Page 70 of Straightened Out

“Your mother called me one last night when I bent her over,” his pal next to him says.

Very, very limited.

The two older brutes continue to bicker about someone’s dead mother until Jack slams his fist against the grain of the table.

“Enough,” he bellows. The leather clad apostles all go quiet as their messiah narrows his eyes on Bianci. “Start talking.”

Clearing his throat, Bianci’s eyes slice to me.

“What’s the matter, Bianci? The cat got your tongue?” another apostle calls and I wait for Bianci to speak, but instead he roughly drags his fingers through his hair.

I roll my eyes and stand tall, meeting Jack’s dark gaze.

“From this point forward, I am the boss of the Pastore organization. I will handle all prior and future endeavors that carry my uncle’s name.”

There.

Short and sweet.

Can we leave now?

“Your uncle?” the bearded fellow asks.

“Victor is my uncle.”

Come on, big guy, connect the dots.

“What the fuck kind of bullshit is this?” Parrish roars. He pushes back his chair, nearly knocking it over as he leans over the table. “And why am I finding this shit out now?” His eyes cut from me to Bianci. “Start fucking explaining.”

“I knew he was his nephew, I didn’t know shit about him taking Victor’s place, though,” Bianci sneers, fixing me with a look.

Yeah, you and everybody else, buddy.

“This shit is as much of a new development to me as it is to you,” Bianci continues, pacifying the big bad biker.

“So, Vic pulled the wool over your eyes?” the guy in desperate need of haircut asks. I squint to read his name patch.

Blackie.

“Vic did what he had to do,” I defend, making a mental note to give this Blackie character my barber’s number before I leave.

My gaze sweeps around the table and I shake my head. It’s amazing how they forget that I was the one who helped them not too look ago. Sure, I didn’t hand deliver the information myself, but it was my intel that tipped them off on Sun Wu’s shipment of drugs. They were at war with the Red Dragons, a Chinese gang notorious for trading blow, and at the time, I was filling in for one of my uncle’s foreman down at the docks—a guy who went by the name Rienzi—I gave the information to my uncle and he passed it along to these guys. Something I didn’t know actually happened until last week. Uncle Vic thought it would be a good time to reveal that bit of information and suggested I use it as an olive branch.

“You’ve worked with me in the past,” I say, keeping my focus on Parrish. “I don’t think I need to remind you people of the massacre you left behind on my pier after I gave you the tip on Sun Wu’s shipment.”

Olive branch extended.

Take the fucking bait so we can be done with this shit.

Please.

Unbuttoning my jacket, I slide my hand into my pocket and wait for a response. The guy with the beard leans over the table and snaps his fingers, getting Parrish’s attention.

“You want me to pop a cap in this fool’s ass?”

They’re not the most welcoming bunch.

Sighing, I school my features and begin to recite the same well-rehearsed speech I’ve given to the longshoreman’s associates and the other families.

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