Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“Easiest run we’ve had in a while,” Hacksaw chimed in. “I almost felt bored.”
We all chuckled. I had to admit it was nice for something to go smoothly.
After what went down last year, we lost a brother from a rival club targeting a shipment, clipped his bike, spun him out and ran over him. It was traumatic and still haunted most of us.
“Any updates on that?” I asked scanning the room.
No one spoke.
Which meant no one was prying into what happened to the clubhouse we burned to the ground with five of their officers inside it. Nothing gave back the freedom they took from Hex when he died, but retribution was ours to have and hold. And we did.
Not an eye digging in …
Good.
We covered our asses, it would look like their own people did it anyway.
“Alright,” I continued, “current business. Tiny, got some good news?”
He sat forward splaying a thick hand on the table. “Yeah, so the hotel.”
Grunts followed around the room. Everyone knew which hotel he was talking about. While each man was free to have a regular job, own a business, we also had club owned business for filtering cash. The Velvet Inn, a rundown motel with a bad reputation, was one of them.
When Leo Baker defaulted on his protection payments, then got behind to a loan shark because the man had a serious gambling problem, he signed over the deed to his business. We paid his debt to the loan shark as part of the deal. All for the man to be able to keep breathing naturally instead of through a tube. He bet big, lost even bigger. We never intended to own his business. We preferred cash. But I wasn’t going to let the fucker off the hook. This balanced shit out as the location was prime, another business front to run things through, and could be a good long term investment.
“Got the roaches gone. Got the rats gone. Raccoons still get in the dumpster but it’s not as bad. Place is coming together. But we’re fuckin’ bleeding money and can’t keep staff for shit.”
“What’d you expect?” This came from Rage. “He barely kept it staffed. The ones who were there before see us ride up, colors flying, they think we’re fucking gang bangin’ and not the boss.”
“Fresh blood is important,” Widower added. “We need our people who understand they got a job to do, they do it, get paid, and look the other way anytime a brother comes around.”
“Whose coverin’ it for right now?” The legitimate question came from DK.
Pinky laughed, “Aunt Nancy named herself the damn manager.”
Tiny shook his head. “Ma stood up to the task. Says she needs to stay busy since Pops died.”
It was my turn to shake my head. “Your mom is good people, Tiny, but she can’t be on the night shift alone.”
He nodded. “I’ve been getting coverage at night. Though the call outs are ridiculous so I end up working it myself.”
“We need to get this place up and running, legit ways to turn a profit. It’s draining resources which we got, but for how long?”
I nodded agreeing with DK’s point. “Make a list, Tiny. What jobs you need filled.”
He laughed sarcastically. “All of them. Unless you wanna see Crank behind the counter offering wake up calls, we need available people now.”
We all laughed thinking of Crank behind a counter with his split tongue and body covered in a geometric designed tattoo that fucks with your eyes simply looking at him.
“We’ve been using the bottom floor back side for transfers. It’s helped cushion the costs on the place. Moving product through there is cleaner than the garage. The upstairs has to remain for actual guests to keep the legal side of this going. For that, we need front desk staff, maintenance, and housekeeping.
Tiny put up his hand, “well, I hired two bitches last night. They rolled in late, looked lost as fuck. They needed a place to crash and jobs. Both of them made it downstairs ready to scrub toilets at seven am.”
“Fresh meat?” K-9 asked knowing Tiny wasn’t big on repeat pussy.
Tiny smirked, “fresh enough not to have a credit card.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, are they legal?”
Tiny nodded, “both gave ID cards showing they were nineteen. Well, one showed her license from Montana. The other one had her birth certificate and a recent marriage license, also from Montana. Apparently, that one doesn’t drive.”
I rubbed my jaw thinking. It wasn’t just about making a profit. This was about image too. We didn’t let our shit run down and rot. Anything we stood behind had to be quality. Period.
“Alright, give me some options.”
“Hire local, put out some feelers,” Guru injected himself into the conversation. “Can put some shit out online.”
“You bring in civvies you ask for loose lips. One wrong word to the wrong set of ears, it’s over. We need a pool of people we can trust.”