Page 26 of Johny B

“Do you play Poker, Jackson?” Nolan pulls out one of the free chairs, offering for me to join the group.

“Cards has never been my thing,” I lie. I’m quite an accomplished player, but having them think otherwise can only work in my favor.

“Well, you better learn because it’s a requirement,” he jokes.

“Really?” I raise a brow at Nolan in question.

“No,” Fox says, his voice a higher pitch than you’d expect for someone who exudes an air of menace. It’s one pitch off being squeaky. “But there’s a lot of hanging around in this game with not much else to do, so it fills the void while we wait for our next job.”

“Okay, that makes sense.” I slide into the seat offered, bringing my elbows onto the tabletop, my hands up and fisted, I bring them together and rest my chin on them. “So, whose gonna teach me how to play?”

I was really hoping to get eyes on Dunne tonight, but realistically, I’d be stupid to think that it was going to be that easy. I need to find my place here. Become part of this group. That means spending time getting to know these assholes. Letting them think that they have the upper hand, for a while anyway, is an effective way to build their trust in me. Enough that they will open up to me, and hopefully let me in on what the hell actually goes on here.

When it comes to the game, I’ll let them think I’m as green as a one-dollar bill. And if it consists of them taking the piss out of me, I’ll take it. It’s a means to an end. To get close to Dunne, and find out what he has in store for the YOMC. This sure as fuckain’t going to be easy, but I’m up for the challenge, and one I’m determined to conquer.

I simply need to bide my time, play the game, and then do what’s needed to bring these fuckers down.

Brian, who’s sat next to me, is the one who takes the time to explain the game, all while they still play on, giving me a view of his hand. Because I know the game, it gives me the opportunity to watch the other players, reading them and identifying the telltale signs of when they are bluffing or not.

Fox is the one who’s the hardest to read, but the way his left eye opens a smidgen more when he’s holding a strong hand, is something I pick up on, despite it being undetectable by most. I do, however, take my time in asking questions at legitimate times to reinforce my lie at being clueless at Poker or any card game come to that. Sure, they snigger, and I even become the butt of their jokes but it’s all in good humor, and expected.

About half an hour in, they agree to deal me in. After a handful of rookie mistakes, again to make it look more believable, I win a lucrative game. Well, it would have been if we were betting with dollars rather than bottle caps.

“Are you sure you’ve not played this before,” Nolan laughs from where he’s leaning back against the countertop watching the game, when I win another hand.

“Maybe he’s a hustle,” Rory implies.

“Nah,” Fox chips in. “Beginners luck, that’s all.”

We carry on playing for an hour or so, and I’m trying my best not to show my disinterest in it all. All I really want to do is get to meet Dunne. The fact that he’s in close proximity is as frustrating as hell.

Chapter

Eighteen

Johny B

After five weeks of doing pretty much nothing, I’m starting to think that this plan of mine ain’t going to cut it.

Sure, the guys have a level of camaraderie, that on reflection, is not so dissimilar to what I have with my MC brothers, and they have welcomed me in without much resistance. The problem is, it’s left me with a nasty taste in my mouth and a heavy feeling in my gut, which I can only assume is disgust at my disloyalty to my club. I know deep down that it’s unwarranted, because when it comes down to it, my allegiance to them is the reason I’m here.

I’ve already sent detailed information about the layout inside the building, and the number of men that are usually on site at certain times of the day and night, but that’s all I’ve got.

It’s become obvious, while I’ve been spending time here, that Mal is respected amongst the group, and has a level of authority over them. Although, not Dunne’s go-to person, it’s clear he’s up there.

So, without actually sticking my tongue up Mal’s ass, I try to stay close, build up a rapport with him, and show him that I don’t bat an eyelid when they do discuss things that have gone down in the past. They’re pretty well convinced that I’m ruthless, with an element of psychopathic tendencies. Especially after stepping up to protect Mal, and then not even breaking out in a sweat when they’d put a gun to my head. The type of man who was willing to do whatever is needed to be done for the cause. Whatever the fucking cause is, because as yet, no one has even mentioned the Young Outlaws.

That is until today.

It’s late, around twelve-thirty, when I step out of yet another poker game. It’s getting boring, especially now that I’m winning most of my hands. I leave the room and go in search of Mal; he’s been MIA since we got here over three hours ago to drop off the cash we’d collected from various places throughout the day. I don’t get far before I spot him at the back of the factory.

“Jackson,” he shouts over. “Grab Rory and Nolan, and then get your ass over here.”

“Sure thing, Mal,” I holler before making my way back into the chill room to grab them. When I tell them Mal wants us, they don’t hesitate, and drop their beers to the counter to follow me out and over to where Mal is waiting.

It’s not until I get nearer that I notice a large opening at the back of the building, a large, blue shutter door, three quarters open. A loading bay that I’m sure would have been used for deliveries back in the day, when this place was the hive of activity and production.

A van is slowly backing up into the open space.

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