Page 14 of Property of Thrasher
I banged the gavel down on the long oak table just once. The solid thud resounding through the room silencing the little bit of chatter remaining.
“Church is called to order,” I began.
All of the patched members were in attendance, their expressions relaxed but aware. With DK to my right as my VP, and Bender to my left as secretary, we studied the room. A simple glance around to make sure everyone was indeed accounted for.
Pinky took his spot back at the far end of the table, leaned back with a cocky smirk, fresh out of lock up like he never missed a moment. Sweeper scratched at his beard, eyes scanning every corner like he was calculating two moves ahead of the rest of us. The old timer came here for retirement but missed having shit to do, his words not mine. He found his place with us and I was grateful for his wisdom.
Tiny sat three seats down to my right, arms crossed over his mammoth chest, waiting for his turn to speak. The man had the patience of a predator. He never made a single move until it was the exact time to strike.
I gave a nod to all the men and leaned forward. “Old business,” I introduced looking to Bender for him to take over.
“Gun deal in Savannah went off without a hitch,” he began while giving Crank, our club’s unofficial supply and logistics manager, a nod. “Crank turned in the funds in full,” Bender explained. “Revenue is with K-9 being washed and each member will see his share at the end of the month.”
Crank cleared his throat, “ride went down easy, transfer was clean. Buyer was on time, payment in full with a ten percent down for his next order. Crates were moved in six minutes, twelve seconds with no tails, no heat, and no second thoughts.”
I raised an eyebrow, “any word from Locke? He wanted those guns, but he had his cash together too late. Can we strike a deal for him now?” I turned back to Crank, “can we get more in from Chux in Alabama to cover an order for Locke’s crew?”
Crank nodded. “Supply chain is clear again. Last word came in this morning from Chux direct, port is open.”
Chux is the current Alabama Kings President. They run the largest port in the gulf. It was the perfect spot to import and export guns, drugs, or whatever we needed.
“Locke sent word, he’s good for it. Ready when we are.” This came from K-9, our club treasurer.
“Good,” I replied tapping a finger on the wooden table. “Locke’s been a man of his word. Long as he plays straight, we’ll keep feeding him whatever he needs.”
“Easiest run we’ve had in a while,” Hacksaw chimed in. “I almost felt bored.”
We all chuckled. I had to admit it was nice for something to go smoothly.
After what went down last year, we lost a brother from a rival club targeting a shipment, clipped his bike, spun him out and ran over him. It was traumatic and still haunted most of us.
“Any updates on that?” I asked scanning the room.
No one spoke.
Which meant no one was prying into what happened to the clubhouse we burned to the ground with five of their officers inside it. Nothing gave back the freedom they took from Hex when he died, but retribution was ours to have and hold. And we did.
Not an eye digging in …
Good.
We covered our asses, it would look like their own people did it anyway.
“Alright,” I continued, “current business. Tiny, got some good news?”
He sat forward splaying a thick hand on the table. “Yeah, so the hotel.”
Grunts followed around the room. Everyone knew which hotel he was talking about. While each man was free to have a regular job, own a business, we also had club owned business for filtering cash. The Velvet Inn, a rundown motel with a bad reputation, was one of them.
When Leo Baker defaulted on his protection payments, then got behind to a loan shark because the man had a serious gambling problem, he signed over the deed to his business. We paid his debt to the loan shark as part of the deal. All for the man to be able to keep breathing naturally instead of through a tube. He bet big, lost even bigger. We never intended to own his business. We preferred cash. But I wasn’t going to let the fucker off the hook. This balanced shit out as the location was prime, another business front to run things through, and could be a good long term investment.
“Got the roaches gone. Got the rats gone. Raccoons still get in the dumpster but it’s not as bad. Place is coming together. But we’re fuckin’ bleeding money and can’t keep staff for shit.”
“What’d you expect?” This came from Rage. “He barely kept it staffed. The ones who were there before see us ride up, colors flying, they think we’re fucking gang bangin’ and not the boss.”
“Fresh blood is important,” Widower added. “We need our people who understand they got a job to do, they do it, get paid, and look the other way anytime a brother comes around.”
“Whose coverin’ it for right now?” The legitimate question came from DK.
