Page 28 of Devil's Marker

“Not sure what you’re askin.”

“Drugs and guns. That’s how we make money for the club. That’s what we do. Other than investin’ in a few sideline businesses, like smoke shops, tattoo parlors, that’s all we do. Bein’ a church and school town, we got a super lucrative drug business. The little citizens-to-be need somethin’ to equalize the burdensome stress of bein’ upper middle class.” Boss’s eyes twinkled at his sarcastic comment. “How does that fit in with your personal philosophy?”

“If you’re askin’ if I have a problem profiting from drugs, no. I don’t. Guns. Not in general. If I found out some guns I’d run ended up bein’ used to shoot up a baseball game, I wouldn’t be pleased about it. If I found out that some nefarious citizens who weren’t contributin’ in any good way were taggin’ similar folk, I’d be okay with that.”

Boss took in a deep breath, sat back, and smiled. “Exactly. We’re not without principles. Sounds like you’re one of us. Maybe a little more refined, but nobody’s perfect. Right?”

Win smiled. “Right.”

“So here’s our problem. This outfit that calls themselves Stars and Bars is movin’ into town. I can’t say I really blame ‘em. They’re from Alabama and Mississippi, the two poorest states in the whole U.S. of A. The grass looks greener over here ‘cause it is greener and that can’t be denied.

“Still, we’re not gonna just hand over what we’ve built ‘cause somebody else wants it.”

When everybody looked toward Win, he said, “Can’t blame you there.”

“Right.” Boss seemed satisfied with that answer. “So our problem is twofold. First, we’re not interested in giving up our drug or gun dealership. We’re not even thinkin’ we’d like to share. Second, we’re not interested in allowin’ human trafficking in our territory. Locals will tolerate a certain amount of vice. Hell. Some even think the life is kind of romantic.”

When he chuckled at that, everybody else laughed at his joke.

“But like I said, we got our principles and we draw the line at kidnapping and slavery.” He pointed to a guy midway down the table. “Flak, here, had a niece taken. Niece by marriage, but family’s family. She went missin’ for eight months. We pulled in every chit we ever collected, used a pile of club funds, but Mexican contacts found her in Guerrero, not far away from Acapulco. She was on a ranch that catered to sick fucks whose idea of vacation is takin’ advantage of unwilling girls. Got her back, but she’s ruined. Won’t say a word. Stares straight ahead.”

Flak, who’d been looking down at the tabletop while Boss talked, dragged in a deep sigh that somehow conveyed the tragedy of the family.

“We realized that, if it could happen to her, nobody’s safe. So we intend to police our little part of the world, spend a portion of our resources on keepin’ people safe from the worst kind of predator.”

For some reason the image of R.C. turning back at the door to look at him, flashed across the screen of his mind. He quickly shook that away. No distractions.

When everybody turned to Win, he said as if it was a matter of fact, “Stars & Bars don’t agree with that philosophy.”

“Not just that they don’t agree. They are the predator. They’ve come to take advantage of one of the most precious crops grown in Texas. Beautiful women. We’re gonna have to say no to that and send ‘em back where they came from. We’re not givin’ up our money-making endeavors. We’re also not gonna let them make off with daughters, nieces, cousins, wives, or even the cashier at the H.E.B. We’re all in agreement. Not gonna happen. You want to be one of us, you need to understand that we’re willin’ to go to war over this if we need to. Everybody draws a line somewhere. This is ours.”

As expected, all heads turned to hear Win’s answer. Without hesitation, he said, “I’m in.” He didn’t have to act. He genuinely agreed with their point of view. So it was easy to say yes and be believed.

“Cue Ball,” Boss said to the man next to Win. “Hand the man his cut.”

Cue pulled a black leather vest out from under the table and handed it to Win. When he slid it on, Boss said, “Adjourned. Move the meeting to the bar. Beers all ‘round.”

As the Marauders filed by, each welcomed Win. If he wasn’t there as a mole, he’d be starting to settle in. Boss was last.

“Anything you need, recruit?”

“I got one change of clothes. Guess I need to do some shoppin’ if I’m stayin’,” Win replied.

“You’re stayin’. Come have a brew before you go.”

Win looked at his watch. “Kinda early.”

“Are you a biker or a church lady? It’s never too early for a celebratory beer.”

Win grinned amiably and walked back to the bar with his new fake prez.

One of the guys handed him a long neck with cold sweat running down the sides. Somebody had iced beers early, maybe in anticipation of a hair-of-the-dog celebration. Probably Bo or Catcher.

He was taking a long draw from the bottle in his hand when he caught a flash of bright sunlight in his peripheral vision.

R.C. It was R.C. coming through the door in a cream-colored sleeveless silk shirt and pale pink linen shorts that stopped just above the knee. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She was so perfectly perfect from head to toe it made him itch to muss her up good. He’d let her hair down and not be satisfied until it was in sexy tangles. He’d pull at her clothes until they were wrinkled and askance. He’d press her into…

Win startled when he heard Boss start yelling from right beside him. Win’s head jerked in the direction of the prez, but Boss wasn’t talking to him.

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