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“The president of the Shady Valley chapter,” I explained.
“Right. The guy with the, you know, slash,” Levee said, drawing a line down his face where Slash had a pretty gnarly scar.
“How’s that helpful?” Alaric asked.
“Slash has got part of his crew whose sole purpose is to buy guns legally in the south, then bring them back up to California where Slash and his guys find buyers for them. But if we can get Riff and Raff to do some drops to us as well, we could double our output. And our profits.”
“Riff and Raff?” Donovan asked, smirking.
“They’re twins,” Huck explained.
“And, you know, as in ‘who let the riff-raff in,’” Levee said.
“So,” Huck said. “The plan is to start focusing less on finding local buyers, and supplying the guns to this new dealer instead. Then, if Slash and his guys are on board, we will scale up, give them a cut, and still be coming out better than we are now.”
“How much of a profit are we talking?” Donovan asked, ever a businessman. Which was what made him a good addition to the crew. “It’s taking on more risk. And a connection with someone we don’t know,” he added.
“We’re talking thirty percent more than we’re making already.”
Shit.
That was a huge fucking increase.
And we were already making bank.
Where did my mind go? Not to the fancy car I could get. Or how many chicks I could bag when I was making that kind of bank.
No.
It went right to the fact that a thirty-percent increase in profits would mean that I could donate more to the clinic.
I was, and had been for a long fucking time, been dropping off about eight grand a month. Which was most of my profits. I kept a little. To stock away. Because once you were broke, you fucking never wanted to be broke again. So I made sure I had a nest egg. But the rest? Yeah, it didn’t go to shit I didn’t need.
It went to the clinic.
Or, more specifically, it went to Ama.
To do with whatever she wanted.
Though, clearly, judging by her cheap shoes and big box store earrings, she was putting it all back into the clinic.
Maybe if she had more coming in, she would keep some of it for herself.
Even as I thought it, though, I knew better.
Because I knew her.
Almost as damn well as she knew herself.
Yeah, I was sure that college and life and just being a fucking adult had changed her, shaped her in ways I wasn’t privy to knowing, but I knew who she was at her core.
She’d never take money away from that clinic, save for the minuscule salary I was sure she was making. And only that because she saw it as taking money from the rich trio of doctors who ran it, not from the people in the neighborhood.
I’d never, not for one single moment, been as passionate about something as Ama was about that clinic.
Except, I guess you could argue, about Ama herself.
I could have saved enough for a big house by now, made sure I had something solid to fall back on. But it was more important to me to give that money to her to keep her dream going.
