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“Cato,” Huck called, jerking his head at me.
Walking over toward where he was standing with Seeley and McCoy, I nodded. “What’s up?”
“Gonna need you to get a feel for Coast and York,” he told me, discreetly motioning in each of their directions.
York, for lack of a better way to describe him, looked like a fucking lumberjack.
Tall, wide, fit, with a brown beard and hair.
He had a serious air about him, but he had a girl on his lap.
Mature enough to be a valuable member of the team, but also down for a good time.
Coast, on the other hand, had ‘crazy’ tattooed all over him. Tall, but a lean kind of fit. Borderline skinny, but with abs. His hair skirted that line between brown and blond. His eyes were a piercing blue. The man had children’s blocks tattooed on his collarbone that spelled out ‘Fuck You.’
So… less mature.
More scrappy, judging by the fresh cuts on his knuckles.
The “Fuck You” blocks weren’t his only tattoos, either. There were ones on his chest, arms, and back—which I could see because he was in the pool, chasing around a couple of squealing women—and even on his neck and side of his face.
“Are those roman numerals what I think they are?” I asked, meaning the ones on the side of his face. Thirteen, it seemed.
“Yeah, so it seems,” Huck said, shrugging.
Meaning he’d taken thirteen lives.
It wasn’t an astronomical number. For a lifelong criminal, anyway. But it was up there.
“They’re going to put on their best show for us,” McCoy reasoned. “But if you can integrate yourself a little more…”
“Right,” I agreed, nodding. “On it.”
And with that, I decided to actually try to join in on the party, having a few drinks to loosen myself up, then making my way over toward where Eddie was talking to York.
“Hey, man, there you are,” Eddie said, smiling. I swear I’d never seen the man in a bad mood. “Was wondering where you were. This here is York. York, one of the brothers, Cato.” We exchanged the typical chin-nod thing that practically had the gregarious Eddie rolling his eyes. Never having struggled in social situations, Eddie could never understand when people didn’t just strike up immediate connections. “York was just telling me about life in rural New York state,” Eddie said.
“Yeah?” I asked. “What’s it like up there?”
“Cold,” York said, shrugging.
“Roll with any interesting crews?” I asked. “We have connections up in Jersey, so we know a thing or two about the world up that way.”
That was mostly a lie. Sure, Huck knew about some of the shit up that way, having spent time there himself, but the rest of us were in the dark.
“No, worked for myself,” he said, shrugging it off.
“Chopping down trees?” Eddie asked, all charm and affability. “Look at them arms, man. You could be like that dude online that chops up big hunks of wood while dirty-talking ‘em. Drives the honeys wild,” he said, before walking away. Likely to go check on something he was cooking. Despite there already being enough food to feed an army around.
“He’s not wearing a cut,” York said.
“No,” I agreed. “Eddie is more of a… hangabout. He’s trying to get full citizenship. He doesn’t want to be associated in any official way to the club because of it.”
“Makes sense,” York said, nodding. “Let me guess. You’re here to see if I’m a good fit.”
“We’re all here to see if you’d be a good fit,” I reasoned.
He said nothing to that.
