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With a sigh, Pop nodded. “There’s a lot you don’t know, because she doesn’t want you to. She doesn’t want her shit with the Texas family to beyourshit with the Texas family.”
Zach laughed. “It kinda is, though. It’s been years since we’ve seen ‘em.”
“I know. But ...” Pop stopped there. He shook his head, and Zach knew he wouldn’t finish that thought. “What I mean is, Mom’ll be okay. She’s not mad, she’s scared, and you know how she gets when she’s scared.”
“Fierce,” Zach answered, and his father laughed.
“Got it in one. But she loves you and she wants you happy. If you’re happy in Nevada, she’ll understand. And you’ll show her the distance won’t change things between you.” He dropped his hand on Zach’s shoulder. “Do what you need to do, son. You’re a good man. We’re proud as fuck of you, and we trust you. Both of us.”
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~oOo~
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Zach got to the clubhousewith time to spare—so early, in fact, that the party room was practically empty. Gargoyle and Cooper were at the bar, shooting the shit with bottles of beer in their hands, but they were the only ones in the joint.
Seeing Zach, Cooper lifted his bottle. “Hey, bro. Want one?”
“It’s not even eleven in the morning, Coop. I thought I’d take my time becoming an alcoholic. Not at the morning-drinking stage yet.”
“Pussy,” Coop answered with a grin.
Also grinning, Zach flipped him off. He went around the bar to make himself a cup of coffee, as was right and proper before the sun had made it to the top of the sky. He leaned on the back counter and sipped the hot brew.
“You still putting your name on the table for Laughlin, kid?” Gargo asked.
Laughlin was the whole focus of this morning’s meeting. They were ready to drop the hammer. Today Apollo and Jazz would give their last report on the intel, and they’d finally vote on making the charter.
Unless somebody surprised the fuck out of everybody, the vote was a formality. Everybody was in on the new charter, and anyway, the Volkovs had basically special-ordered the thing, so saying no would cause an assload of trouble.
The other thing they were voting on was the setup crew: who’d move to Laughlin for a couple of months, or longer, and get the charter on its wheels.
“Yeah,” Zach answered. As Gargo was Ben’s buddy and had been the de facto point man in Laughlin, it was assumed Gargo would throw his name on the table, too, and he’d said or done nothing to suggest otherwise. But Zach asked anyway, “You?”
“Sure.”
“And Coop, you’re in, too, yeah?”
“You know it,” Cooper answered with his usual grin. “I think Eight’s gonna make a case for Caleb, too. He’s been sayin’ he wants a standing officer in the group, and Cay’s the officer Tulsa can do without for a while.”
Because Caleb was the Secretary-Treasurer, not usually a go-to for big strategic decisions. Zach thought the four of them made an interesting mix. They all sort of represented different check boxes: Gargo was the salty old biker, the epitome of what the normies thought of, at least visually, when they imagined one-percenters. Zach was the young blood. Coop was the charismatic party dude, and also mixed heritage, with a Salvadoran father and a mother who was part Muscogee. Caleb was the officer, and one-hundred-percent Osage. Caleb was a citizen of Osage Nation; Zach wasn’t sure how actively connected to his Muscogee family Cooper was. The guy didn’t talk about deep shit—like, ever. His whole personality was charismatic party dude.
If they turned out to be the crew, Zach wondered how much of that grouping was intentional. They were mostly volunteers to the cause, and it didn’t seem like something Eight would think about, but still. Mav might think about it—and Apollo and Caleb almost definitely would. In a place like Laughlin, in southern Nevada, not being a bunch of crabby old white guys like Gargo and Ben Haddon could maybe go a ways toward good recruitment.
“How’s your old man feel about you moving to Laughlin?” Coop asked.
“Talked to him this morning. He gets it.”
“And JJ?” Gargo asked.
Zach shrugged. Jay wouldn’t talk about it unless he had to. “He’ll be fine. I’m not his babysitter, and he doesn’t need one.”
Cooper chuckled dryly. “Riiiight.”
Now Zach was pissed, but he didn’t want to start something right before church, so he took his coffee and walked away.
Jay would be fine. In fact, Coop’s shithead attitude about it was further proof that Zach and Jay needed some distance. His little brother had to step out on his own.
