Total pages in book: 180
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 176012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 880(@200wpm)___ 704(@250wpm)___ 587(@300wpm)
Hugo was right. I was ashamed, scared, and a coward.
I was never a man.
Kids coasted down one of Weston’s steepest streets, tumbling and laughing as they tried out my old snowboards in the fresh snow.
“Use your feet!” I yelled. “Press your toes to go left, heels to go right!”
They straight-lined, and I winced, predicting the crash before it happened. Some kid named Wyatt collided with Jorge, both flailing onto the powder that covered the broken street underneath.
It wasn’t likely any of these kids could afford a lift ticket, so what the hell. Let them learn to ski anyway.
I held my breath, seeing them both dead on the ground, but then…Jorge started rolling over and Wyatt climbed to his feet. They both threw snow at each other.
Locking my boot in, I cruised down the hill, the club the only thing lit up on the corner with people standing outside like it was a summer night and we were cooking burgers.
I mean, we were cooking burgers, but…
Drew hopped down from his truck, two police officers following him up the snow-covered sidewalk in the otherwise empty downtown.
Why were the police here?
I didn’t see Lance zoom in and cut me off. We both hit the ground, my hand sinking through the snow and grating against the pavement.
“Asshole,” I chuckled.
He just smiled, whipping a dusting of snow at me.
The kids ran and played, a few parents stood about, and it had been a productive year, making what renovations on the clubhouse that we could afford. We were here every chance we got. We ripped up the floor, sealed the cement underneath, repaired and painted walls, fixed the roof, did a little plumbing, and I installed smart locks and cameras. The address above the door read 8 Green Street. So that was what we started calling it. We paid kids a few bucks to do chores, and we had a makeshift bar others sat at and drank, but we didn’t have a liquor license. I wasn’t entirely comfortable with it, but there were no cops here.
Until now.
“What the fuck is he doing?” I mumbled to my friend, watching Drew lead the cops inside.
“He thinks he’s a gangster,” he joked.
Nudging me in the chest, he climbed to his feet, and I did the same, removing my board. We headed down the hill to the club, stepping inside the dark building, couches and TVs spread out where fire engines used to be parked.
Walking to the back of the station, Lance fell in behind me, but I stopped just outside the door to the back room.
“And you can guarantee this supply every week for the rest of the year?” Drew asked one of the cops.
They stood around a table with a large, black duffel sitting on it.
The officer nodded. “After that, you have to find another source.”
I peered at Lance.
“Hugo,” Drew said to the kid lurking nearby.
Hugo approached him, Drew pulling money out of his pocket. “Go get some beers and tell that piece of shit that if he gives you a hard time, I’m going to be a problem.”
The kid couldn’t be more than fifteen.
He took the money and tried to slip between us to get out the door, but I grabbed the cash from his hand. “I’ll get the beers,” I said.
Sullivan’s Shop could call the cops on him if he used threats to get liquor.
The kid scowled. “I can do it.”
But I barked, “Go play.”
I’m not sure why I said that. He wasn’t five.
He flipped me his middle finger and disappeared back into the clubhouse. I turned back to watch Drew offer the cops a seat. “Stay a while.”
“Drew,” I call out, trying to peek around to see what’s in the duffel bag.
He looked up just as he was about to sit. I watch him walk over to us, and I waited until he was close and kept my voice low. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“If I tell you,” Drew said. “Then I involve you.”
“What?”
What the fuck?
I glanced at the bag on the table again. I could only assume it was drugs, and the cops got it from a confiscated bust in Chicago or something.
But he simply burst out laughing. “I’m applying to the police academy,” he told us. “Just making friends and trying to get a little favoritism going.”
“A cop?” Lance questioned.
To which Drew put his arms around both of us, tugging us in close. “Who’s going to watch your mansions while you’re taking your families skiing?”
I studied his face, the gleaming blue eyes and half smirk that always gave the impression that he was up to something, but usually it just turned out to be something fun.
He took his seat back at the table, summoning over a young girl with brown hair who wore tight jeans and a crop top. He snaked an arm around her, cupping her ass, while he jerked his chin at another, prompting her to drape her arms around the police officer.