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“Between me and him, isn’t it?” he asked, jerking his chin toward Coast.
“Got a problem with him?” I asked, though I was impressed he was that intuitive about the whole situation.
“Depends on the crew. Too many of him, you have a problem. But one or two of him, you have controlled chaos.”
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Thirty-five,” he said, shrugging.
He came off as wiser than that.
“You’re York, right?” Alaric asked, coming in at the man’s other side.
“Yep.”
“This is Alaric,” I said, getting a nod from York.
“And I’m supposed to take you to the range,” he said.
To that, York finished his beer, then followed Alaric without another word.
“Got anything?” Seeley asked, coming in at my side.
“He talks like someone who’s been around and has seen some shit,” I said.
“Yeah. From what I gather, he’s been involved in the world since he was fucking toddling.”
“How so?” I asked, wondering what kind of organized crime could be going on in rural New York state.
“His old man hid bodies for the mob,” Seeley said.
“No shit?” I asked, brows raised.
“No shit,” he said, nodding. “York came recommended by Tony Barelli,” he added.
Tony Barelli was the local mafia boss that Donovan had worked with once upon a time. A friendly, but dangerous man who seemed to take a liking on the club since Donovan had mended bridges with him a while back.
“Why? Tony made it clear he gets rid of bodies the old-fashioned, Florida way,” I said. Meaning by feeding them to the gators.
“Dunno. Some sort of connection through the mob in that area. Seems like the New York crew has someone in the family to take care of bodies now, which seems to have put York out of business.”
“And now he wants to be a biker? Different business.”
“Steady business,” Seeley said, shrugging.
“Was he already living down here? Or did he just come to try to prospect?”
“No. He was down here. His gramps was sick. He came down to take care of him. Ended up staying since he had no work left up in New York.”
“Well, I… tentatively like him. He’s the opposite of Coast, it seems like. Even he knew that. But he seemed to think that Coast is good people if you have more rational people around to balance him out.”
“Alright. I’ll let Huck know. It’s gonna be harder to get a read on him,” Seeley said, nodding toward Coast, who had a woman thrown over his shoulder, and was chasing another one through the shallow end of the pool.
He wasn’t wrong.
In my experience, guys like that, the in-your-face, wild sorts, they seemed like they carried everything on their sleeve because they were so extroverted. But, in reality, there was a lot of shit buried deep. And that was the important shit.
“Levee’ll figure something out,” I reasoned.
