Page 18 of Stone

The sound of furniture clattering and scraping loudly interrupted Abe. Shouts and screams filled the air as a fight started to break out between the group of men who were arguing.

“Jesus,” Abe exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

“Leave ‘em to it.” I got to my feet. “Let the assholes kill each other.”

A loud curse went up. I turned to see Pop clambering onto the bar, he then reached into his inside pocket, pulled out his Glock, and fired a deafening shot at the ceiling. “Motherfuckers!”

Shouts and cries went up, and in the chaos, half the room dived for the floor. It took a minute before silence eventually fell over the bar as the music came to a stop.

Dad aimed his gun at the crowd of men, who, by then, had stopped their shenanigans and were staring at their prez opened-mouthed along with the rest of the room.

“What the fuck did I tell you assholes about fightin’ tonight?” Pop demanded.

Crickets.

“Will some fucker answer me!” he bellowed, face turning purple.

One of the brothers cleared his throat nervously. “You said no shenanigans. You wanted us on our best behavior ‘cause the women were comin’.”

Dad’s eyes zeroed in on the brother who spoke. “Correct, Hatchet, so maybe you can open your trap again and tell me why those fucknuts over in the corner are about to start punching the fuck outta each other?”

One of the fighters stepped forward, seemingly shamefaced. “Sorry, boss.”

Quick as a flash, Dad raised his Glock and let off another ear-splintering shot.

Shouts went up.

“Next time you directly disobey an order, that bullet will be lodged in your ass,” Pop yelled. “And that goes for all of ya. Do you fuckin’ get me?”

Silence.

“Do you fuckin’ get me?” Dad roared.

A chorus of agreement went up.

Pop slid his Glock back into his inside pocket, grumbling, “As you were, motherfuckers.” He leaned down until his palm hit the counter and jumped down to the floor before making his way toward me and Abe. “Can you believe those asshats?” He jerked his thumb toward the corner of the room. “I fuckin’ told ‘em, no rough stuff with our ol’ ladies in the bar.”

“They fucked up,” I agreed. “But you nearly shot one of ‘em. You can’t pull out your Glock every time a brother does somethin’ wrong. It’s crazy.”

Dad snorted sarcastically. “If I fired my weapon every time one of the men pissed me off, we’d run outta bullets. They were about to start throwin’ punches. Queenie’s gonna walk through that door any minute, and if she’d gotten caught up in a fistfight, I swear to God, a bullet would’ve found a brain. Best to show ‘em I mean business from the get-go. You can’t fuck around with these men, Son. First sign of weakness and it’d be goddamned anarchy. You need to toughen up if you wanna hold the gavel one day. Showin’ weakness won’t make the brothers respect you.”

My forehead furrowed as I mulled over Pop’s words.

He made a good point. The brothers were mainly ex-military and tough as nails. Fights broke out constantly, and Dad usually let them get on with it because it was how the brothers communicated. A lot of them fought in ‘Nam—like Dad—and suffered the aftereffects. Fighting was their way of blowing off steam. The problem was that Dad didn’t like rough stuff around the women in case they got caught in the crossfire. The brothers knew Dad’s rule and usually respected it for the sole reason that they thought the world of my ma.

I caught a flash of red out of the corner of my eye. My stare fell on one of the whores who was making a beeline toward us.

Foxy was a tall redhead who everybody regarded as the head club girl. It was her who Dad went to when one of the whores needed a reprimand or he wanted to kick one out. The groupies had hung around the club since the day Dad started it. They’d eventually moved in three years before, when Dad said they could bunk down in an outbuilding at the back of the barn.

The girls received free room and board but were expected to keep the brothers happy, no questions asked. I’d grown uparound them and had taken advantage of what they offered when I was younger than what society deemed as decent.

The whole thing had jaded me. Casual sex didn’t appeal anymore. These days, I was more excited to wait for the woman I loved and have sex that meant something more than fucking for fucking’s sake.

Long, red nails slid across Dad’s chest and up to his neck before Foxy stepped forward and pressed her body against Dad’s. “That was hot, Bandit,” she purred. “You wanna disappear with me for a while?”

My hands clenched into fists.

Foxy had been trying her shit with Dad for years. Some of the men who were wifed up went with the whores, but my pop wasn’t one of them. He adored my mom, so I knew he wouldn’t appreciate how Foxy was trying her luck with him.

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