Page 10 of Blood & Ash

Goose follows me inside with fifty questions hanging on the tip of his tongue as I storm past the front desk.

“He’s with a client. You can’t just go back there.”

We ignore the receptionist and show ourselves into Marty’s office.

“Blood. I was going to call you,” he says, standing up from behind his desk. Marty is a crooked piece of shit. Stubby, bald fuck who has always done decent by the club. “If you want to wait, I can speak to you when I finish with Mr. Stevens here.”

“Should I call the sheriff?” The old bitch who works his front desk questions.

“No.” he holds his hands up, waving her off. “Joe, give us a few minutes. This won’t take long.”

“Yeah, Joe. Give us a few,” Goose says, looming toward him menacingly. The guy nearly pisses his pants as he scrambles out of his seat and out the door.

I slam it behind him and stalk toward Marty. “Is it true? Did my old man change his Will?”

Goose stares between the two of us as Marty stutters around the question. “You know how th-these things work. There will be an official reading soon enough.”

“Don’t fuck with me. I’m in a real bad mood this morning,” I warn him.

“Look, about a month ago, he made an appointment.”

“Did he sign anything over to a little tart named Shelby?”

“What the fuck?” Goose mutters.

“I can’t answer that, but he did make changes.”

“Let me guess, that little cunt was sucking his cock and jerking yours off at the same time. What’d she promise you? A cut of the money when she sold the clubhouse out from under us?”

The guilty expression is written all over his pudgy and wrinkled face. I’m not stupid. Been many men try to get our property due to the location. We own a nice fucking slice of real estate when you factor the garage across the street into the mix.

“I tell you what? You hand over the paperwork and I do mean every fucking copy, and I might leave you breathing, youfucking slimy fat fuck. Anything comes up to fuck me and the club, Goose will come pay you a visit in your sleep at your cozy mansion and slice open your dick from tip to balls, skin it, fry it like slices of bacon, and feed it to your fat little wife one sliver at a time.”

His face turns visibly green at the threat.

“Anyone comes asking questions, you don’t know anything besides what is in that original Will.” Goose flashes one of his knives at him, waving it around before he stabs it into the desk.

“If you have any digital records, I expect those to be destroyed too.” He hands me some paperwork and I start flipping through it. “You piece of shit. This isn’t my Pop’s signature. It’s close, but not quite.”

The stupid fuck reaches into his desk and pulls out a handgun. “Don’t come any closer,” he threatens, pointing it back and forth between Goose and me with shaky hands.

I shake my head. “Do you even know how to use that peashooter?”

Goose grins wickedly and responds, “Looks like a toy, doesn’t it?” He steps closer to Marty, baring his teeth in a predatory smile.

I grab Goose’s arm and pull him back as the lawyer waves the gun around, seemingly lost in fear. “You won't be needing that,” I say, lowering his arm before he accidentally kills someone. I make my way towards the door, forged paperwork in hand.

Goose follows me out, slamming the door behind us. “You think we can trust him not to try anything else?” he asks, looking at the crumpled paper in my hand.

I shake my head. “Not a chance. We’ll have to take him out, but we’ve gotta do it quiet and smart. Make it look like an accident tonight during the wake.”

We get on our bikes, agreeing not to relay the news to our brothers. Not yet. The fewer people who know about thesituation with Shelby, and the betrayal by Pop’s lawyer, the better.

If word gets out about this shit, the vultures will descend to pick us apart like roadkill.

Weaving through traffic, all I can think is I should have got shot of Shelby years ago. Maybe if I had, I wouldn’t be in this mess. My Pops and Eightball would still be here. I can’t dwell on what ifs or coulda, shoulda, wouldas. Too much is riding on me.

We pass abandoned buildings and boarded-up houses, the remnants of a forgotten part of town where the low-income apartments used to be before a fire nearly took out two blocks. The sun glints off the chrome and metal of our bikes as we ride down Vincent Street to pay a visit to one of our stash houses.

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