Page 49 of Devil's Marker

Win looked around and realized that Cue’s retelling of the afternoon’s events had garnered the attention of several members who were there, but outside in the parking lot, and one who was inside, Zipper.

“Dredge took attitude with Boss. Always a mistake.” That caused several interested parties to exchange looks, nod heads, and murmur agreement. “Said if a man has the only dry cleaning business in town, he’s bound to be out of sorts if another man moves to town and opens up a dry cleaners.

“Boss told him there are several key differences, the principal one bein’ that the first dry cleaner isn’t likely to bury the head of the would-be competitor in Hill County and send what’s left of the rest of him, after playtime and all, back to his family in fuckin’ Alabama.”

A couple of the club members laughed at that.

“Dredge says, ‘We’re not really in competition with you, Mr. Greer.’ Calls him Mr. Greer ‘cause, ya know, he’s not about to call him Boss.” Cue took a minute to smirk about that. It seemed like learning the word had given rise to a new mannerism. “Then he says, ‘You might say we’re targeting a different market.’

“Boss says, ‘Heard about that. Turns out that’s strike number three. You’re not targeting shit around here. And when I say around here, I mean Texas. Just gather up your little Sassy Brass boys and hope I forget I ever heard of you.’”

“That the end of it?” Win asked.

“Might’ve been more. That’s all he told us. You know Boss though. He’s never felt the need to share every little thing.”

Again, there were shared looks and hints of agreement among those who actually could say they knew Boss.

“So what happens next?” Win said.

“Dogged if I know,” Cue replied. “You’d have to ask Boss.” His eyes slid to Zipper. “Or the VP, maybe.”

All eyes turned to Zipper, who said, “This point? I know what you know. No more. No less. Boss gave them a chance to formally apologize for Hops and make restitution before they leave town. They declined. That means we wait for Boss to decide how to proceed. Then we do what he says. Personally, if you’re askin’ my opinion. For what it’s worth, I think we have ourselves a big steamin’ pile of a problem.”

With that Zipper walked away as if to punctuate his message that the subject was closed and that, per usual, there would be no committee and no debate.

“You don’t discuss things?” Win asked. “In church?”

Cue nodded. “Oh, yeah, we do. But right now there’s nothin’ to discuss. When Boss has come up with a fully formed proposal, we’ll all get a chance to have our viewpoint heard on the way forward.”

The little gathering broke up; most people headed over to the bar. When they were gone, Cue pulled Win back. In a voice so low only Win could hear, Cue said, “Never been an issue with R.C. because she’s never let anybody within shoutin’ distance. That don’t mean it wouldn’t become a real big problem real fast if Boss figures it out.”

Win didn’t bother to deny because, if he did, he knew he’d lose a comrade in Cue Ball. He nodded and hoped that Cue would take that as both acknowledgement and acquiescence, even though it was only the former. Truth was, if he ever got another chance to be close to R.C., he’d risk anything for it. Insane as that might be.

He walked over to where Zipper had taken a seat at the end of the bar and lit a cigarette.

With the cigarette hanging out of his mouth, eyes squinted, Zipper said, “What you doin’ in the smokin’ section?”

The idea of a smoking section in the middle of a giant open concept space would be ludicrous except for one thing. That end of the bar was next to a wall that had been equipped with a giant exhaust system. It was sophisticated enough to filter the air of toxic particulates without sending the costly climate-conditioned air outside. In some ways, the Marauders clubhouse was like a vision of the ‘house of the future’.

Win slid onto the stool next to Zipper. “Just wanted to get your take. Cue can be excitable.”

Zipper huffed out a small laugh. “Yeah, he can. That’s his charm.”

“It is. Enjoyed his retellin’.”

“He got the facts mostly straight. Added a little of his own color, but that’s the Irish in him. They can’t help themselves. What is it you’re really askin’?”

“If we’re on the verge?”

“You want to know if we’re at a threat level of orange or yellow or red.”

“Hard to say. S&B are what you’d call unpredictable. What they did to Hop?” He shook his head as he took a drag on his cigarette then blew out the smoke. “Doesn’t make any kind of sense. Unless their leadership is irrational, the point was to send a message. But that’s the thing. What was the message? They didn’t put a note on Hop. They didn’t tell him to pass somethin’ along. It’s weird. Kind of.

“The first possibility is they’re butt fuck crazy. The second possibility is that they know unpredictability and action without reason is its own kind of mind fuck. If they’re smart enough to bring that complexity to the situation, then we’re on red alert.”

Win had just learned why Zipper was second in command. He wasn’t the kind of guy who wanted to be the center of attention. Zipper was the kind of man who was busy observing and sorting things out in logical, orderly fashion. Plus, not just everybody can get a quality woman like Carla and hold onto her.

“You think their angle is to tap the vein of your supply line?”

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