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“A raise to what? Between Amelia and me, you’re probably one of the highest paid goddamn managers in the business.”
“But I’m not the highest, am I?”
I stared at him for a moment, and he looked over to me.
“What?” he asked.
I shrugged, facing forward once again. “Nothing. Just wondering how much it cost for your soul.”
“Let the bidding start at—”
“Just drive!” I ordered, trying not to laugh.
Despite his love for money, I knew Austin had his reasons.
There was line through Chicago, and you only realized it when you crossed over to the side where skyscrapers were replaced with condemned brick buildings, the windows boarded up and the walls covered in graffiti. Women, dressed in outfits that I’m sure belonged to their daughters or worse, in the garbage, stood blatantly on one corner. Teenagers huddled together on another like no one could see the packets being exchanged.
“Welcome home,” Austin said.
“Let’s get this over with,” I muttered, taking off my seat belt as we reached the bar. The sign read ‘Breakers,’ the ‘e’ and ‘s’ no longer lit. It used be the home of the Bone Breakers motorcycle club, but after a series of hard times, prison rides, and in-fights, it was just where grown men came to drink and piss away what was left of their lives. It was already 8 p.m., which meant that every man in the neighborhood over the age of twenty-five would be here.
A familiar smell of stale beer, cigarettes, sweat, and cheap perfume hung in the air when I stepped into the bar. The televisions replayed old Cubs games, though you would never know by the way were watching them. Twenty-five years—that’s how long you had to make it out, or you ended up like these sorry bastards.
“What the fuck, man?” the waitress snapped at me when I took the pitcher of beer out of her hands before she could make it to the table.
Holding it out in front of me, I let it go, allowing it to shatter all over the ground. And if it wasn’t so goddamn sad, I would have laughed at how quickly their heads turned back to me.
“I’m looking for Frank,” I said out loud.
“Good for fucking you! Ain’t no reason—”
“The next round for all you is on me,” I cut off the drunkard behind the bar, earning a round of cheers.
“I know you,” said an older man with a black bandana and a white beard that would put Santa Claus to shame. He stood up.
Jesus fucking Christ. Could you be any more of a stereotype right now?
“You’re Frank’s boy—”
“Not boy,” I cut him off. “If any one of you have any useful information about where my old man is, you’ll be rewarded for it—cash money. I’ll wait.”
I walked over to the corner table and kicked up my feet.
“Hey,” said the same waitress, the scowl on her face gone, and her breasts hanging further out of her shirt. She came up to me with a smile plastered all over her face. “Can I get you—?”
“Do you know where Frank Sloan is?” I asked.
“No—”
“Then I got nothing for you. But better luck next time,” I cut her off.
Just like magic, her face bunched up, the scowl returning in full force as she flipped me off and muttered something under her breat
h.
I could see them whispering among themselves. A few of them were even sizing me up.
Please don’t make this hard.
