Teller
“You sure Ican bring this to the table today?” I ask Rock over a cup of coffee at his dining table the next morning. I glance at Z, who was already here when I arrived. Most of Downstate came with him and I’m not sure I actually want to discuss my plan in front of our Downstate brothers. But Z was our vice president for years so excluding him feels wrong. And with him sitting right here, I can’t think of a way to explain my reservations to Rock.
“How solid is your plan?” Rock asks.
“Just an idea so far. I have the place in mind. Guy’s mortgaged up to his ears. Business has been in the family for generations. He wants to keep it. Good investment for us.” I lift my chin at Z. “If it works, we can look for another one downstate.”
Z studies the smooth hardwood table in front of him, slowly tapping his fingers over the surface for a second. “I don’t know if I’ve got the bodies. Excuse the pun.” He taps the side of his head. “Or the collective brainpower to run that kind of operation. Rooster’s my brightest bulb, and he’s spread thin as it is. Jigsaw…I think he’d enjoy the job a little too much.”
“Hire someone.” I shrug. “You don’t need to know dick about the business itself. Find someone desperate for cash and willing to look the other way when we need to utilize the facilities.”
Rock sits back and sighs. “It’s not like we’ll be burning bodies every damn day.”
“The need seems to arise more often than I like to think about,” Z says.
“All right.” Rock slaps the table and stands. “Let’s discuss it in church.”
The three of us walk through the woods toward the clubhouse. Rock and Z trade barbs. I hang back, barely listening to their banter.
“Why so quiet?” Z asks, stopping a few paces from the clubhouse steps for me to catch up.
“Didn’t want to get in the way of you insulting each other.”
“Aw.” Z slaps my cheek. “It’s okay. I got insults for you too, little buddy.”
“Get off me.” I swat his hand away. “At least you two balance each other out. Grim Reaper.” I nod at Rock. “And the clown show.” I jerk my thumb toward Z.
Rock snorts.
“Did he just call me a clown?” Z asks with a smirk.
“Indeed,” Rock says.
“Disrespectful little shit,” Z grumbles. “If Rock’s the Grim Reaper, what the fuck does that make Wrath?”
The door to the clubhouse slams.
“The fucking Devil himself,” Wrath shouts before launching himself at Z, landing on his back and riding him like a dragon.
“Fucking hell,” Z yells. “You trying to cripple me?”
Wrath lands on the ground, gravel crunching under his boots. “Where you been?”
“My place,” Rock answers. “I sent you a text.”
Wrath slips his phone out and checks the screen. “Missed it.”
Rock grunts but doesn’t reprimand his SAA. Now, if that were me, I’d get an ass-chewing.
Inside, the clubhouse is quieter than normal.
“They’re in the dining room,” Wrath says, reading Rock’s expression.
“Get ’em down here,” Rock orders.
I’m brimming with energy. Under the table, my leg’s bouncing up and down. I’m eager to get through the boring parts of church so I can share my new business plan.
Finally, it’s my turn.