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King and Jawbone exchange glances, Jawbone quirking his eyebrows. “Give us the blow-by-blow.” He mimes fucking with his fingers.
I give him a quick raise of my eyebrows. “If I told you, old man, you’d have a stroke.”
The rest of the guys laugh as Hangman storms into the room. He sees me and glares, which is fair. His cheek still has a livid bruise on it. “You fucking prick,” he snarls as he jabs his finger at me.
“Love you too, boss,” I reply lightly, but straighten up. Don’t want to be too loose around the prez. He’ll take advantage.
“Fuck off,” he tells me as he redundantly raises his middle finger.
I salute him back. “Fucking off, Sir!”
“What the fuck is wrong with him?” Hangman snarls to Joker.
“He’s getting his brains fucked out is what’s wrong,” Red tells everyone, his lips turned down in a petulant frown.
“Have a little fucking’ respect,” I growl, because even though I like the banter, it’s getting close to bein’ impolite.
Hash saves me from further harassment by walking into the room, which distracts Hangman. “What the fuck made you late, you cocksucker? Better not have been pussy.”
Hash ambles up to a chair against the wall, flips it around and straddles it. “Wish it was. Got cornered by Mad Max outside Sailor Jerry’s. Blackbeards lost one of theirs. Thinks we might have the asshole.”
Grumbles filter around the room. None of us appreciate the VP of the Blackbeards sniffing around our ink shop. He’s a pretty-boy with more mouth than brains and we got a pool going on about which one of us will kill him in the end.
“Funny you should mention that,” Joker smirks, trading glances with Reaper. “We got someone cooling his heels in the Chamber.”
I nod. “Took a run at Kit last night at Dick’s Picks. I fucked him up good.”
Reaper nods. “You did. He bitched and moaned all the way back here.”
There are a few side conversations about this latest development, but Hangman’s impatient. “What else did Mad Max say?” he demands, his temper teetering on the edge.
“Apparently the missing ballsac’s club name is Dino for some fuckin’ reason,” Hash replies.
Dino. Dean Henderson. “That’s the bastard!” I exclaim with a malicious grin. “We went and caught ourselves a Blackbeard.”
Hangman rubs his chin as he looks at me with approval, and I know I’m forgiven for hittin’ him. Well, forgiven might be too strong a word because Hangman don’t forget.
We’re distracted as two guys wander in, both of them wearing Las Vegas Hell’s Jury colours. The reinforcements have arrived.
“Thanks for fucking showin’ up,” Hangman says, his moment of calm evaporating.
“Lost our way.” Rider fist bumps Rocky as he slumps into a chair next to him. Rider is a valued Jury member, a little under six feet, strong and wiry. Not that easy on the eyes because his favourite hobby is brawling, but his personality makes up for it. He’s riddled with tats and scars and will proudly tell you where he got each one.
Mothman, the Vegas prez’s son, nods at Coyote as he takes a seat next to him. Unlike Rider, who has a sense of humour and a reckless attitude, Mothman is solemn and seems to like his own company best. He’s good at negotiation and better skilled at diplomacy than most guys, including Joker. To Hangman, he says, “Got a late start this morning. Some fuck took a shot at Stark on our way out of town and we tried to chase him down.”
Stark is Mothman’s prospect, but he’s no one’s bitch and Mothman will be the first to warn you that it’s best not to fuck around with him. He might be a prospect, but he won’t take shit from anyone.
“You catch up to him?” Fender asks.
“Nah,” Rider says. “Motherfucker was skilled on a bike.”
Joker narrows his eyes. “You guys are here to support us, not bring more fuckin’ trouble.”
Mothman throws a disinterested glance Joker’s way. “Stark says it has nothing to do with the Jury. He’ll find the fuck and sort it out himself.”
“Jesus,” King grumbles. “Even if it’s personal, it’s still a Jury problem.”
“Tell that to Stark,” Mothman replies then says to Hangman, “Won’t be late again.”
