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Dex
Loco’sstill standing outside the front doors of his diner, staring at the rows of Harley-Davidsons neatly lined up in his parking lot. Right out front where all the potential customers passing by can get a good look at the patch-wearing bikers standing next to the machines.
The faces of the few customers inside the diner stare out the windows at us.
I fight the urge to laugh.
Murphy steps up next to me, his shoulder brushing mine. “This is gonna be fun.”
Rock turns, his steely gaze landing on me. He jerks his head, indicating Murphy and I need to get our asses to the front of the line.
“I think he just wants you,” Murphy says, giving me a quick shove forward.
“Dick,” I mutter.
Loco seems to have recovered from his shock. He holds one of the front doors open wide. “Rock, you’re rolling a bit deep today. What’s with the entourage?”
Rock’s eyes widen, the picture of outlaw innocence. “It sounded important, Loco,” he says in a sarcastic,I’m just trying to be helpfulway. “So, I brought everyone to make sure we’d meet your needs.”
Loco swallows hard. “Perhaps I was, um, unclear. I really just needed to speak to you and Dexter.”
“Dex,” I correct.
“I figured big man might join you.” Loco nods to Wrath. “But, uh, I didn’t expect both clubs. Hey, Z, Rooster, Murphy, Teller.” He nods to my brothers one by one. “Not sure we got enough seating for all y’all.”
“Don’t mind sittin’ at the counter,” Grinder says, brushing past Loco to go inside.
It’s a smaller, old-fashioned diner. Loco’s upgraded it a few times, but most of those improvements focused on the basement, which is basically one long murder chamber.
A few minutes later, we’re crowded into the diner, taking up the empty booths and all but a handful of stools at the counter.
Loco, Rock, Wrath, and I are at a booth in the back corner. Well, Wrath’s at the stool across from our booth keeping an eye on us while he waits for his cheeseburgers. Murphy and Teller are on the two stools next to him with their backs to us.
Loco’s gaze keeps straying to his civilian customers who hurry through their meals. Finally, he seems to relax a notch. He sits back and spreads his hands out wide.
“First, I got mad respect for your crew, Rock. Want to get that out of the way first.”
Rock glares at him.
“Now, I know you all claim Ironworks as your territory and all,” he says in a way that suggests he disagrees. “And I been helping you hold it down for a while now.”
“With varying degrees of success,” Rock says.
Loco frowns.
“Well, I gotta say, it don’t make me look too good when one of my constituents is beaten half to death in my backyard and I don’t know nothing about it.”
“Constituents?” Rock raises an eyebrow and glances around. “You running for mayor now?”
“Yeah,” Loco answers with an equally sarcastic tone. “Mayor of Pussy Town, New York.”
Teller—or Murphy, I can’t tell—snorts but neither of them turn around.
I’m getting tired of all the posturing and bullshit. “You talking about that piece of shit Stan Elliot?” I ask.
“That’d be the one,” Loco confirms.
“What’s your relationship to him?” Rock asks.
