Page 6 of Ridin' True
“You got me,” answered the Stallions’ president on the second ring.
“Where are we at with Hoffman?”
Fred Hoffman. The Wild Stallions’ General Counsel.
Up until a few months ago, he was a trusted resource. At the end of last summer, things had taken a turn.
It started when he became a glorified messenger between Scorpion, the club’s former president—currently five years into his seven-year stint in prison—and Viper, the former VP of the Stallions’ Cheyenne chapter. Those messages, delivered by Hoffman, resulted in conflict with Gabriel Alvarez and his drug cartel.
Nobody wanted to stir up trouble with the cartel—least of all the Stallions. They were living in peace, and they wanted to keep it that way.
Once partners in the drug trafficking business, the Stallions and the cartel had parted ways on good terms when the club gave up drugs as a means of income. The events of the previous summer disrupted the trust between the organizations. Now there might not have been bad blood—Viper’s life the cost of a negotiated truce—but trust was tenuous at best.
And it wasn’t merely trust between Alvarez and the Stallions that had been broken.
Hoffman’s loyalties were in question.
“His assistant is still in our pocket. Not much new to report. He’s still meetin’ with Rocco ‘bout once a month, but he’s followed our orders otherwise. He hasn’t been in contact with Scorpion.”
Rocco Borrero, the younger brother of Raphael Borrero. Raph was Gabriel’s muscle at his home base down in Laporte, Colorado. Rocco was the cartel’s man in Gillette, the top dog responsible for the revenue in the region.
The Stallions still didn’t know why Hoffman had taken him on as a client. Seemed like a conflict of interest, but it hadn’t caused a problem yet. Hoffman was free to take on other business, and the Stallions were free to keep a close eye on him.
“Why? We got trouble?” asked Bull.
“Yeah. Nicole. Tryin’ to take my kids now that she’s married.”
“Fuck,” Bull muttered.
“They’re my kids, prez—I don’t need some back-stabbing motherfucker screwing me over now.”
“No. I know,” he said.
Wrangler knew he meant it.
Bull was a father, too; and a damn good one. His ol’ lady stuck around, and they were raising three boys together. A custody battle wasn’t a problem he would ever have to face, but he knew what it meant to fight for family better than anyone.
He’d fought for the Stallions—a real war with casualties and sacrifices alike—and he won.
It’s how he earned his president patch and the authority to lead them all.
“Don’t go to Hoffman with this. I don’t trust him enough. Call around. I will, too. We’ll find someone else. You work with him, and you like him, I’m open to new representation. We’ll create a job opening.”
“Alright. On it.”
They disconnected without saying goodbye, and Wrangler headed for the couch, ready to begin his hunt.
Alexia
Iwasanhourinto work Wednesday morning, at my desk preparing for court the next day, when Cora popped her head into my office. She was always a friendly face around the firm, even if she didn’t often bring the greatest news.
She was the executive assistant who supported all three partners. We started at Williams, Pritchard, and Pratt around the same time. Herinhad been her uncle, Michael Pritchard. For the first year, she worked exclusively for Michael. She took on Jacob Williams when working for one partner wasn’t enough. By her third year, she’d taken on Elizabeth, too, when her assistant retired.
We weren’t a particularly huge firm, with about a dozen associates on staff. Still, Cora certainly had her hands full, and she was incredible at her job. Somehow, she was everywhere all the time and knew everything.
“Hey, got a sec?”
“For you, absolutely,” I replied, offering her my full attention. “What’s up?”
