Page 46 of Enforce This
“I spent a couple of years in a tiger cage, when I was captured in Nam.”
“That’s why you weren’t here when they started the club,” I guessed.
He gave a slow nod.
“I can survive in a cage. I’ve done it before… I imagine it is easier with an out date.” He shrugged. “But I refuse to die in one.”
“When you were arrested, it was for possession of cocaine. Going down for the manufacturing and distribution of wholesale powder...” He gave a steep whistle. “That’s a whole other horse to saddle.”
“If the club gets pinched, we’re all going to go down for distribution.” I wasn’t a legal expert.
To be honest, I’d never really given it much thought.
“No.” He stretched the word, before speaking like a man who knew what he was talking about. “If the club were to ever get pinched, those at the table would likely look at conspiracy charges. Hefty plea sometimes, but you can usually agree not to waste the court's time and be out in ten or fifteen with good behavior, a couple of drug and alcohol classes, and a few educational programs…”
“Oh, is that all?” I scoffed, shaking my head.
“Ain’t shit. War ain’t the only place they hang the generals, Easy. You get caught with that patch and federal charges… You’ll never get out.”
I laughed.
“I’m not fucking around. There are guys who started organizations in the sixties up in Chicago… They’re doing life plus two hundred years.” He poured us each a shot and looked into my eyes again. “Illinois judges are good at that shit. They like to try to impress their voters and make the criminals quake by delivering outlandish-ass prison sentences.”
He shook his head, slammed the shot, and hissed before scoffing, “Natural life plus two hundred years… They say it all dramatically when they hand it down to the court, too… Like they intend to hold the man’s goddamn corpse hostage and deliver it onto his descendants two hundred years from now.”
I closed my eyes, grabbed the shot, and downed it.
“Make the fucking call, will ya? We need to get some shuteye, brother.” Montana slapped my arm, forcing me to swallow awkwardly and choke on the whiskey.
I wiped my mouth when I finished sputtering and shook my head. Montana’s gentle laughter ended on a sigh when I picked up the phone.
It wasn’t hard to figure out which number belonged to Demitri. There was only one number on Mak’s phone with a Chicago area code. The last one dialed. I pressed it, hit the speakerphone option, and laid the cell on the bar so Montana and I could both hear.
It rang two full times, and then a gentle click sounded from the counter.
We both stared at it, not daring to breathe or so much as blink.
“Michael, you’re checking in right on time,” a confident, educated, older-sounding male slowly started to speak. “Good, boy!”
My lips parted and I wasn’t sure how the fuck to respond, but I suddenly understood Mak’s mood a little better.
“I do hope you and the children will be able to make it to the wedding. I’ve taken the liberty of scheduling it directly after tomorrow’s services. I wouldn’t want you or any of your biker friends to have to rent your suits twice.”
“Mak no longer holds the position necessary to facilitate any type of communication between your book club and mine.”
“That’s unfortunate.” The man nearly purred, “I was wondering how long he would be able to continue with all those pages missing lately.”
“You’ll be speaking with me from here on out.”
“Perfect. Are you the new president of Swanwick’s little– Book club?”
I looked toward Montana, recalling his warning.
“I’ll be picking what books we read from here on out.”
“I see.” The man sighed like he was suddenly bored. “Let’s see… If Makaveli is no longer a suitable option, and Anthony can’t stop sniffing, I suppose that leaves you… Eric– or should I call you Easy?”
“Fuck,” I mouthed, closing my eyes.