Chapter Three
Pirate
F lip walks in, pulling his kippah off his bald head and taking his seat, then flipping open his ledgers.
It’s how he earned his road name, constantly flipping through books to find their hidden meanings. No one can work numbers like this man can.
“Sorry, traffic was killer. I need to find a closer temple.” He waves at me to start, and I frown.
“Catch your breath,” I mutter as he pats the pockets of the suit he wears under his cut.
He’s a walking, talking contradiction. Sunday to Friday, he looks like a bald-headed tattooed biker, but come the Sabbath? He’s the good Jewish boy that his Mama raised him to be.
“I found her,” I announce to my club executives.
All the highest-ranked members are in attendance to witness this moment. None of them thought it was possible, but I finally got to avenge my parents.
The room remains in stunned silence until Knight clears his throat.
“So we’re going to off the girl for what her father did?” Padre, my cousin, and the club’s chaplain ask as if I need to justify the killing.
“I get you need to bring up the moral implication but it’s not fucking necessary. She’ll lead me to him.” Padre raises an eyebrow at me while a few of the members slump back into their chairs with heavy sighs.
“Not this shit again.” Spector covers his eyes before dragging his hand down his face.
“Pirate, he’s fucking dead. You gotta stop chasing ghosts.” I shake my head.
“They never found a body. He’s still out there killing for that maniac, and I’m going to fucking prove it. I’m snatching her this weekend.” The room grows quiet for all of two seconds before it erupts into protests and shouts.
One after another, my brothers try and fail to talk some reason into me. I get that they’re worried, but my patience is done. No one believes me that Marco escaped the night of my parents’ murder. They all question what I saw.
He may have only left me with one eye, but I can see just fine with it. That man walked through those flames like he was fireproof.
Knight pins his bottom lip between his teeth and lets out a loud whistle, ending the arguing I had tuned out.
“I don’t agree with this plan.” Padre tries in vain to change my mind.
“I’ll make you all a deal since you all seem to think I’m fucking crazy. We pick her up and I keep her locked up here for one week. If Marco is alive, he’ll come for her. If he doesn’t, I turn her loose.” A few members look at each other, but it’s Spector and Cyclone I watch closely.
“What ya gonna do with her for one whole week?” Wizard asks from his seat.
The fucker has his feet kicked up on the desk and is picking his nails with one of his blades like he could care less about this whole conversation. I bet he’s counting down the minutes before he can sneak outside to smoke the joint he’s got tucked behind his ear.
If his farm didn’t bring in so much cash, I’d shut him down in a heartbeat.
“What Pirates do best,” I smirk as a few of them laugh at me.
“Pirates are known to plunder, pillage, and rape.” Padre frowns as he speaks the words and I wonder how many Hail Mary’s he’s going to give himself for being a fucking hypocrite.
“It ain’t rape if she begs me for it.” I knock my knuckles on the table, ending Church to the crew, chuckling at my words.
Padre stares at me, unconvinced.
“Max, you know me, I won’t hurt her.” At that, he laughs at me.
“You think I’m worried about her? Primo, it’s your soul I’m trying to save.” He shakes his head, finally leaving the room to me and Knight.
“You really believe he’s alive.” I grind my molars.
I’ve been keeping tabs on Marco’s activities for years. Everyone thought I was nuts, but every killer has a tell. A signature that, if you look close enough, is signed on every single kill.
“Marco is an assassin. He’s been doing this since before we were both born. I’m positive he’s alive. I’d bet my life on it.” Knight stands slowly and walks over to me, grabbing my shoulder with a little shake.
“I’ll let Padre pray on it. Hopefully it doesn’t come to that.” One quick pat on the back and I’m alone with the Tools he selected for my little recon job.
“Sprocket, Flathead, did Knight give you any instructions?” Both men stare at their feet as I approach them.
“Asked you a question Tools. I expect a fucking response.” I crouch down to their level and stare them down one at a time.
“No, Prez.” I nod at Sprocket for having a pair of balls.
It’s never easy speaking first and I can appreciate how scared these fuckers are of me. I’m not known for having a great temper.
“You are to find a woman by the name of Genesis. Her last name is debatable. She has a rose tattoo on her neck behind her ear. Blonde hair, green eyes and killer tits. You follow, you observe, and if anyone comes sniffing around her, you call Knight. I want to know her daily schedule and who she hangs out with.” I stand and motion for them to follow.
“I want a report every three hours. She isn’t to leave your sight until I say so.” Sprocket nods, but Flathead scratches his chin and frowns.
“You got something to say?” I cross my arms and wait.
He earned his nickname for asking stupid questions. Wizard asked him if his mama dropped him on his head and the shit stuck.
“What if I gotta piss?” I swore under my breath, already knowing he’d be one of the prospects I cut this round, but did the kid have to make it so fucking easy?
“Take a bottle or wear a fucking diaper. If you lose her, I won’t be happy.” Flathead swallows hard, and I wave them off.
Once the room is empty, I sit back down and remove my eye patch. The strap digs in and causes me headaches, so I have to remove it every few hours to relieve the pressure.
I’m rubbing my temples when Spector rushes in without knocking.
“Prez, I - shit. My bad.” I grunt and put the patch back on before looking up at him.
“What you got for me?” I watch him study the laptop, and some days I truly believe it’s attached to his left hand.
“Video of Alfonso’s house. I’m trying to clean it up but man you were fucking right.” He places the computer in front of me and hits a few buttons.
As I watch the black-and-white image that fills the screen, it clears up enough to show Marco Santos’ mean mug staring right at the screen.
“We owe you an apology, Prez. All these years you never fucking doubted he was alive.” I nod but keep my thoughts to myself.
I’m used to being doubted.
First, it was my disability, then it was my age. When my sexuality was questioned I shut that shit down. I was too fucking busy tracking this motherfucker even to want to settle down and have a family. Honestly, I was scared to show any weakness that could later bite me in the ass.
But now that I had proof, I felt vindicated. I wouldn’t gloat, though. I never blamed my men for doubting. They couldn’t possibly have my faith and hope because they didn’t live through what I did.
“No apology needed. Just help me end the son of a bitch.”