Page 5 of Prospect
"Don't look so surprised, kid. I know exactly who you and your father are. I'm the President of this club, Sam. Never doubt I don't know everything about anyone who steps through my doors," he says with certainty.
"I wasn't trying to keep who my father is a secret from the club," I say shaking my head. "When I left Texas, I vowed never to look back."
"I know ya did, son. If I had thought any different you wouldn't be sittin' across from me now wearin' that cut. But I have to ask. Have you talk to your dad recently?"
"Yes, sir. He has been more persistent with reaching out to me. I spoke with him briefly this morning. Our conversation was the same as it usually is. Him insisting I come home and me telling him it's never going to happen."
"I'm going to assume you don't know why he is more intent on riding your ass lately," Jake sighs.
"Not really. I've only spoken to my dad a handful of times over the past year."
Jake runs his hand over his face and leans forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his desk. "Two weeks ago, District Attorney McGregor officially announced his candidacy for Governor of Texas," Jake announces dropping the bomb.
"Fuckin' hell," I hiss. "Well, that explains why he's so eager for me to come home. It's time for my father to do what he does best and that's put on a show for the people of Texas. What better way than to have his son by his side while he plays the dutiful family man."
"Yeah, that sounds about right," Jake agrees. It's then it hits me why he wanted to talk. "Are you second guessing my being a part of the club? Because of who my father is—of who I am? I wouldn't want my baggage to affect The Kings, Jake. I can't sit here and guarantee my father won't be a problem in the future."
Jake leans back in his chair and chuckles. "Do you take me for the kind of man that will let any motherfucker including William McGregor dictate how I run my club?"
"No, sir, I don't. But I also care too much about the people I surround myself with to risk it."
"It's that answer right there that tells me I'm making the right decision with you, Sam. Go on and get your shit. Your room is down the hall last room on the left. I want to see you out at the bar in ten. I need you to make a run." With those parting words, Jake stands and walks out of his office.
Thirty minutes later I arrive at Charlie's, Polson's local bar to pick up Jake's order. The club is having a family party tonight, and Charlie is who the club orders their booze from. How's it hangin', Sam?" Charlie asks as he steps out from behind the bar. "You here for the club?"
"Yes, sir. Everything ready for me?"
"Sure is kid. Come on back," he ushers me through the double doors leading to the back of the bar.
"Thanks, Charlie."
Once I have finished loading the truck, I head back inside to deliver the envelope Jake sent with me to give Charlie. The moment I step inside I hear Charlie arguing with some drunk. The first thing I notice about the guy is he's not a regular. He's not someone I've seen in town before. The guy stands at around 5ft 11in and has a husky build. "Look, fella. Like I told you before. I don't offer tabs to non-locals. You don't like how I run my bar, you can get the hell out," Charlie informs the man.
"I said I'm good for it. Now give me my fucking drink old man," the newcomer sneers.
"Is there a problem here?" I ask stepping up to the bar. I know Charlie is more than capable of taking care of himself, but I represent the club now, and Charlie is under the protection of The Kings. I don't feel right leaving without knowing the situation is taken care of. Anyone of the guys would do the same.
The man arguing with Charlie turns in his seat at the sound of my voice. "Mind your own goddamn business."
Shaking my head, I eye Charlie. Drunks are some of the most difficult people to deal with. "Sorry man. Time to go," Charlie orders his tone indicating he's lost his patience.
Grabbing the guys arm, I go to pull him from the stool. "Let's go, man." Pushing off from the bar he snatches his arm from my grip and makes a move to punch my face. I grew up dodging my father's' fists so I can see the move from a mile away. That was until I hit a growth spurt at sixteen and suddenly had five inches on my dad. Pairing my height with what football and working did to my physique had my father thinking twice about knocking me around. Blocking his fist, I counteract by bringing my left hand to the back of his head and slamming his face into the bar causing the guy to howl in pain. I then fist his hair and raise his face to mine. I get a sick sense of satisfaction when I see blood seeping from his busted nose. "I'm going to ask you one more time. Do we have a problem here?"
"No. No problem here," he grinds out through clenched teeth. The moment I release him, the man wipes his face with the back of his hand, and for a second, I think he's going to square off with me again. When he cuts his eyes over to Charlie holding a shotgun, he thinks better of it, leaving without another word.
When I return to the clubhouse, Logan is outside waiting on me. "Heard you ran into some trouble?"
"I did. It wasn't anything I couldn't handle though."
"You make anything of the guy?"
I shake my head. "I think he was just someone passing through. Typical drunk."
"Alright. Keep your eyes open around town just in case," Logan warns.
"Will do," I say lowering the tailgate of my truck.
"When you get done here, the bathrooms need cleanin'. Also, the grass out back needs cut." Logan informs as he retreats inside the clubhouse. "Oh, one more thing," he says looking over his shoulder with a smirk. "The riding mower is on the fritz. You'll have to cut it with the push. Don't worry; it's only ten thousand square feet."
