Chapter 24 – Easton
Early this morning, Diesel knocked on Easton’s door at the clubhouse to give him the keys to Dr. Marvey’s old office at Ridge Moore with the announcement that today was the first day of the rest of Easton’s educational life.
Luckily, he’d kept two suits from his days as a financial advisor. Otherwise, he would’ve been scrambling to look presentable. He doubted Outlaw wanted him to wear his cut as a school official in upper management.
A big part of his initiation with the Scorpions had been murder, along with bullshit from sadistic motherfuckers like Cleaner and Tom Harris. Even Bash had jumped in. Back then, he’d been more suspicious of Easton, despite the DNA results that proved they were father and son.
Here, with Diesel as his handler, Easton didn’t know what to expect.
He’d spent most of the weekend at Hortensia General.
Last night, he’d been ordered back at the clubhouse.
Outlaw told him to have a good rest. Diesel though?
That motherfucker put him on gate duty, promising dire retribution if Easton fell asleep.
He kept odd hours, but by the time Lips relieved him at 4AM, he’d been awake for nearly twenty-four hours. All he could do was crash. He hadn’t even showered.
So when Diesel called at six, Easton cursed that motherfucker to hell and back.
He was given fifteen minutes to get ready and meet Diesel in the parking garage, where he received keys to a small Chevrolet SUV.
And, now, as he walked into the principal’s office and halted at the dark, depressing décor and closed-in smell, he wanted to defy Diesel and return to the club for hours of sleep.
When he’d been a stripper, his days were flipped.
He was a night crawler, who slept during the day and lived when the sun went down.
But in between those years and his patching in with the American Scorpions, he’d had respectable moments as a normal man with a normal job.
He’d driven a Maserati, which he gave to his last ‘normal’ girlfriend and still paid for its upkeep.
Expensive cars had expensive maintenance.
A huge window overlooked the quad and the beautiful campus. Much better than the dark paneling and hideous painting on a wall near his desk.
“Knock, knock.”
Diesel’s sardonic tone accompanied by taps on the heavy wooden door and it swinging open drew Easton back to the current situation. Annoyance and fatigue.
Refusing to acknowledge the asshole, Easton walked behind the ugly desk. It, along with the hutch and locked file cabinet, looked like something ripped from the pages of a Gothic novel. He pulled the chair out and dropped into it before directing his attention to Diesel.
His smirk deepened Easton’s annoyance. “You look like shit.”
Easton clenched his jaw. He wouldn’t fall for Diesel’s bait and get himself into trouble.
“Wouldn’t a nice, warm bed feel so good right now, Easton?”
Pursing his lips, Easton clasped his hands on the desk.
“Come with me.”
Easton gritted his teeth, hating how much Diesel was enjoying himself. Without a word, he got to his feet and stormed to where Diesel stood. The motherfucker didn’t flinch.
“Rebel’s being released today,” he said conversationally. “I don’t have time to stay and hold your hand or fuck you up, so behave.”
Not answering, Easton followed Diesel into the outer office, which had red low pile carpeting and soft yellow walls with a receptionist cubicle and three desk stations. Rows of file cabinets lined one wall.
Diesel introduced him to the receptionist and the two other women before nodding to the oldest one there, who, it turned out, would be Easton’s personal secretary. The assistant principal was out that day while the nurse, behind her simple desk in a fully equipped attached office, merely nodded.
Of course, the asshole didn’t give Easton a chance to say more than a few words to any of the women.
“This is Building A, also known as Clark Hall,” Diesel explained, keeping a brisk pace and heading toward the doors at the back of the building that led to the quad.
Once outside, he halted and pointed directly ahead.
“Lewis Hall. The cafeteria for the upperclassmen. Only our family is allowed to break that rule when the younger kids are interested in joining their older brothers and sisters.”
Easton wouldn’t point out how that could cause jealousy among the other kids. If it worked to this point, he wouldn’t question it.
Diesel began walking again, dressed in suit and tie like Easton.
“Williams Hall,” he said, halting and nodding to the right. “The elementary school cafeteria.” He pointed to the left. “That is Atlantic Hall.”
“Middle school cafeteria?” Easton guessed.
“I’m impressed you figured that out.”
“It seems as though the cafeterias bookend the quad. It makes sense. The kids come out for fresh air.”
“They can also go to the football field,” Diesel said, his tone not as hostile.
He started off again, bypassing the park-like grassy knoll, Easton followed Diesel along the covered walkway, taking everything in.
Lincoln Hall, a short walk from the lower school cafeteria, housed the classrooms for grades Pre-K through 4 as well as administration, similar to Columbia Hall’s Middle School.
