Page 9 of Vengeance

Psycho nods. “So, what do we do, Pres?”

“This doesn’t go beyond this room,” Jennings says. “Just President to President.”

“Got it.”

“We need to find a way out from the RIO.”

The Russian International Organization has supplied the club guns for decades, but the issues with the Irish stem from something happening between the heads of both entities. The Drifters ended up being the target in hopes of the Slashers getting their RIO contact, Dimitri. They’ve been paying the price of something that happened on two different continents, and the RIO seems less than willing to help them. Not to mention, none of them believe anyone tells the truth about what really happened and why all this shit started in the first place.

“They’re still not offering up help?”

“Ivan’s been silent since we talked a couple weeks ago, and he’s not answering when I call,” Jennings says with a sigh. “This started with them, and they’re hanging us out to dry.”

“They need to either shit or get off the pot.”

Laughing, Jennings leans back. “Exactly.”

“Okay, so who do we call? Do we have alternative suppliers on deck?” Psycho asks. “Or are we still bound by their stupid contract that if we don’t get guns from them, we get guns from no one?”

“We have only a few options. The Chinese, a connection York gave us from the Middle East, and a supplier in the US. The supplier here is fucking expensive, so we’ll probably lose business because we gotta raise prices to make a profit.”

“There’s something else we could consider if we can’t get another supplier,” Psycho says and leans forward onto his elbows. “Maybe we look at a business change altogether.”

“Like what?”

“I have a connection in Mexico-”

“No,” Jennings says, his head shaking. “No drugs.”

Psycho shrugs. “Up to you.”

“Do you really want to get into that line of business? Guns are dangerous, sure, but drugs? We think we’re having issues now; imagine the issues that’ll come with muling drugs. How many lives get risked then... because the Cartel gives less fucks about women and children than the Slashers do.”

“Okay, but we have a high risk with guns, too. If the guns we sell get into the wrong hands, we could be facing charges because some kid went crazy and took it to school. Or there could be a mass shooting off the interstate. A serial killer could use it as his weapon of choice. Shit, a postal worker could finally have enough of his fat ass boss who barks out orders even though he can’t take three steps without wheezing. If it gets tied back to us, we’re fucked. Better-not-drop-the-soap fucked.”

“Same could happen with drugs. If we get tied to a dose that killed anyone, we could be charged just like guns. But drugs have a higher competition, and drug dealers aren’t typically known for their logical reasoning abilities,” Jennings says. “Besides, what would that look like to some of our guys? How it could be taken as a slight against them. Hell, what would that say to Ashley?”

“I get it,” Psycho says and leans back. “I’m just throwing it out there. If we don’t do it, I’m fine. I don’t have a desire to get into running drugs, but we also need to consider the fact that we need a secondary option if none of these guys wants to work with us. It could come down to the RIO or nothing. As much as we love the strip club, it’s not bringing in the money we’re used to.”

Sighing, Jennings can’t argue with his reasoning. If they can’t get another supplier to work with them, they’re in a bit of trouble. They need to figure out how to make ends meet without the guns because they can’t keep working with the RIO. Not if it’s this type of arrangement. They’re done being punching bags for enemies of someone they’re affiliated with. They can handle the shit brought on by their own actions, but this has nothing to do with them. The Irish see them as a means to an end.

“I could also talk to my guy to see if he knows of anyone south of the border who could supply guns. If he does, we’d just have to be really fucking clear that we have no intention of touching anything related to the snow from Mexico.”

“Maybe feel him out and see what he has. But first, let’s run through this small list to see if we have any hits,” Jennings says and opens up the laptop Brock Bradshaw, their tech wizard, set up for them. “Who do we call first?”

“Middle East. Mostly because I don’t want to get into bed with them. I’d rather fuck with the Cartel than them,” Psycho says and crosses his arms over his chest. “We’re calling through the laptop?”

He nods and chuckles. It’s no secret he’s one of the least tech savvy men in the club, and the surprise is warranted. “Brock set up some type of VPN that bounces around or something to make it difficult to track. Only the best can track it, and we know the government ain’t got shit. Plus, we could probably buy out the best should it come to that.”

“Huh. I really should’ve paid more attention to all this shit. Maybe if I’d been in a public school instead of the goddamned commune cult school I was forced to go to, I would know this.”

The ringing blares through the small speakers, and it takes a few moments before it finally connects to someone. “Who the fuck is this?” a man with a thick accent asks.

“We got your number from York,” Jennings says.

“He good?”

He has to admit, this wasn’t the reaction he expected. “He’s fine. He’s part of my motorcycle club in the States, and he suggested we call you. We’re in the market for a new gun supplier.”

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