Page 69 of Loving Smoke

After all the chaos of the last forty-eight hours, I wanted to assess our future.

“In the next few weeks we need to concentrate on building up the club and getting shit straight.”

They all nodded their agreement and I continued. “Blood of course is my VP and I’d like to elect Ricky as secretary since he’s organized and knows this area better than any of us.”

Ricky smiled and nodded.

“Bolt will definitely be our enforcer.” I cut my eyes to the big man. “I can still see you ramming that bodyguard’s head into the side of the van while bullets are fuckin’ flying in all directions.”

Bolt squared his shoulders. “It’s what I’m good at.” Then he grinned, gold tooth and all.

They all laughed and I sobered. “When shit settles we’re goin’ back to the fight club. See if we can pick up another recruit.”

“I know a guy who’d be perfect for this life,” Bolt offered.

“Sounds good. I wanna get over there tomorrow and check it out. Nobody knows more about fight clubs than me. It’s a good moneymaker, and I wanna swoop in before anybody else tries to dip their fingers into it.”

Now that Rico was dead, all his businesses both legit and shady would be up for grabs and I wasn’t wasting any time scooping up and improving on what he left behind.

“And I think Manny should be our treasurer.” I cut my gaze to him. “I understand from your sister you got some fancy degree in accounting.”

“All true.” Manny accepted the position and we exchanged fist bumps.

“Especially since he’s given this chapter the boost of cash it needs to get started.”

Fuck yeahs and fist bumps circled the table.

I still had trouble wrapping my head around the shit that transpired. Rico going totally off the rails and holding a gun to his daughter’s head only to be gunned down by his son, Manny. Seems the kid was a powder keg about to explode and when he saw his sister in jeopardy he wasn’t about to stand by and watch another family member die at Rico’s hand.

According to Manny, Rico had high hopes for his son following in his footsteps. So much so that he told Manny the combinations to all the safes hidden around the villa. Useful information, for sure.

The next night we went back to the villa, staked it out, and when the cops left we snuck under the crime scene tape. Manny gave us a guided tour of all those hidden safes and we stuffed millions of dollars into canvas bags. Enough to fill the cargo van.

“I laid it all out for Jameson, and although we still have some shit to wade through he’s sanctioned Tijuana as a chapter in the RBMC.” I filled their glasses, then toasted. “Here’s to the Tijuana chapter of the Royal Bastards.”

I refilled their glasses and Blood stood. “Protect, Respect, Honor.”

We all drank to the Bastard’s motto.

25

The next day me, Blood, Ricky, and Bolt headed over to the fight club. Manny stayed behind to keep an eye on Marisol and to begin funneling some of the money into legit accounts. Turned out he had an accounting degree from the University of Miami and the kid loved numbers. A huge asset when diverting large amounts of cash to legit accounts.

When we got to the chop shop, I laid it all out for Mateo who liked the deal I offered. Seems Rico was bleeding him, and when I increased the percentage he’d get for the stripped down cars he was more than happy to come on board. One thing about piles of cash, it usually made the negotiations go smooth as shit.

After making the deal with Mateo, we headed out back. No fights were going on, but Bolt led us to the single-story barracks housing the fighters. The buildings were little more than shacks surrounded by mud and puddles from the last big rainstorm. These living conditions alone should make the guy come on board with the Bastards.

Bolt banged on the splintered door of an end unit. When no one answered, Bolt banged louder and yelled, “Hey, Diesel, pull your dick outta that hot bitch and answer the fuckin’ door.”

A minute later, the door flew open and a half-dressed woman screamed at us in Spanish. Then she tugged a flimsy tank top over her huge tits and righted the micro-mini skirt bunched around her ample hips. She yelled more Spanish curses and flounced away.

“Hey, babe,” Blood called after her. “If you’re looking for work, hit us up at The Tropics.”

I shoulder-butted Blood. “Shit, and you say I’m a dog.”

“What? She had a bangin’ fuckin’ body.”

Two seconds later, a guy shorter than Bolt but just as wide filled the doorway of the single room wearing a pair of gym shorts and a mean mug.

---