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Well, the thing was, he’d been playing mafia video games most of his life on every platform there was. First shooters were his specialty, and he’d also studied about every gun known to man, not only to get better at the games, and talk smack online to his playing buddies, but also for moments like this one, this day.
He looked through the sight, steadied his grip, willed his hand not to shake, and thought over the fact he knew the gun would kick a little. Pow, the gun went off and the first cup disintegrated after flying off the fender. He aimed right away again, taking out the cup on the back of the seat, then the one in the middle, then the front of the seat. Finally, he took out the trickiest one out as he had to aim over the handlebar closest to him.
Bap, it flew in the air, and he turned to the porch, lifting his chin. “Any more questions about this generation of Carrillo and how they feel about guns?”
It shocked him, but Indio smiled down on him, then mimed clapping his hands. “Okay then,” he said, and the others let out their held breaths in relieved laughter. Dante waved him back inside the house, and the meeting continued.
Indio mentioned the two clubs they’d need to speak to, and the research they’d done on those clubs. “One is a group that’s composed of mainly Native Americans from reservations and towns from up in this area and greater Montana, Wyoming, North Dakota. I figure they’re compadres with us, native blood, you know. The other group are all white boys, like the Rebels. Eight and Nando are coming up for the meet with the Blood Nations once I get it set up, and Kirk and one of his LA brothers can go talk to the white boys.”
“Who are they, the other club?” Dante asked.
Indio rubbed his hands together a little nervously. “Kinsmen.”
“We’ve done business with them in the past. They’re not under our umbrella, but they’ve been reasonable,” Dante said to him.
“Sure, most of the chapters are. This one, they…let’s say they won’t like dealing with gays.”
Dante groaned. “Fucking bigots. You want me to go with Dog to the negotiations?”
“You’re olive skinned, Catholic, and Italian, Dante. And, you know, gay,” Dog said. Dog’s full nickname was Doggystyle, and he was straight as an arrow, Dante had told him. That didn’t stop him from working closely with Kirk, the Denver chapter of Devil’s Rebel’s president. Kirk was married to a man, the secretary of the club.
“Fair. So, how do you want to handle this?”
“I think we sweeten the deal. People have a way to forget the things they hate when their wallets are nice and full.”
Sel looked at Dante and asked, “May I?”
“Of course,” Dante said.
Sel took a deep breath and asked, “Where is their territory? Are you really stepping on their toes here and the surrounding areas?”
“They stick to Helena, that area more. Still, it’s their state. Theirs and the Blood Nations.”
Sel nodded and said, “Incentives can be backing their play if another club comes in and tries to mess with them, but they need more. We aren’t going to just pay them. That will end with them wanting more and more until it becomes a burden to us. We won’t be backing their drug trade, of course, for a variety of reasons, not to mention it’s likely they have their own cooks. That won’t help us but find out what else they’re into. If it is something we can supply them with at a cheaper rate than what they’re paying now, that is the way we keep them on the hook.”
Indio's eyes were on him, and they were dancing. Sel thought, just maybe, he’d earned a little of the man’s respect.
Dante’s, however, was clear. “The heir has spoken. I’ll leave you all to your negotiations with the respective bike clubs. There is a family here that runs women, drugs, and guns that have nothing to do with the bikers. I’ve already set up a meeting with them. They’re smalltime in the scheme of things, but we’re in a whole new world than what we’re all used to. This is the wild west, and there are a different set of rules, if indeed, there are any rules at all. Everyone be safe, watch your backs, and if you need backup of any kind, we can present a show of force that will make our presence known and, eventually, respected.”
Sel added, “We need this all worked out before the resort is fully built and open. My uncle and the other investors won’t place the guests in jeopardy, not from a serial killer or any rival gangs.”
After Dante finished the meeting, and the men filed by the two of them on the way out, Indio stopped in front of Sel, taking Sel’s hand in both of his. “I’ll take your suggestions to my pres. Not saying he’ll take them, but Eight might listen to you. He married a stupid young guy like you.”
It took everything he had not to react to that, letting Indio know he’d gotten to him. Sel managed it, but it was hard. The thing was, he only did it because he knew underneath the challenge was a need to get to him. His smile was mocking, but not only that. His family had taught him about facial expressions. Indio Baca wanted to see Sel angry, if only to win a perceived challenge.
That challenge, Sel knew, was sexual.
When they were all gone, Dante asked Bennie to clean up the mess Sel had left with the cups as he and Sel cleaned up in the house.
“If where you’re meeting isn’t yours, Sel, no one is too good to clean up after themselves.”
“Sure, Uncle.”
Taking the used cups to the recycling can in the kitchen, Dante said, “I’m pretty proud of you. I figured you were going to listen and take mental notes, you know?”
“I’ve been doing that since I was a little kid, Uncle Dante. You and my dad spoke in front of me for a long time. First, it was that you thought I was too young to understand, and then it was just me being in a quiet corner and you two forgetting that I was there.”
Dante lost his smile. “That…that’s disturbing, Selestino. Why didn’t you ever say anything? Did you hear…hear terrible things?”
