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“Too much information,” Sid barked.
Fiona kept on going. “Benjy was hitting on Shelly at the bar – could Lou have told the shooters to kill a guy standing next to a blonde?”
“Maybe… but if Lou arranged it, it would have made a whole lot more sense for him to show them a picture, not just tell them ‘the guy with the blonde.’ That could’ve been half a dozen people.”
“Simplest, not best,” Sid reminded me.
“Well, as long as you’re providing explanations, how did Lou know about Fiona?” I asked.
“Simple,” Sid said. “He found out from somebody who knew.”
25
Lou Shaw
Jack Pollari.
Bane of my fuckin’ existence.
There was a time when being part of the Midnight Riders meant something. It was like being an American – like being a man: it meant freedom. Power. Do whatever you want, don’t take shit offa anybody, and when you gotta kick ass, you kick it good and hard so the other bastard doesn’t get back up.
That was then; this is now. And like every thieving politician and feminist bitch, Jack Pollari gutted something great. Cut off its balls and put it on its knees, all in the name of ‘progress.’
The really tragic thing was Jack was a goddamn good soldier back in the day. Did some things for the club I’d have hesitated to do myself.
But then he got soft. Saw too many things that made him cry like a bitch, I guess, because he went soft like a bitch.
Three years ago, when most of the old-timers were either dead or doing twenty to life, he sweet-talked a bunch of the brothers into handing over their balls. And they complied. Just reached right in their sacks, pulled ‘em out, and gave ‘em to Miss Pansy to put in his goddamn purse.
I did my best to talk some sense into the shitheads, but they elected him president by the slimmest of margins. And I became VP.
That doesn’t mean I gave up the fight.
And I sure as fuck didn’t give up my balls.
No… I bided my time. Waited for the right opportunity.
I have to hand it to Jack – he’s a good talker. Even when he was ass-fucking the club into the ground, he made it sound like the sweetest deal you ever heard: we’re legit now. We work inside the law now. We’re not outlaws anymore.
Fuck being legit.
Fuck working inside the law – especially when you lose 90% of the money you were pulling in.
And I’m an outlaw till my very last breath.
So fuck you, Jack Pollari.
You’re goin’ down.
26
An opportunity finally arose.
It took awhile – damn near three years. Despite everything I’ve said, Jack can be a smart motherfucker. Not all the time, and nowhere near as smart as me, but he has his moments.
The smartest thing about him is he doesn’t trust me one bit. The dumbest thing about him is he’s not very subtle about it.
So when he asked me to give his newest bitch a job in my club, I figured, Why the fuck not. It was pretty transparent from the beginning. He obviously suspected me of something (smart), so he thought he’d put a spy in my operation (also smart) – except he was blatant as fuck about it (moronically stupid).
