Page 76 of The Chase

“You’re young,” Colt said honestly.

Carmelo smiled. “Jealous?”

Colt raised his eyebrows. “No, probably not much younger than me, a few years maybe?”

Carmelo sniffed and rolled a shoulder. “A year.” He caught Colt’s slight frown. “I read your rap sheet. I know your age. Don’t worry, give me a few years and I’ll be Captain in no time, give me a few more and I’ll be Chief. “

Colt grunted. Ambitious guy. “If you’re here to arrest me or question me for what went down...”

“No, no.” Carmelo held up a hand. “That’s not why I’m here-”

“Then what do you-”

Carmelo huffed. “Chill out, dickwad.” He then looked horrified about what had slipped out of his mouth, and rubbed the back of his neck with his palm, cursing under his breath.

Colt raised his eyebrows. “You quoting Terminator to me but realized you probably shouldn’t call me a dickwad... Sound about right?”

Carmelo smirked and raised his chin. “Alright. You got me.” He sighed and perched on the side of Colt’s bed. Colt frowned some more at the proximity and familiarity but Carmelo didn’t seem to notice, he carried on talking. “Truth is, the Black Coyotes MC disappearing is no bad thing for me, for the town...” Carmelo crossed his arms on his chest.

“They’re all gone?” Colt wanted to confirm.

Carmelo nodded. “All but one. Guy passed out across the road from the clubhouse drunk as a-”

Colt almost smiled, he dropped his head and sighed. “Let me guess, Skunk?”

“Yep. His name’s Lyle Peterson. We’ve had him in for a run of DUI’s, drunk and disorderly-”

"Guy’s got a problem," Colt said.

“Yes siree,” Carmelo agreed. “Anyway, he’s a few doors down, alcohol poisoning.”

Colt laughed once, dryly. “Well, it saved his life this time.”

“Yeah, him and one other thing survived, some skanky old leather sofa-”

Colt barked out a harsh laugh then. That old sofa, his home, his sanctuary, his starting place.

“Fuck me.”

“Yeah, we had to take it to the evidence lock up but-”

“Nah, I want it.”

“What, the old sofa? It’s probably infested with lice or something-”

“I’ll take it, you can sort that for me as a goodwill gesture, our welcome gift, if you like-”

Carmelo turned to Colt then, his previously casual pose suddenly stiff. “Welcome gift? Look, I’m just going to ask it... are you going to start up the MC again? You were president, right? Before Cleaver?”

Colt sighed. He needed time. He needed to think. He couldn’t commit right here and now. “I was Prez. What gave you the notion I was going to start it up again?” he asked, trying to sound neutral. His heart pounded.

“You wanting the sofa for one thing.” Carmelo leaned in. “There are two other visitors waiting outside your door, one of them is this FBI agent with long gray hair.” Carmelo paused. Colt immediately guessed it was Blue. “And the other is the goddamn mayor.” Carmelo sat back with a challenging look on his face.

Colt almost stuttered at that. “Mayor Harris? She’s here?”

Carmelo raised an eyebrow. “Yes, to see you. Why would those two VIPs be here to see you, if you weren’t going to start up the MC again?”

“Ah... fuck,” Colt said out loud, looking at Carmelo with chagrin. He should hate this guy, the local police Sergeant and the MC Prez should be arch enemies, rivals. But he liked Carmelo and he sure as fuck wasn’t going to waste any time doing what he felt he should be doing. He lived by his own rules, if he wanted to be friendly with the Sergeant, he damn well would be. “I dunno,” Colt replied honestly.

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