Page 4 of Rough Rider (Bad Boy High)
“Sorry, sir!” He executes a weird salute that starts at his chest and ends somewhere around his forehead.
I drag his hand down to his side. “Don’t ever do that again.”
He nods vigorously and opens his mouth to shout something, but I give him a terse shake of my head. He finally gets it and snaps his trap shut.
Beside me, Bam shakes with suppressed laughter. “Fresh meat,” he calls out in a jolly tone as we leave the main room. “Good times ahead.”
The laundromat is full tonight. The place isn’t owned by Clark but by the head of the Riders. They run our territory, and in exchange for not getting beat up and shot, we give the Ridersten percent of our earnings. Clark says it’s like a tithe and the Riders are our religion.
I don’t really buy into that, but Bam does. He got a Riders tat as soon as Clark pinned him. Pinning is when you earn your position in the gang—I mean organization. We’re not to use the term gang because of legal reasons. Something-something RICO. Anyway, pinning is when the existing members of the org decide you’re worth keeping around and to make sure everyone else knows that you’re not to be touched. They give you a metal badge with inch-long spikes. It’s a painful experience, and you’re expected to endure. If you can’t make it through the pinning ceremony, then you’re out.
My pin’s in my wallet, but Bam puts his on the sleeve of whatever coat he’s wearing. He says it’s saved his ass more than once. The Riders are powerful, and if you mess with one of us, you mess with all of us. It’s one of the reasons why the laundromat is full. There’s always new recruits thinking they want to be part of this org.
Bam places a hand on my arm and draws me away from the back room door. “Look, I won’t say anything, but paying that girl’s debt is going to get around, and that’s bad business.”
“She won’t say anything.”
“How do you know?”
“I can tell.”
“If her mom has a habit and she’s already behind, you know you’re going to be at that girl’s desk again. And then what?”
I pay off the debt again. To Bam, I shrug. “Bridge to be crossed in the future.” I shove the door open, signaling the end of our discussion.
In the back room, four guards stand at attention, two on either side of the door leading into the back room and two in front of another door, this one made out of steel. I know all of these guys. The one to the right of the steel door is Ready. I don’tknow his real name. He came in with that name, and it’s the only one he’s uttered in the four years that he’s been a Rider. He’s about to age out. Once you hit twenty, you go to the senior group and shake down adults, protect escorts, and other stuff that I don’t know about, probably for my own good.
I dab Ready’s knuckles and then give the rat-tat-tat-tat on the door.
“Enter,” Clark calls. I duck under the doorframe and set the money down on the round table in the corner. Emile, our accountant, places the stack in a counting machine. Bam and I hang by the door until Emile gives Clark a thumbs-up. All the money’s accounted for. Emile hands me the freshly straightened stack, and I carry it to Clark, who sits behind the desk still wearing his prep school blazer. I can’t remember a time when I’ve seen him without the slim-fitting gray coat with its blue trim.
“Any troubles?”
Bam inhales, but before he can spill his guts, I answer with a quick “No.”
“Andy Nunn’s a fucking girl.” Bam can’t help himself.
Clark’s eyebrows shoot up. “A girl? Emile, who did the intel for Andy Nunn?”
Emile grabs a worn notebook off the table and rifles through it. “Says here that Heather P gathered the intel for Friday’s collections and that she was paid fifty per mark. She provided information on six targets for a total of three hundred dollars.”
“We’re going to need a refund of fifty since the intel wasn’t complete.” Clark tsks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, sounding legitimately disappointed.
“I’ll get it from her,” I volunteer.
“Let someone else do it. I’ve got plans tonight.” Bam dusts nonexistent lint off the arm of his jacket.
“I can make the run alone. Just give me her address.” I hold out my hand toward Emile, who looks to Clark for permission.
“I don’t need the money tonight.”
I can feel him weighing my intentions. He senses something’s off. I try to ease off whatever intensity I’m generating. “Cool. We’ll see you on Sunday then.” Saturday is our day off. Sunday is spent with your family, if you have one. Sunday night you have to be back for your week’s instructions.
“You better give it to him. You know how he gets when he wants to do something. Single-minded.” Bam places his hands on the sides of his head and slides them forward, making an air tunnel in front of his face.
Clark has no visible change in his expression, but the air suddenly seems less oppressive. He nods to Emile, who quickly jots down Heather P’s address and shoves it into my hand. Clark counts out Bam and my cut and places the stack on the side of his desk. Bam snatches it up and kisses the stack. “Pleasure doing business with you, boss. We’re going to be sad when you leave.”
Like Ready, Clark’s about to age out. I don’t know who’s next in line. Maybe the Riders will install someone new. They did that with Clark. He was fifteen years old but able to take out half the enforcers before the Riders told him to stand down. Might makes right. He showed everyone he had what it took to lead, and no one’s questioned him since. Maybe one of the kids lounging around out front will take his place. I don’t really care much. Who sits in that chair doesn’t change my job, which is to collect money, keep my mouth shut, and make sure no one else yaps about the org either. Which means after Heather P, I’ll have to make a visit to Andy Nunn.
