Page 7 of Riggs
Bending, I hug him. Cain does the same, and so do the rest of my men. One final wave, I wait for him to walk back into the house before we pull away.
A few hours later, business starts picking up. About an hour ago the cops closed the street off for the evening, and people lookin' to party began filling the streets and the bar. After walking outside for a breather, I step back through the bar door and sidle up to the bar.
"Prez," Fender stops beside me, he has his guitar in his hand.
"Getting ready for a set?"
"Yeah, but the guy across the room just caught my attention." Fender mentions.
"Who?"
"Tattooed dude, near the men's bathroom." Fender tells me. Looking in that direction, I notice the guy Fender is referring to. After cutting his eyes around the bar, the man passes a plastic bag under the table to the person sitting across from him.
"Shit. I'm tired of these ass wipes comin' in my bar selling dope." I sneer. Weaving through the crowd, I cross the bar and stop right behind the dipshit. The dumbass he just sold his shit to panics and trips over the chair he was sitting in as he rushes away. The dealer goes to stand.
"Yo, give me the rest of my fucking money," he yells at the guy's back as he flees the scene. Gripping his shoulder, I pull him from the table. "What the fuck?" he sneers as I begin leading him past people who have started to stare and shove his ass inside the men's bathroom. He stumbles into the wall near the urinals. "What's your problem, dickhead?" he spins, and the moment his eyes land on me, his eyes widen.
"You, coming in here, in my establishment, and selling drugs is my problem, motherfucker." I get a better look at him. "I believe I've warned you in the past not to bring your ass around here with that shit." I glare at him.
He straightens the collar of his shirt and gets a smug look on his face. "Fuck you, man. I don't answer to you." He takes a swing at me. Dodging his blow, I grab his wrist. Fisting his hair with my other hand, I slam his face against the brick wall. He falls to his knees.
"Need a hand?" I turn and see Fender standing in the doorway.
"Yeah, take this piece of shit, and throw his ass in the street," I tell Fender, then kneel next to the little fucker, who wipes the blood from the cut on his forehead with the back of his hand. "I catch you near my bar again, I'll kill you." I warn him.
Fender strolls over, pulls the guy to his feet and escorts him out of the building. Walking back to the bar, I take my seat, drink my beer, and wait for closing time.
With the bar closed,I head upstairs. No sooner does my head hit the pillow, my phone rings. Sighing, I cast my blanket to the side, and swing my legs over the edge of the bed.What the hell would Jake need at 2:00 am?"Hey, brother, how's it going?" I yawn and roll my neck a few times until it cracks.
"I need a favor."
"Name it." Leaning forward, I rest my elbows on my knees and listen to what he has to say.
"We have ourselves a little problem. His name is William McGregor. He's a prominent lawyer and political figure in Texas. The asshole is stirring up shit for the club." Over the next thirty minutes, Jake fills me in on all the bullshit him, and his men have gone through over the past 48 hours.
"Any specific way you'd like us to handle him?"
"Do whatever it is you need to do. Let me know if you run into any problems," Jake finishes.
"I'll be in touch." Setting the phone on the nightstand, I slide back into bed, close my eyes, and try to sleep.
* * *
Runningon a few hours of sleep and an entire pot of coffee, I'm sitting here in the clubhouse, at the bar waiting for my men to arrive. One by one they drag their asses in. Fender and Kiwi are the first through the door. I know the moment Wick is on the property when the unmistakable rumble of his Harley reverberates the glass windows. The man is not subtle about anything. He revs the engine a few more times before the sound goes silent and his big ass walks through the entrance.
"When did you get in, brother?" Leaving my seat, I stride across the room, meeting him halfway, greeting him with a handshake.
"Drove in this morning."
"How's your momma?" I inquire as we head back to the bar area.
"She's good. Helped the old man get her home and settled a couple of hours ago." Wick eyes me, his eyebrow raised. "How's the leg healing?"
"Good." I turn my head when the clubhouse door opens. The last person to arrive — my brother. He's late often, but I try not to ride his ass about it under the circumstances. Heading toward the stairs, I announce, "the girls cooked this morning. Grab your asses some grub. Church in ten."
Not bothering to eat, Wick, and my brother follow behind me. The space we hold church is in the back of the building opposite the converted kitchen. Opening the door, I walk inside. Windows span the entire back wall giving us the perfect view of the muddy Mississippi River. Stopping, I gaze out at the murky water and watch one of two barges slowly float downstream and think about the shit that went down last night, and what we need to do about it.
Turning around, I pull my chair from the table and sit. The other men file in, and Fender closes the door behind him. "Now, let's get down to the reason we are all here. Jake called this morning. He has a little problem he'd like us to handle for him. Some fucker is stickin' his nose where it doesn't belong, so some of us are takin' a trip to Texas.
