Page 23 of Size Queen

“They say Tom Wright threw a woman out of a moving van on I-4,” he says.

“What’s your point?”

“My point is we know what kind of people they are and what kind of show Wright is running,” he says. “You might go alone to talk to him, but we’re gonna be close. Ain’t no way I’m letting you go there totally alone.”

Kace and I abandon our calm demeanors and replace them with looks of steely determination. We go into the shop to address the club and fill them in on the plan.

Tom Wright’sclubhouse is big and a prominent spot on the outskirts of downtown. From my neck of the woods, it’s almost a straight drive. I ride on my Yamaha, roaring down the highway. I want them to know I’m coming. It’s not to be confrontational or provoking; it’s a notification.

I arrive at Tom’s place, and there in the parking lot waiting for me are several Hell-Snakes coiled around their bikes, poised and ready to strike. They all look at me with stares of malcontent, but they all keep their distance once I dismount and get ready to do my business.

I find Tom with everyone else inside by the pool tables, drinking and ogling a cute little blonde bartender who can’t be older than twenty-one.

“Afternoon,” says Tom upon seeing me.

“Howdy,” I reply. “We’ve not been formally introduced—”

“I know who you are,” he interrupts. “Same way you know who I am, I reckon.”

“I don’t mean to get in the way of a game or anything,” I say coolly. “I was wondering if you and I could maybe have a word in private?”

His posse doesn’t seem to like the idea of us alone. Tom, however, is amused by my arrival. He puts his drink down and slowly slithers in my direction.

“I would love to,” he obliges. “My penthouse is on the second floor, if you’d like to follow me.”

As I walk up the stairs to the penthouse, I scan the place, getting the lay of the land. There are many men and women scattered about, and there isn’t a quiet room in the building.

Upon entering Tom’s penthouse suite, I feel myself becoming livid. There are tens of thousands of dollars of drugs on multiple tables, and expensive furniture and collectibles as far as the eye can see.

“Nice room.”

Tom snickers while taking a seat. “You work hard, you play hard, right?”

“I promise I won’t take up much of your time here,” I say. “In fact, I expect I’ll be out the door in less than two minutes.”

“No rush. Why don’t you have a seat?”

“I’d prefer to stand. May I call you Tom?”

“Please,” he allows.

“Tom, to be blunt, I want to know if any of your guys have been spreading rhetoric and lies to steer people away from me and my shop.”

Tom smiles widely, bearing a grin that’s eaten its fair amount of shit.

“Why would I ever do anything like that?” he asks. “You getting paranoid over there by the shore?”

“Your boys have been riding through our part of town a lot lately,” I say. “Scouting for new digs?”

“I don’t know who you’ve been seeing riding through, but it ain’t us,” Tom says dismissively. “You sure it isn’t somebody else? I saw a couple fellas come riding in from Tampa just the other day that looked like an unpleasant pack of fucks. Maybe it was one of them.”

“What kind of business would anybody in Tampa be doing in Miami?” I wonder. “They’re central.”

“My reach goes a lot farther than just Miami,” says Tom. “But really—why do you think any of my guys are trying to steal business away from your store? I don’t need any of your business, Damon. Quite honestly, I have no idea what you’re even talking about.”

Everything about Tom Wright is fake—from his words, to his face, to every single aspect about his life—and he knows thatIknow he’s full of shit. I saw right through him from the moment I laid eyes on him.

“Why would we even have a problem?” Tom continues coyly. “I thought we held stake to our respective claims pretty well. I’m not interested in a gang war. This isn’t Greg Powers going up against your daddies. Times have changed.”