why the fuck should I leave anything to him?”
“Because he’s your kid—”
“Whom I fucking detest.”
K-P snapped his mouth shut.
He waved the copy of the will he’d left with Marion. At Joe’s order, he’d had the priest mail him a copy. “I’m keeping this as is,” he said, and then threw it back onto his desk.
“If you wipe out or you OD or, fuck, you just fucking croak, you’re still putting your daughter at risk.”
A need for a hit agitated Joe and he scowled.
“Don’t do this.”
“That cunt isn’t dying anytime soon and neither am I.”
“You don’t fucking know that,” K-P argued. “None of us know when we’re shrugging off this mortal coil.”
Joe smirked. “I see you’ve spoken to Pearllene recently.”
K-P always took a more spiritual bent when he talked to Roxanne’s mother.
“And?”
“Nothing, fuckhead,” Joe responded. “Nothing.”
Disapproval tightening his mouth, K-P got to his feet, and walked to the side of the desk. He pointed to the mountain of documents. “I’ll take those back. There’s nothing in there that’s pertinent. Just a bunch of letters, worthless deeds, and useless bullshit.”
The deeds were worthless because Joe paid off a few people to never record them.
Once, the buildings and land were in danger of foreclosure, but he’d used Meggie’s social security number and gotten the funds he needed.
In all honesty, he wanted his baby girl to own it all.
She deserved it for having him as her father and that bitch as her mother.
Yet, K-P was right. She’d be killed before he was cold. What happened in the future didn’t solve his immediate problem and what those fuckheads had planned for her.
The closing door drew Joe to the chair K-P had sat in.
He really wished his little brother would patch out.
K-P was too much of a good motherfucker and had never been as tainted as the rest of them.
He’d always kept his distance from Logan, never liking the old fuckhead.
As long as Joe remained, though, K-P wouldn’t budge.
Leaning back in his squeaky desk chair, he dropped his gaze to the will he’d left with Marion before considering all the wills underneath.
At least twenty, written over his nearly three decades in the club, dealing with Logan, Sharper, Cee Cee, and Rack.
The story of his life, snapshots of desperation, annoyance, or satisfaction, wheedled down to paragraphs in a legal document.
Nine or ten listed Meggie as the owner; two had Roxanne’s name.
He was sure Hopper had one of those originals.
Four wills had Roxanne, Meggie, and Bailey; three had Christopher; one had Christopher and Val; one listed all Big Joe’s grandsons—those already here and those yet born—as the owners.
If that meant only Randolph, then so be it.
He refused to leave Joey fuck-all. Johnnie could fuck himself, and the Banks brothers had their own money.
He could always confuse motherfuckers and leave shit in limbo. Leave wills here and there and everywhere. Or, fuck, just not leave any will, and let the club assume it owned everything.
Marion knew the truth, but he wouldn’t tell. Joe had saved his fucking life twice. He was a motherfucker, not fit to wear the collar, but he wouldn’t betray Joe because of his blood debt.
He could always add detailed instructions. If motherfuckers got out of hand, get Meggie to safety, release the will, and oversee the negotiations once she was dealt with. Maybe he’d have Marion send Christopher to wherever she was until the danger passed.
She could do worse. For instance, she could end up with Johnnie, who Joe had seriously considered as a contender for her hand at one time. But he was a fuckhead, jealous of Christopher, although he tried to hide it behind jokes and smiles.
In his instructions, he’d advise the priest to find an attorney as soon as he heard news of her death. How he discovered it was up to him. Then, the attorney could negotiate the terms of the deal that would see all holdings in club hands and Meggie with a payout that wouldn’t endanger her.
If she and Christopher didn’t hit it off, then she’d have to stay far away from Washington and make a life for herself somewhere else.
Whatever Joe decided would depend on his mood. One thing was certain, he’d have the last fucking laugh.
Dinah barred him from Meggie? Bitch.
Dinah Fink Nicholls was the owner of it all. And when she was executed for it, it would be Joe’s ultimate revenge. A life for the years he’d missed with his baby girl. A fuck you from a motherfucker to a cunt. The truth hurt. Or in this case, killed.