Looming behind Lewis Hall was Building D, or Douglass Hall, housing the social studies and history departments.
Next to it was their destination—Washington Hall—the science building.
Diesel didn’t speak again until they walked into a classroom where a Black man sat in front of the classroom, grading a stack of papers.
He glanced up, then returned his attention back to the sheet in front of him. “Mr. Caldwell.”
“Billson,” Diesel greeted. “I’d like you to meet Easton DeLuca, Ridge Moore’s new high school principal.”
Billson nodded, scowled at the paper in front of him, and marked it before turning it onto a smaller pile.
“CJ will be in school tomorrow,” Diesel explained. “Rebel’s coming home today.”
“I understand my role, Mr. Caldwell. I am not the one who gives your brother a hard time.”
Diesel stiffened. “Is there another Lumbley?”
“Nothing to that extent,” Billson said with a shrug, finally setting his red pen aside and leaning back in his seat. “But—”
“No fucking buts,” Diesel snapped. At least he wasn’t an asshole only to Easton. “You’re on our payroll to report any teacher who gives CJ a problem.”
“Part of that is educating the uneducated, Mr. Caldwell. I’m a teacher first. I think CJ needs to learn to stand up for himself. If you or Outlaw intervene for every little thing, that will never happen. How can he become a leader if you don’t allow him to lead?”
“We gave you the job because CJ seems to like you. I recommended you to Outlaw. Don’t make me regret that decision,” Diesel warned darkly.
“I value living, Mr. Caldwell. I didn’t amass lifelong debt for school loans to die before they are fully paid. Nor did I spend years seeking a higher education only to have that dream crash and burn.”
“Billson’s right about CJ, Diesel. Those teachers may be testing the kid.”
Diesel half turned and leveled a glared at Easton.
“Wilhemhein definitely is,” Billson said. “Flotsam is just a stickler. Not a good fit for the school’s vision, but a damn good teacher.”
“Wilhemhein is CJ’s math teacher and Ms. Flotsam, one of the few women in the upper school, is his English lit teacher,” Diesel explained, low-key impressing Easton.
He wouldn’t have thought the arrogant motherfucker that invested in anyone except himself.
“Any help you need, Mr. DeLuca, I am more than happy to give,” Billson said.
“If that’s the case, why didn’t you take the fucking job yourself?” Diesel asked crossly. “Easton isn’t even a fucking school administrator.”
Billson’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Outstanding.”
Easton was sick of Diesel’s bullshit. “You offered me the fucking job, well aware of my goddamn credentials.”
“Outlaw offered you the job, asshole.”
“And of course you didn’t fucking agree. You’re the most disagreeable fuckhead I’ve ever met.”
Turning around, Diesel stormed to Easton and shoved him. “I’m also your fucking sponsor. Disrespect me at your own risk.”
Another motherfucker and Easton might’ve tested that. Diesel was on par with Bash—next level insane.
“It isn’t my fucking intention to disrespect you, Diesel,” Easton gritted. “But how the fuck can I get respect here in order to protect the kids if you talk to me any fucking way? That shit undermines what the fuck you want me to do.”
Diesel gnashed his teeth together. “Fine, motherfucker,” he bit out, then jabbed his finger in Easton’s chest. “But for every infraction you commit against me here, I take it out on you in blood and sweat at the club. Am I clear?”
“Yes, fuckhead,” Easton said, low. “Perfectly.”
“Coordinate with Billson. Get a report every evening about each of our kids and how their teachers are treating them.”
“How many kids, in total, are in this school?”
“A few hundred,” Diesel said.
“And what is my job with them?”
“That of a regular principal, Easton,” Diesel said. “This is a fucking school, after all.”
“Lately, CJ and Rebel are home more than they are here,” Billson interjected. “That automatically lessens the load. Miss Banks and Miss Donovan—Harley and Matilda—are never a problem.”
“Are you implying Rebel is?” Diesel demanded.
“Of course not, Mr. Caldwell,” Billson said, soothing Diesel’s temper with those words. “But again she hasn’t been here as much as the other two.”
“Extenuating circumstances,” Diesel retorted.
“That isn’t my business, which is another reason I had no interest in heading this school long-term. I like my brain inside my head. A wrong move might change that and there are many, many kids to guide.” When Diesel didn’t respond, Billson looked at Easton again. “Mr. Donovan, Rory—”
“Johnnie’s son—” Easton said, well acquainted with both of them.
Billson nodded. “And CJ’s right-hand man at one time. There was a falling out.”
“I’m aware,” Easton said politely.
“About Axel—”