Page 24 of Monk
Looking at the bag of cash sitting there, I feel a sudden roiling in my belly like a snake that’s coiled and ready to strike. For the first time, I start to wonder if maybe I’ve made a mistake by taking it to begin with, then compounded that mistake by refusing to return it. I have to bank on the idea that Spencer will want to keep himself from having his head cut off and will use his own money to pay off his cartel boss. If he doesn’t and he points Miguel Zavala in my direction, I don’t know what I’m going to do.
I sit down on the edge of my bed and bury my face in my hands. “What in the fuck am I even doing?”
Needing to take my mind off it all, I carry my clothes to the closet and hang them up as a memory flashes through my mind. A smile creeping across my lips, I squat down and run my fingertips around the wooden floor until I find the small notch in the floorboards. Sliding my fingertip into that notch, I pull the square of wood up, revealing the secret space beneath.
Looking at the darkened square in the floor, I frown. I retreat back into the room and grab my phone and the stupid unicorn t-shirt from the bag, then walk back into the closet. I kneel down and turn on the flashlight on my phone, then I lean over the hole and shine it in. The cobwebs are thick, and there are probably some creepy crawlies I can’t see. My stash hole doesn’t look like it’s been used since I last hid things in here when I was a kid.
Using the t-shirt, I clean out the hole as best as I can. That done, I drag the bag of money over and stuff it down into the hole. After replacing the square of wood, I toss some shoes and a few boxes onto the floor to conceal the trap door. Standing up, I nod to myself, satisfied with my progress for the day.
The conversation with Spencer is still echoing through my head, and it’s making me feel restless. Among other things, anyway. Feeling like I’m going a little stir crazy, I decide to take a shower and get out of here for a little while.
Might as well reacquaint myself with my hometown.
Chapter Ten
Monk
Pulling to a stop next to a line of bikes, I cut the engine and dismount. I take off my gloves, then my helmet, and hang them on the handlebar. The parking lot is full of people, some of them coming, some of them going with bags full of food and other necessary supplies.
Blue Rock Bay isn’t huge as far as cities go, but we have a fairly large population of the homeless and the working poor on the south side of town. Most of the people on the north side—which we jokingly call Beverly Hills—pretend they don’t exist. They’re on the south side, out of sight, out of mind, as far as those pompous, elitist pricks are concerned. But everybody else—the middle and upper middle class—rallies together to help care for those who need help. The Pharaohs included.
Prophet developed a relationship with Father Gilson, the head of St. Agnes, some years back. He grew up Catholic or something, and still goes to church regularly. So, Prophet thinks it will be a good idea for the Pharaohs to get involved in some of the programs Father Gilson has going on. That it will be good for our image and let people see that we’re not bad guys.
Honestly, though, I’m not sure it’s doing much good for us. People are always going to see us how they want to see us. And handing out bags of food isn’t going to change that. Some people like us, some tolerate us, some loathe us, and still, others fear us. I’m sure things like the incident at the gas station doesn’t help, but again, people’s opinion of us is already set, so it’s not going to make people hate us even more than they already do.
I walk into the courtyard and see a host of different booths and tents set up. The buzz of conversation is loud as people move along the row, picking up the various items from the tents. I find our booth, which is just a pop-up tarp with a table set across the front, and I walk over to it.
“You’re late,” Cosmo says.
“Had to take care of something.”
He looks at me for a long moment, his eyes critical. It’s like he can smell the fight on me or something. He sighs and shakes his head.
“There going to be blowback on the club?” he asks.
“Nah. Doubt it,” I tell him. “Cocky little prick isn’t gonna want to admit to anybody that he got his ass kicked by a piece of trash like me.”
“He said that?”
I nod. “Sure did. And if it eases your mind at all, I only gave him two shots to the gut.”
“Glad to see the anger management classes are really helping.”
I say to Cosmo, “Hey, if they weren’t helping, I would have left that guy laying in a puddle of his own blood and teeth. I just wanted to make a point with them.”
Cosmo runs a hand through his long black hair, frowning. “Prophet’s gonna be pissed if he finds out. He’s talked to you about your temper, man.”
“Yeah, I know. But I’m not gonna let a couple of snot-nosed punks talk shit about me.”
“I hear you, brother. I’m just sayin’. But if you’re sure there’s not gonna be blowback on the club, it’s all good.”
“I guess I’ll deal with that when and if it comes up.”
He nods. “Best way to do it. Don’t call attention to yourself. But you know, maybe you should go back to your counseling sessions.”
“I don’t know, man. I feel like that shit ran its course.”
“Apparently not. You obviously have some more shit to work out.”
