Page 8 of Tangled Threats on the Nomad Highway
“Who you lookin’ at?”
Mudd’s attempt at mimicry butcheredEinstein’s accent, something he hadn’t realized had thickened whilethey spoke. It only came out these days when he was stressed, andsince he knew the men around him saw it as a barometer, the Phillyaccent was something he tried hard to control. “Fuck you, I don’tsound like that.”
“Fuck you.” Mudd tried again, then laughedhard. “Too easy, brother. You’re too easy sometimes. Monday.”
Einstein flinched. Monday was a fairly newmember, well over his year of integration, so he was a full patchwith a voice, always well received by the members. “Would hurt tolose him, man.”
“Love his connections, and we wouldn’t losehim. Not really. He’d answer to a new president, but the intentwould be to keep those lines of communication as open as possible,without compromising his honor or affiliations.” Retro shrugged.“Like Po’Boy being a full member of the CoBos but still tight withhis old friends. IMC hasn’t hurt for him patching out. If anything,it’s tightened the already close relationship between the twoclubs.”
“Gotcha.” Thoughts rolled through his head,and he picked out the most troubling. “Any idea which club willcome out on top? Rebels are allies, but man, they’re explodingoverseas, too. Does it make sense for them to spin up a new chapterthere when they’ve already got the other ones nearby?”
“Like I said, I’m personally rooting forBlackie’s man. We’ll see.” Retro stood and stretched, his headswinging side to side as he surveyed the inside of the clubhouse’smain room. “Leavin’ my house in good hands.” A palm fell to the topof Einstein’s shoulder, gripping tightly as Mudd stood too. “Faithin ya, brother.”
“I’ll keep it safe.” He pushed to his feetand walked towards the front door, depositing his empty can next towhere Retro and Mudd placed their trash.It’s the littlethings.Clearing their own garbage meant respect to the club,but also respect to the men aiming at a better life as a BamaBastard, because otherwise, the prospects would be on cleanup duty.Einstein nodded his approval at how easily Retro and Mudd modeledthe kind of club they wanted from the ground up. “My oath,brothers.”
Their bikes grew small in the distance bythe time Einstein turned to reenter the clubhouse, finding CrazyMike standing beside him. “Brother,” he offered, meeting theextended fist with a closed-knuckle bump. “How you doing?”Shit,there’s my accent again.Einstein shook his head. “Don’t start,man. Mudd already gave me enough grief for two men. Let’s goinside.”
“Not sure Einstein is the right name foryou, but couldn’t any one of us argue with Retro when he pickedit.” Crazy Mike followed him through the door, closing the distanceas they entered the main room. “Bronx woulda been better.”
“Except I’m not from the Bronx.” A quicksweep of the room showed him everyone was still in pretty much thesame places they’d been before. “Philly, born and bred.”
“I knew that, but we can’t call you Philly.That’s a female horse. That’d be weird, brother.”
“That’s a different— Know what, never mind.”He sighed. “Something you needed, brother?”
“Yeah, I didn’t want to distract Retro withit.”
Einstein stiffened, because Mike starting aconversation like that wasn’t conducive to continued relaxation."Oh?”
“Yeah. Got some word from Georgia.” Mikelifted one shoulder. “Might not be anything.”
“His extended family?” Retro’s old lady hadfamily in Atlanta, and yet another branch that wrote in Cyrillic.“Which Georgia, brother?”
“The States version. Not sure what it means,just that Chulpayev is asking for information on the group on theEast Coast.”
Swinging slowly to face Crazy Mike, Einsteinnarrowed his eyes and waited.
“He’s digging into info about Scarloucci,man, but not Dominic. His old man.”
“And you didn’t think to raise this as atopic before our president and VP rolled off the lot on a littlebitty road trip?” Not attempting to modulate his tone, Einsteinmade certain everyone within earshot—which was anyone on the mainfloor of the house—could hear not only every word but theincredulity flooding his system. “Are you fucking insane? We callyou Crazy Mike because of how you are with a little booze in you,man. Not because you’re certifiable. What the fuck, brother?”
“I tried to tell Retro before you camedownstairs. He was focused on whatever shit is happening with theRWMC and IMC.” Crazy Mike gave Einstein wide eyes, looking utterlyderanged. “Told me to talk to you. So that’s what I’m doin’,brother. Talkin’ to you.”
“Okay, let’s head into the office.” Einsteingestured towards the hallway. “Bossmen are stopping at a couple ofplaces before they get out of town, so if I think they need to comeback, we’ve got a few minutes at least.” He opened the office withthe key Mudd had given him weeks ago and made his way around thedesk, taking a seat before he spoke again. “Shut that,” he said,pointing first at the door and then towards the straight-backedchair facing the desk. “And sit.” Once Mike was perched on the edgeof the seat, Einstein leaned back and stared at him. “Talk.”
“Chulpayev put out a call that has made itsway into our network.” Mike started the kind of efficient info dumpRetro had drilled into all of them through the years. “The ask isfor info on Luciano, not Scar and not Franco, the grandfather.Unsure what the interest in the unblooded generation is.”
Franco was old-school, second-generationmafia, first-generation immigrant from the old country. He’d hungaround the Monster Devils just enough for Einstein to know him onthe surface. If Einstein had given any thought to the old man afterScar had taken him and his family, it would have been to wonder atwhat reaction he would have given to the idea of bringing familyinto the argument as Scar had. His focus hadn’t been on the oldman, though, and he’d paid absolutely no attention to the man whostood between the generations.
Luciano had disavowed the associations hisown father treasured, moving well out of the line of fire bypolitical positioning as well as geography. He’d married a womanfrom the west, another thing that further divided him from hisfather. Franco had turned his back on his noncompliant offspring,focusing his attention on the tight-knit group of men in hiscrew.
As Don, it should have been an embarrassmentthat his only child had disavowed the family business, but somehow,the old man had turned it into a positive for his outfit. That hadonly grown when his grandson Dominic had angled his way back intothe fold, making his bones as underboss for a capo of a splintergroup. Then Lou had brought that splinter home and carved out hisown piece of the pie in the form of the Monster Devils, an MC withan enviable sense of being untouchable.
That was the group that had drawn Einsteinin, back when he’d still been just Jimmy. The club had made himfeel invincible. Young and stupid, he hadn’t paid enough attentionto the jobs they were asked to do, things that had nothing to dowith the club itself and everything to do with the olderScarloucci’s business. Even after he’d met and married Lauren, he’dstayed in the club. Turning a blind eye to the inner workings ofthe club’s leadership, he’d spent years defending the club to hiswife, until the birth of Makayla had set the tone for his exit.
Leaning over the bassinet, Jimmy stared downat the tiny bundle of blankets. He dipped a finger into thefolds—pink and white, so soft to the touch— and drew back the edgesuntil he could see his daughter’s face. “She’s so small,” hewhispered, unable to pull his gaze away to look at Lauren.
Laughing, she told him in a normal voice,“She’s not little. Nearly seven pounds, honey.”
