Page 126 of American Hellhound
“Roman told them. He set up that deal, not me.”
“Butwhy did you let him?”
“Because I’m going to make an example of him.” The feral gleam was back; bloodlust, Ghost thought. “I’m giving the asshole just enough rope to hang himself, and then I’m going to let him swing for the whole club to see. You think I’m gonna what, give him a slap on the wrist? Chew him out in private? Nah. What he’s doing, he’s gonna pay for that. It’s gonna be the scariest, most embarrassing moment of his life when it all comes to light.”
An effective lesson, no doubt. But in the meantime…
“What do we do with him ‘til then?”
Duane shrugged. “Watch our backs.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I didn’t know I could trust you?”
“Fuckingreally?”
“Your head’s not here.” Duane thumped the desk with a finger for emphasis. “Maybe you ain’t a traitor, but you don’t care about this club.” Angry, almost petulant.
“That’s not true.”
“You haven’t proved you give a damn.”
“This club’s all I have,” Ghost huffed. “I got no job, no income, no family.”
“What about that Maggie of yours? You got her?”
The man I love, she’d said, and meant it; he’d seen the truth shining up at him in her eyes. “Yeah, but I gotta take care of her, don’t I? I can’t do that without the club.”
Duane smiled, wide and cat-like. “Now he sees it.”
“What?”
“That you need me. See, this is what I’ve been trying to tell you. You’ve been so fucked up since that bitch left you, you haven’t been able to see what’s right in front of you: you can’t get by without the club, which means you can’t get by without me.” He looked pleased.
Ghost chewed at the inside of his cheek, frustrated, feeling strangled for reasons he didn’t understand. “Yeah, I need you,” he said, grudgingly. “But…”
“But what?”
“I want to pitch my garage idea to the club again. A real business plan this time. Profit margins and all that.”
“Profit margins?” Duane laughed, brows shooting up. “Look at you.”
“I’m serious, Duane.”
“I can see that. Alright, alright.” He grabbed the bottle off the corner of the desk and poured another finger of Scotch in his glass. “You can bring your profit margins to church, lay it out for us. No promises.”
“I just want a chance. That’s all I’m asking. I can convince everyone.” He prayed he could.
“Fine.” Duane toasted the air. “In the meantime, don’t say shit about Roman to anyone. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
He left the clubhouse victorious…but greasy-feeling. Like satisfying a deep hunger with a cheap roadside hamburger that didn’t settle right on his stomach.
~*~
By third period on Wednesday, Maggie had already made up her missed work from the day before. School wasn’t difficult, she just didn’t enjoy it. She ate lunch alone, Rachel eyeing her from two seats over, paging through her chem notes.
