Page 9 of Southpaw Slots

With grunts and grumbles, they disperse toward the shop, except for Garg, who kicks up some rocks toward Rogue. Texting my contact, I set up a meeting and slide onto the leather seat of my girl.

They’re right. That piece of shit pretty boy needs to be taught a lesson, likely one no one’s ever showed him. I just need a day and a visit with Arianna Freidenberg—sorry,Donovan—and then things will fall into place.

Once I hit the edge of North Side, I slow to take some back roads to the west end of Strauss’s property. An obscure cave is a great meeting spot, out of the way of spies and eyes in the sky. Rolling up to the end of the gravel trail, I jump off and gather the bag of handguns off the back, heading up through the trees and into the dark hole. My contact is already there, dressed up in his full black tuxedo, face clean shaven and loafers polished to a shine so brilliant, it almost lights up the dank crevice he stands in like a statue.

“Hello, Barrington,” he calls to me before I enter.

“Don’t call me that. Here’s the leftovers. Got the cash, too. About twenty grand this time. Did you all ask for rifles?”

His gray eyes harden to ice even in the heat. “No.”

Glancing at the ground, I ponder what may have happened and reach into my pocket for the inventory list. As I check it over, relief blankets my shoulders. “Oh. Never mind, it was just two. They said two homeless guys in the west.”

“If you think it’s all right, sir.”

“I’ll keep an eye out, but it should be fine. Tell John to watch the homeless population over there. Make sure they aren’t scheduled for a riot we don’t know about.”

Taking the cash and guns, I turn and bid him farewell.

A few minutes later, I’m parking in front of the fancy high rise on the north end and heading into theelevator inside after the security waves me by. On the fifth floor, the receptionist eyes me for a moment, but I simply say, “Here for the monthly drop-off.” She nods and lets me walk into the back hall.

I’m dirty, grimy from the road dust and sweat from manual labor today. Got a good stink going up nice for the folks in suits around here. But it doesn’t matter as long as I make the payoff for Freidenberg’s safety.

Nikolev stands behind a glass desk and peers out his corner office windows. With a slight turn of his neck, he monotonously asks, “How much?”

“Ten. Gave twenty to John. And the leftovers.” I walk up to the table and drop the rest of the cash on top, minus one thousand for my lunch. “We good?”

Finally, he turns around and eyes the paper on his desk. “Yes. Another month free from terror. Are you holding your meeting tonight?”

“Of course. Gotta keep those spirits up for the next senate session, right?” Turning, I head toward the door. “Until next month.”

Now that the payoffs are done, I motor as quickly as my Harley will take me back to East Side, stopping by Brogie’s for as many subs as I can fit in my empty bags. After dropping one off for Rogue, it’s time to say hello to the eastern senator. Chewing my sandwich, I slowly meander toward the manor, edging the countryside almost outside of city limits. This time, I enter by the front gates, the guards lowering their weapons once they recognize me.

I ride up to the fancy fountain and turn off the engine, pulling out a cigarette from the pack in my rolled-up shirt sleeve and lighting it before taking the note from my pocket and lighting that, too. Dropping it on the ground, I stamp it with my boot until it’s ash. After a few puffs, I put the butt in the same spot.

Their butler opens the door for me, his shaky old eyes staring over my head as he stands back from the door. “This way,” is all he says. I could easily find my way to the office, but he probably wants to make sure I don’t steal any precious heirlooms. Instead of taking the back hall through the family room, Fritz leads me through the main open area where Arianna sits, pretending to look at a magazine, all done up just for my visit, I’m sure. Looking like pure sin. Fucking vixen.

I shake my head when she spots me, urging her not to speak. Her brother could hear everything, despite the door being closed. “Ten minutes,” I tell her, and she smiles that fucking grin that lights up my world and makes my cock rock hard. I hate it. I hate her so fucking much. But I need her.

Casually, she stands and heads out the front door as I enter to see Max. He sits with his legs propped on the desk, a pile of papers in his hand. How a fighter like him got to be such a domesticated fat cat is a sad state.

“Hey, man,” I say, plopping into a seat on the overstuffed chair across from him. His mouth forms a grimace.

“How much?” You’d think with his sister beingmarried to royalty now, he’d show a little more ease around me. But no. He’s still a douche.

Slapping the rest of the money on his mahogany desk, I clear my throat. “That’s the rest. About fifty Gs. Probably will get a million tomorrow from some families we shipped to in Appleton City. Big timers.”

He snatches the dough and flips through it briefly before tucking it into a drawer. Doesn’t want me to see where he stashes it. No problem. I bet it’s behind that gaudy portrait above the fireplace. I don’t care. Money doesn’t mean shit around here, except to motivate the wrong people to do the wrong things.

Slaves. All of them. And they have no clue.

Running a hand through his black locks, he raises an eyebrow in question. “And Strauss?”

“Paid for the month. He thinks ten percent. Well, that’s what I told Nikolev when I handed him ten.”

Max nods with a slight tug on the corners of his lips. “Very nice. But they still don’t know about the Appleton trades, right?”

I shake my head. “Nope. None the wiser. You done with me? I want to head out.”

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