Page 33
“Good, Chef?”
“Fuck yeah, you know I always stand with you, brother.”
Mark’s smile turned into an honest one, no doubt pleased that Chef had let it be known where he wanted the vote to land.
Everyone before me voted the same way as they had before.
“You know I don’t want no part of this. It’s a no from me.” I sighed, not wanting to rehash things.
“Mhmm, me, too.” My brother simply said, before glancing toward Benji and Vick.
I expected Vick to be clueless, but the way Benji’s gaze flicked from me and Montana, and then to Chef, suddenly had me wondering if he was also in the dark on this thing.
“What the fuck are ya’ll on about?” Benji finally scoffed.
Mark huffed, shook his head, and fixed his gaze on the door.
“What? Look, asshole– I ain’t been in town for a few days. You’ll have to forgive me if I need updated.”
“Yeah? Whose fucking fault is that?” Mark fired back, his eyes an open dare.
“Yours,” Benji spat, without hesitation. “You asked me to make the fucking–”
“Alright. So what? You couldn’t hurry the fuck back here?” Mark elevated his tone one word at a time when he realized Benji wasn’t about to back down.
“Motherfucker, how was I supposed to know you had a hot date tonight? Which one is it with? Sugar Tits out by the bar? That skank, Tonia from the burger joint blowin’ you again? Shit, it’s Crystal, ain’t it?” Benji leaned his pointer finger against the side of his nose and then swiped it across his upper lip, to make his meaning clear.
All three of us came out of our seats at once, Montana, Me, and Mark. I’d never seen him and Benji go at it, not like this.
“Ain’t that cute? Whiskey Dick over here thinks he’s on one, and look it, his shell-shocked sister stood up, too.” Chef laughed, bringing his hand up to his mouth like he’d really cut us down.
“Jesus Christ,” I mumbled under my breath at Montana, tipping my head to look over my shoulder so no one could read my lips, “He honest to God sent Benji on a run so he could slide a vote past behind his–”
“Mhmm,” Montana stretched the word, not taking his eye off Chef.
“What the fuck?” Slutty Benji demanded, his incredulous gaze sweeping the table once he realized Mark had stayed his position.
“We’re voting,” Banshee explained, his tone carrying an edge of excitability.
When he didn’t elaborate any further, Slutty Benji’s patience ran out.
“No shit. Voting. On. What? Why the fuck wasn’t I told there was a vote? I didn’t even know there was a meeting until another brother told me.”
“Which one?” Mark demanded, his glare instantly settling on me.
“Enough,” The one word reverberated around the council room, causing all of us to pause and look toward Big Vick. “I don’t give a shit who told you what, old man. Stop wasting our goddamn time and tell us what the hell this is about.”
Mark’s eyes hardened, his fist clenched, but he didn’t move a muscle otherwise.
Big Vick had less time than anyone at the table, but he had already used those ham hocks he called hands to pummel the life out of one poor man. No one in that room was willing to step to the plate and tempt fate with the possibility of being his second victim.
When it turned into a stare down, Vick threw his hands in the air, “I ain’t got all fuckin’ day for pussyfooting, ya’ll are startin’ to sound like two ol’ hens fighting over a cock.”
His choice of words left Mark red faced with one hand on the table, the pointer finger of his other hand jutting out at Vick. It was meant as a warning, but I couldn’t tell if the shaking was from rage, or nerves.
Big Vick leaned forward, those big fists crashing down on the table as he offered Mark an open target, if he had the balls to do it.
“He wants us to get tangled up in mob business, slinging pussy, dope, and God knows what.” I finally spoke up.
