Page 23 of Domino
Chapter Ten
Domino
“How long they been in there?” I ask.
Derek is standing behind the bar cleaning and polishing it and looks up at me, his expression troubled.
“Couple of hours now,” he says.
“That can’t be good.”
“Doubtful. Not with the mood Prophet’s been in lately.”
I nod and take a swallow of my beer, then set the bottle back down on the table. After running my errands in town, I came out to the clubhouse to see what was going on. What I found is that Prophet and the rest of Leadership has been huddled inside their room, and I can only think they’re talking about how to hit back at the cartel. The mood that Prophet’s been in is a direct result of what Cosmo and I had told him after meeting up with Tarantula and the Warriors.
As I sit here, I can’t keep my mind off Ashley. She’s a gorgeous girl and frankly, I didn’t think I’d ever see her again after our ride-by on our way to Ruby’s. It was like the hand of fate intervened on my behalf for a change and put me directly in her path. Literally. Of course, she tried to stab me in the eye with her keys, then kick my balls up into my throat, but still… it hadn’t been all bad. I managed to get her to laugh a few times, and even though she bolted out of there like a scared rabbit at the end, I don’t think it all went too badly for me.
I mean, she had multiple chances to leave, and she didn’t. I want to think that’s significant, and that it means something other than she was just too terrified to leave. There’s something about her that strikes a chord within me. She somehow makes me feel something strange, and something I’m not entirely sure I’ve ever felt before.
It’s not just that she’s beautiful. I mean, she is that. Five-four with sandy blonde hair, eyes the color of milk chocolate, alabaster-colored skin that’s flawless, and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose, the girl is prom queen material. She’s thin but has amazing curves, full breasts, and lips that are full and red, and I caught myself more than once in that parking lot, desperate to feel them on mine.
“You think we’re going to war with the cartel?”
Derek’s voice cuts into my thoughts, and I look over at him, my expression as grim as Prophet’s mood.
“I don’t know, man. Prophet’s pretty fired up about them,” I tell him. “I wouldn’t be surprised, to be honest.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.”
It’s a question I’ve been intentionally avoiding thinking about, mostly because I don’t want to think about the answer. If I had to guess, based on Prophet’s level of agitation, I’d say yeah, we’re going to war. But I have to hope the rest of Leadership knocks some sense into him simply because going straight on with the Zavala cartel is going to be a nasty, bloody business, and there’s no assurance of success.
The fact of the matter is that Zavala’s got more men and more guns than we do. If it came down to a firefight, they’ve got the advantage. Given that most of us have been in the military and I doubt Zavala’s men have, I’d say we have a tactical advantage. We know how to wage a fight, whereas most of his guys likely don’t have the discipline or training.
But is that enough? Would that be enough to carry a straight-up firefight? It’s impossible to say for sure. Tactics and discipline are always good things to have, there’s no question about it. But is it enough to overcome the advantage that superior firepower and battlefield personnel would give? There’s no way of knowing. Not until the bullets start flying and shit gets real.
After draining the last of my beer, I decide to bail. No use waiting around when there isn’t much going on. And there’s no telling how long Prophet and the guys are going to be locked away. As I start getting to my feet, the door to the Leadership room slides open and the guys start filing out. Most of their faces are blank, as unreadable as a stone.
But they take seats around the clubhouse, quietly conferring with each other. Prophet steps out of the Leadership room and heads out the front door, his expression dark, his jaw clenched. Cosmo drops down across from me, a strained and lopsided smile on his face.
“I’m guessing Prophet didn’t get what he wanted in there,” I say.
“Ain’t about what Prophet wants,” Cosmo says.
“Then what’s it about?”
“It’s about time for a fuckin’ beer. Hey, Prospect, we need a couple of cold ones over here.”
Derek hustles over and drops a couple of beers down in front of us, then scampers off, handing out beers to everybody else.
“Ain’t you glad you don’t have to do that shit anymore?” Cosmo asks.
I tap my bottle against his. “More than you know. Forgive me for saying so, but serving cretins like you is no fun at all.”
“Yeah, well, you’re one of the cretins now.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
