Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
“Copy that,” I reply, and lean in to kiss her It’s simple. It’s a signature on a contract that says I’ll be back to her and we will keep growing together.
That night I pack small. Clean shirt, burner, paperwork, little kit with gauze and my pistol. At three, I wake to her breathing steady. I watch it for a minute finding peace in her sleep. Then I stand without waking her and go kiss the top of her head anyway, because I’m a weak man and can’t leave without pressing my lips to her somewhere just once more.
Tank and Red are already in the lot when I walk out to the open lot of the compound. The air is stifling like early morning tides coming in. The bikes line up like a row of promises.
Tripp checks the list and map once more. Karma gives us a last reminder: “No egos. Speak plain. Don’t bite at any bait. If they want to stand up, let them. We came to draw a border, have an agreement, and go home.”
After that, one by one we file out. The open road is a kiss of freedom. The miles pass by. We ride.
The miles to Maryland rack up quietly. Sun cracks the horizon and turns the world gold.
The Caputo warehouse sits at the end of a strip of asphalt that is cracked from years of the elements. Two men out front pretend to be bored. They clock us once on our approach, not that we were trying to be sneaky in any way. We’re expected and given the dealings we’ve had in the past don’t foresee a problem. They make it evident they clock us again when it’s obvious they count the bikes. Their hands don’t move to their guns so we in turn keeps our hands free as well. Respect.
Vinnie Caputo meets us inside. Mid-forties, suit that costs too much for the neighborhood, haircut that says he knows exactly who he’s imitating. He raises a hand like a man who does not shake; he expects you to put your hand into the air near his and call it a greeting.
“Tripp,” he says, like we’ve met at charity dinners. “Gentlemen.”
“Vinnie,” Tripp returns. “Appreciate the time.”
We don’t sit. He doesn’t offer. This is standing talk. Fine. We didn’t come for coffee.
“We’ll be plain,” Tripp begins. “A man using your name to cover a side hustle snatched a woman tied to our family. We pulled her out. We aren’t asking your permission. We aren’t apologizing. We’re here to tell you to cut him off. He’s small money with big mess.”
Vinnie’s mouth curves. “You do good deeds now, Tripp? Never struck me as a man to give anyone a pass, no matter the history between us.”
“We don’t rack up bodies not involved. He has ties to you. Out of business respect, we’re having this one conversation. In my world, everything is black and white. We take care of family,” Tripp shares. “Always have. Your man had no business pushing drugs and pussy in the Carolinas. You cut off the supply or we cut it off. Either way, his shit ends.”
“Your family climbs into our line of work and you come ask us to clean it up?” The curve of his smirk gives a sort of toothy grin. “Strange courtesy.”
“We aren’t in your line,” Karma adds, voice even. “We’re in the ‘don’t let men make women ledger lines’ line. In the Carolinas, drugs don’t get paid for in pussy. Don’t give a fuck what the debt is. No woman’s body gets worked to pay off a debt.”
Vinnie’s eyes flick to Karma, recalculating. He’s used to men who drag their knuckles. Men who speak like this make him flatten his tone. “You’re not wrong that sometimes a tree needs trimming,” he tries to sound intelligent. “But I don’t enjoy being told how to garden.”
Tank chuckles once, a sound with no humor. “Then pretend you had the idea. We don’t need credit. We need the result.”
Vinnie studies us. Men like him always want to know what happens if they say no. We let him see nothing except our faces, and our faces say we are men who know what happens after no.
“What’s the name?” Vinnie asks finally.
Karma gives it. “Mason,” he says. “Chipped tooth. Wears his shirts like he never learned how to iron.”
“Ah,” Vinnie says, almost fond. “The romantic.”
“He’s sloppy,” Red adds. “And cruel. He’s not good for business.”
Vinnie’s gaze slides to me then, like he felt the heat and wanted to see the flame. “And you?”
“I’m the reason this meeting’s polite,” I state. “He touched mine. I want to finish here so I can move forward with dealing with him.”
Vinnie does that little head tilt certain men have when they want to see if pain can be turned into leverage. “And who is she to you?”