Page 11 of Tav
“Your face is pissing me off, kid. I know I know you from somewhere, but I can’t put my finger on it. What did you say your name was?”
Tank’s eyes dart between the two of us.
“Everyone calls me Tav, but my full name is Octavius Tombs.”
“Huh! That’s it!” He snaps his fingers and points finger guns at me. “Fucking knew you looked familiar. You’re one of Sid’s, huh?”
I chuckle at his enthusiasm. “Yeah, he’s my Pops.”
“That’s right. I remember when that unfortunate business happened. How’s he doing? Getting on well?”
I lift the side of the crate that Tank indicated and help him move it to the SUV, all while answering Henderson’s questions.
“He’s doing great. Found himself a lady he likes spending time with. He’s also been hanging around the MC. He likes it.”
“Well, I never pegged him for an MC type of guy,” Henderson mutters, stubble rasping under his hand as he rubs his chin. “But if he’s happy, then good for him.”
Tank and I lift the case into the back of the SUV and slam the door shut. Henderson leads us back to his porch where some glasses and a pitcher of lemonade have been set up.
“Thanks, babe!” He yells through the open door before sitting and waving his hand at us to follow. “You know, I have never met a man who had as much shit thrown at him as Sid Tombs and come out the other side unscathed. He’s a rare man, your pops. He still vicious?”
I choke on my lemonade as the mouthful goes down the wrong hole, spluttering for a moment while Tank sips his all dainty like.
“Sorry, sir, I was not expecting that question.” I wheeze, trying to clear the tickle in the back of my throat. “But ah, yes, he is still vicious.”
“That’s the understatement of the century,” Tank says under his breath before taking another pull of his lemonade.
“Ooh do tell. He was one of the best interrogators I’d ever seen. Ruthless, that man. Who’s he been working on? They deserve it?” He leans forward, eyes glinting.
When I diligently read the MC bylaws, it clearly stated that we were abiding by Fight Club rules. You don’t talk about it. This ole boy seems to want to break that rule and get us to spill. Frowning, I squint at Tank. Maybe this is a setup to fuck with me. Before I can figure out my next move, he answers for me.
“No names or anything, but we’ve had a human trafficking issue. And a rival MC issue. And falsely accused of murder issue.”
“What Tank’s saying is we got a lot of issues,” I add, ignoring Tank’s glare in my direction.
“All I can say is that Pops isn’t the only one in the Tombs family capable of making a man spill his guts. Both figuratively and literally,” Tank offers.
“Oh, is it you, kid? He teach you everything he knows?” There’s a gleam in his eye as he looks at me and I really would like to please him, but I have to give Dayz props.
“Um, no. My sister.”
His white brows pull low, and he looks confused before he brightens. “That little tiny thing? Lots of hair with the nose of a bloodhound?”
I try to stifle my laugh, but Tank’s slips out. “Yes, sir. That’s the one.”
“Huh. I remember Sid bringing her to visit when she was a wee dot of a thing. Was obsessed with my pot still. Asked if a grown man could fit in it and how long it would take to boil skin and meat off the bones. Makes a shit ton more sense now.” We all nod in unison at his statement because what more is there to say?
We chew the fat a little, finish up our refreshments, say our goodbyes, and hit the road to do our deliveries.
During the day, I meet Old Man Whitlock, who again knows Pops. Almost all the men we visit along the way home know Pops. It’s quite touching that they all remember him fondly, even if his “techniques” made a couple of them vomit. Seems the grand-apple didn’t fall too far from the tree after all.
Parking the SUV in the compound lot, I have to admit I have a little bounce in my step. The day went well. I learned Tank doesn’t like spiders, and I met some very cool old boys who have requested I always do their run, so I feel like I’m nailing this shit.
“Prospect,” Marx’s muffled voice calls out from his office.
“Yeah, Pres?”
“Good work today. Tank said the old boys loved you. It’ll be your run now.”