Page 2 of Marcus: Sins of the Father

Firing my Harley up, I pause to pull up the address on my GPS. “Looks like it’s some kind of quick-stop shop.”

“We good to roll?” TJ straps his helmet on.

“Yeah, let’s get this done.” Billy glances my way, and our eyes connect. There’s an unspoken knowledge that this is big, and we can’t fuck it up. We both rev our engines and ride through the gate; TJ drives the van behind us.

It takes just under two hours to get to where we're going. We stop at a gas station down the street from our destination to refuel, and Billy pulls out his phone to get the details before we ride up. None of us want to walk into this pickup without knowing what the hell we’re doing. That’s just asking for a fuckup.

Billy holds the phone out for all of us to hear.

Green answers on the third ring. “Hey, you there?”

“Just down the street. So, what exactly are we doing?”

“There are forty-six boxes I need you to load up. The manager has them waiting for you in the back.”

“Forty-six boxes of what?” He peers toward the location. I look, too, wondering when they put a quick-stop manager on the club's books.

“Little Debbie’s.”

Those two words are so surprising I silently question whether or not I heard them right. I frown, still unsure of what we’re picking up.

Billy must feel the same because he frowns. “Is that code for something?”

“Christmas tree cakes.”

He looks a little dumbfounded. “What?”

“Christmas tree cakes. I called around and finally found a shipment.”

Billy’s brows lift, and for a moment, he’s speechless, but soon the words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them. “Are you telling me you just sent us two hours on a pickup for a fucking snack?”

“Do you know how hard that shit is to find? Yeah, I sent you for the best, most delicious holiday tradition. And it doesn’t really matter if I send you four hours to pick up a bag of dog shit. You’re a prospect, and if you ever want to call me brother, your only concern should be doing what you’re told.”

Billy’s anger and embarrassment are evident. “Fine. I’ll get your goddamn cakes.”

“Hey, these cakes are divine, so watch your mouth.”

He hangs up, and the look on his face tells me he’s resisting the urge to chuck his phone across the pavement.

“Let’s just pick the shit up and get home before word gets out,” I suggest.

Billy nods, and we roll out, heading down the street.

We approach the guy behind the register. We're the only ones in the place. When Billy tells him why we're here, the man brings out two cartons and plops them on the counter. We count the boxes inside. Forty-five. Shit.

Billy pins him with a look that lets him know our displeasure. “I was told you had forty-six boxes on hold for us.”

“We did, but a longtime customer came in and wanted one. Forty-five is still plenty.”

“Yeah, for a sane, well-adjusted person, maybe.” Billy shakes his head.

“Can’t we just bring him forty-five?” I grumble, but he already knows the answer to that. We all do.

“Hell, no. I can hear them now. If you can’t manage to pick up the right number of Christmas tree cakes, how can we trust you with our real product? Or to handle the money? So, no, forty-five ain't gonna cut it. We have to find another box of damn Christmas tree cakes.”

“Jesus Christ, we’re gonna be out all night.” TJ runs his hands through his hair and looks at Billy. “What’s the plan?”

“I guess pull out your phones and start making calls to every grocery store and shop that might carry these.”

---