Page 109 of American Hellhound
“Businesses,” he said, and it sounded like the words got caught on the way out, half-choked-back. In the firelight, she thought she saw his cheeks color. “A garage. A bike shop. Hell, a boat rental place. Something. A way to make money legitimately.” His breathing grew rapid as he spoke, his ribs pressing against hers. She felt his excitement bleed over into her, their ribs catching, interlocking. “We could live better,comfortably, without scraping by one deal at a time. It we’retheclub, like Duane says, then why does he cripple us? We could bepowerful.”
His hand curled into a fist on her shoulder. “I know we could make it work. But he won’t even listen. He wants us to be white trash dealers. He talks about the club, about what we are – we ain’t shit.”
His eyes were feverish when he turned back to her. “Weain’t shit.”
“That’s not true,” Maggie said. “You are shit.” She winced. “That didn’t sound good. But you know what I mean.”
He looked doubtful.
“Ghost, the fact that you want to institute change means something. If you were happy with the circumstances, then you’re right, the club wouldn’t stand a chance. But you want to make it better. That’s a start.”
“Start to disappointments.”
“Right now, sure. That’s how things always start. You have to keep at it though. Convince Duane and the rest of the guys that it’s a good idea – a viable one.”
His grin was tight and humorless. “Convince him how?”
“Crunch some numbers. Draw up a business plan. You can’t just talk about something like that – you have to show him that it would actually work.”
He stared at her like she’d grown a second head.
“Future Business Leaders of America,” she explained. “AP Econ. Professional selling college courses last summer.” She shrugged. “My parents want me to be a CEO’s wife.” They’d never suggested she should be the CEO herself.
“And his advisor, too?”
“Wife and adviser aren’t mutually exclusive roles.” She felt a little defensive.
“Damn.” He faced forward again.
“I’m just trying to help.”
“I know.” He gave her a squeeze. “I’m not used to that. Give me a minute to let it sink in.”
She gave him a minute. Two.
He said, “Are you hungry? Let’s blow this hole and go grab pancakes.”
She was very on board with that plan.
Twenty-Two
Then
There weren’t too many companies willing to hire a known outlaw who couldn’t guarantee nine-to-five availability. On paper, Ghost was unemployed. Practically, he sold for Duane, and pulled shifts here and there with Full Circle Towing, picking up wrecks and stalls for under-the-table cash.
He liked the work. It was mindless, safe, and low-stress. Gave him plenty of thinking time, which usually amounted to stewing over his shitty existence. Monday, though, he was thinking about what Maggie had said at the party. As he hooked up an abandoned Honda on the side of the Interstate, he asked himself if he could do it – come up with a “viable” plan for a garage.
It was one thing to dream, another to conceptualize. He wasn’t sure he was smart enough to do the latter.
I’m just trying to help, Maggie had said.
He got back to the apartment a little after three and Rita handed him a message she’d taken while he was away.
Duane: Figured out how you can pay me back. Be here at 7.
He sighed.
~*~
