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“Um, okay,” I answer nervously. I want to argue with him but the way my hand is shaking, and my heart is pounding in my chest, I’m too scared to.
He nods and then continues, “Now this ordeal with you, Dingo, and Lincoln Thor. I got a real problem here. Normally, I would just have Mr. Thor killed, no questions asked, for attacking one of my employees. But the Rush Riders are into me for a lot of money, and I seriously doubt without Mr. Thor's help they will ever be able to pay me back. Besides, after today I'm kinda liking the guy.” He chuckles. “But still,” he says shaking his head, “someone has to die for this.”
“It was my fault,” I interrupt, my behavior becoming frantic.
Roscoe looks at me, one eyebrow quirked up and says, “Explain.”
“I insulted Dingo, so he slapped me. Lincoln was just defending me. It was all my fault,” I ramble.
Roscoe holds his hand up to stop me and asks, “So I should kill you?” I can't answer him, all I can do is cry. My body starts to shake uncontrollably, my heart pounds so hard I start to get dizzy. “I'm not going to kill you, Miss Field,” Roscoe says then he nods at two of the guys behind him. “However, I do need you to understand that you should not take the kindness I have shown you as weakness.” The two guys move forward, one of them grabs Dingo's head as the other one pushes down on his shoulders. Roscoe reaches over and grabs the hoop ring in Dingo's lip and begins twisting it around and around. Blood starts to run down his hand and Dingo screams and struggles to get away, but the two men hold him in place, tightening their grip, making it impossible for him to budge. I scream and move to slide off of the bench, but the man behind me puts his hands on my shoulders, stopping me. Roscoe pulls his hand away from Dingo's mouth with a sharp tug and blood squirts out into the air and lands on the table. Roscoe moves his blood-soaked fist over the table in front of me and opens his fist. The hoop ring falls down and lands in front of me on the table with a ping. “Do you understand now how kind I am being here, Miss Field?” Roscoe asks, as he cleans his hand of Dingo's blood with a handkerchief that one of the men behind me has handed him. I can't talk, I get up and Roscoe nods an okay to the man behind me to let me go. I slide off of the bench and walk a few steps away. I fall to my knees as I throw up what is left in my stomach of the breakfast Linc had fixed me this morning. Roscoe walks up behind me and waits patiently for me to finish. I stand and he hands me a clean handkerchief. “Walk with me, Miss Field,” he says, taking my elbow and walking me back out to where my truck is parked. Dingo screams behind us and we both turn to look back at the table to see that Dingo is now lying over the table with his pants down. The guy who was holding his head is stroking his dick behind Dingo's ass, and the one who was holding his shoulders down has a gun to Dingo's head as he strokes his dick in front of Dingo's mouth. “You don't want to watch this, dear,” I hear Roscoe say before he grabs my arm. Then wrapping it in his, he continues to walk me farther away from the horrendous scene playing out behind us. “Now, Miss Field, for the rest of the deal. On top of the money you will pay me from the marijuana sales, you will also deliver me a half pound of your best product every Monday. This will satisfy yours and Mr. Thor's debt for this act against one of my employees. Are we clear?” he finishes, stopping to look at me.
“Uh...okay,” I answer, rubbing my forehead.
“Is there a problem?” he asks.
“It's just that's a lot of product...and money...but I will figure out a way,” I say, realizing who I'm talking to.
He notices my about-face at the end and chuckles. “Yes, it is, so I tell you what, since I like you so much, I will give you some more buyers you’re not selling to yet, that should help alleviate some of the financial burden on you. So, the only thing you have to worry about is making sure your supplier can keep up. If you need me to talk to your supplier...to encourage them, so to speak, to put your needs first, I can do that,” he offers, stopping again to look at me.
“No, no, that is fine...the fewer people involved in this the better, right?” I reply.
“Yes, definitely,” he agrees, nodding. “I don't want you discussing our arrangements with Mr. Thor either, Miss Field. We don't want him getting himself killed trying to defend you again, now do we?”
“No, we don't,” I answer. “I won't tell him anything, I promise.” I continue looking him in the eye so he can see I can be trusted on this.
“Good,” he says with a nod.
“Can I ask you one question though?” I ask as we start walking toward the parking lot again.
“Of course,” he replies.
“Why do you want a half pound of product if you’re not wanting to sell?” “Good question,” he answers chuckling. “I will still need the product to hand out to my business associates...Think of it like going to a friend’s house for dinner and taking them a bottle of wine...in my case, pot is more appropriate than wine.” He shrugs.
“Huh...okay,” I reply. “Well, I will make sure your business associates get the best then.” I continue forcing a smile so he can see I want to make sure he is pleased.
“I know you will, Miss Field.” He smirks in return. We are back in the parking lot by his car when all of the men from the back come up behind us, minus Dingo. “It's all done, sir,” one of them says.
“Very good, let’s go then.”
The man who took my phone steps forward and hands me my phone as he reaches for the door handle of the Mercedes.
“Miss Field, I will have my people text you all the details you will need to know. I look forward to seeing you again, but under better circumstances, of course.” Then he gets in the back seat of the Mercedes the stocky guy is holding the door open to. And in a flash both vehicles leave me standing here alone. Shit, Dingo! Taking a deep breath, scared of what I might find, I run back to the picnic table and see Dingo lying on the ground beside it.
“Dingo!” I scream while shaking his shoulder. “Oh no, no, no, please don't be dead,” I cry, shaking his shoulder harder. “I am so sorry this happened, Dingo,” I sob, sitting back on my knees crying. He was an asshole, but he didn’t deserve to die. If he did, Linc would have killed him.
“I knew you wanted me,” I hear him mumble so low that I think I imagined it.
“What?” I say, shocked. Looking down, I see him looking back at me through a small sliver of one of his swollen eyes and a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Fuck!” I scream, pissed. Then hitting him on the shoulder hard, I yell, “I thought you were dead!”
“Ow. Shit! Really, your gonna hit me?” He half chuckles, holding his sides harder.
“Dammit, Dingo, I thought they killed you. You scared the shit out of me!” I yell again.
“I played dead after they started kicking the shit out of me and they fell for it. Dumbasses never even checked to make sure,” he moans in pain.
“Can you call Dylan?” he groans.
