Page 66 of Static

I couldn't help grinning. He was having fun with this. It probably felt good to let loose and have a little fun. The Paldora Country Club was about to see a side of our president that most didn't.

"Then what are you doing here?" she huffed.

"We're here to see Neil Trask."

"Mr. Trask doesn't have time for-" She broke off with a gasp as Warrant flicked a second vase off the matching table on the other side of the entrance.

The dining room full of country club members was off to the left and everyone was watching with rapt fascination.

"Stop that right now!" The woman cried, all but stamping her high heel at us.

"We're just going to keep this up until we speak to Trask," Cypher said in a bored tone.

"Wait here," she told us between gritted teeth. She looked over as two security guards ran up. "Watch them." She paused before turning. "Don't break anything else."

"Sure, Sweetheart," Cynic called after her.

"Sweetheart, huh?" I muttered.

Cynic shrugged with a grin. "She has a great rack."

Cypher chuckled. "She's old enough to be your mother."

Cynic snorted. "Not quite. But I like older women. They know exactly what they want and I rarely have to dodge their calls later."

I shook my head with a laugh. "And you have all our women believing you're 'sweet'."

"Your women, huh? You finally do something about-"

"Gentlemen."

We all looked over as a man in a suit strode toward us.

"That didn't take long," Smoke muttered.

Trask was the owner of the country club, and another business owner working with Fremont. He looked around as he approached and gave a fake smile to his patrons. It was the lunch time crowd, so not as busy as I imagined it would be for dinner. His eyes landed on us and his mouth settled in a fixed grim line. "What do you want?" he asked as soon as he stopped in front of Lockout.

"To speak privately," Lock told him.

"Not happening. You're lucky I'm not having security throw you out on your asses.

Most of us scoffed at that. His security was a private firm, and they were a few levels above rent-a-cops, but they were nowhere close to our levels. Not that Trask knew that.

"We can always have the talk here," Cypher said with a shrug.

"District Attorney John-"

"Wait." Trask tilted his chin forward, trying to be discreet about casting a glance around to see who may have overheard. "I've changed my mind. Two of you follow me."

"Three," Lock said, nodding to me. He glanced at Ricochet. "You're in charge until I get back."

Ricochet shot Smokehouse a smug look. "Told you he trusted me more."

"What the hell," Smoke muttered.

"You're telling me," Idaho said. "I'm his damn brother."

"And a prospect," Warrant pointed out. "You don't get to have a leadership role until you're a permanent fixture in the club."