For Your Sake (16 page)

              “Good choice,” Janice rasped, sliding it out from the chilled display.  She then proceeded to assemble a box.  “Having a little party at the new house?”

              “Driving down to Morgantown tonight.  Dinner with a girlfriend.”

              Janice contorted her face in thought, making the deep wrinkled in her forehead even more prominent.  Eva wondered why she didn’t just go for the boob job/face lift combo.  “Morgantown?  Hey, Elle – ain’t that near where the boys rode out?”

              The other woman at the counter turned.  Tall, slender, sharply dressed in molded winter-white pants, black boots, hounds-tooth cropped jacket and tasteful silver jewelry.  Her rich brown hair was cropped short in an edgy cut tipped with honey highlights.  She didn’t have to move a muscle, yet Eva could tell this woman carried herself with the kind of confidence some would find intimidating.

              This ‘Elle’ didn’t look up to spare Janice a glance.  “Westover. Pretty close.  Why?”

              “Oh, nothing,” Janice replied, tying up the box with red and white striped string.  “Eva’s heading out there tonight.”

              Now Elle turned around with a questionable look.  “And Eva is……….?”

              Eva sensed a weird awkwardness between the women and answered.  “Oh, me.”

              Carefully looking over Eva, Elle then glanced towards Janice.  “Any why is this relevant?”

             
Whoa, lady, chill
, Eva thought, noticing the chastised look on Janice’s face as if this woman just put her in her place. “Never mind,” Janice replied, waving it off.  “So, girl’s night, huh?”  She whispered her small talk.  “Loved those.  Drinking Zinfandel, snarfing down nachos and talking about sex.”  She paused to snort.  “Come to think of it, kinda sounds like my son, minus the wine.  Talk, talk, talk is all my Taz does.”

             
Taz?  Taz?
 

              “Needs to shut up, find a nice girl other than those club hangers-on and give me grandchildren,” she continued.  “But he won’t even get a Saint Bernard to notice him looking like a demon spit out of Hades.”

             
Shit, shit, holy shit!
  Janice was Lucifer’s…..er…..Taz’s mother.  She’d known this woman most of her life, well, her dad saw her more often than she, and had no idea she was the one who gave birth to the spawn of Satan.  Wait….that would make Janice Satan. 
Again, shit!
  And in the midst of Eva’s internal shit-fit, she finally caught on to what was said earlier:

             
“……ain’t that near where the boys rode out earlier?”

              ‘The boys’ had to be the Skulls which meant this elegant looking Elle was somehow connected to them.  It’s as if all her years successfully avoiding contact with the MC were catching up to her in bulk.

              “Have a good time tonight, hon,” Janice said, handing her the box of cheesecake, when Elle walked up from behind.  “All set?”

              “Yes.  Vic doesn’t want a big deal, so he isn’t going to get one. Just the guys and whoever drops in. I’ll pick up the cake next Saturday around two.  Just need to order the food and get paper stuff.”

              Janice held out her hand towards Eva.  “There’s your paper stuff, right here.  Own’s the card shop down the end.  Took over the old travel agency.  You got party stuff, don’t ya, hon?”

              Again, Elle gave Eva an appraising look which made Eva straighten to full height.  This woman was obviously someone important around here – and to this motorcycle club.  Enough to make Janice Morrell clamp her yap shut.  “I do,” Eva replied, regarding Elle.  “Matter of fact I’m cleaning house to make room for a new line.  Was going to mark all the current stuff down next week, but if you see anything you like, I’ll extend an early discount.”

              Elle raised her eyebrows with an impressed look before offering a smile.  “Well I can’t turn that down, can I?  Vic doesn’t want a fuss for his birthday, fine.  Discounted party goods it is.”

              Eva wasn’t sure whether that was a back-handed compliment or not, but if she could unload some of that dated stuff on this woman, then she wasn’t going to turn her nose up at it.  “I’m headed back to the store now if you want to stop over.”

              Elle shook her head, then reached into a black, alligator-embossed satchel.  “Can’t.  Got a meeting at town hall in ten.  Which reminds me,” she pulled out two small flyers giving one each to woman,” I’m putting together an economic development committee for a
Shop Small, Save Big
thing for the small businesses here between Thanksgiving and Christmas.  Meeting next Tuesday night at seven.  Need some volunteers, ladies.”  The then put on a pair of tortoise-shell sunglasses, zipped up her satchel then looked at Eva.  “Put some samples aside for me.  You open tomorrow?”

              They were, but Marie and Jen ran the store on Sundays.  It was Eva’s only day off and she planned on spending the morning recovering from a wine hangover in MaryLynn’s guest room before heading home to start sanding the dining room to prep for the paint color she finally settled on.  “We are.  I’ll leave some aside for my assistant manager……”

              “No,” Elle shook her head.  “You made the offer, I deal with you.”

             
Don’t give in, Eva
she told herself
.  You need a night to let go, get drunk, ingest carbs, inhale cheesecake and forget about that big hunk of a biker coming over to light your fireplace.
  But verbal diarrhea took over. “I’m out of town overnight.”  She wasn’t going to give in that much.  “I can meet you at noon.”

              With a victorious smile, Elle hooked her satchel over her forearm.  “Noon it is.  See you tomorrow.”

              With a jingling bell signaling Elle’s departure, Eva stood there, dumbly holding the box of cheesecake in her hand before turning to Janice.  “Who………
was
that?”

              Folding her arms on the counter, Janice leaned over.  “How much time ya got, hon?”

~~~***~~~

              The aroma permeating from Angelina’s Trattoria was enough to bring an outlaw to his knees

              At exactly two p.m., sharp, the entire Skulls charter entered the quaint, Italian restaurant off 79 in Westover. 
 Muraled walls depicting the deep waters of Venice and the breathtaking scenery of Tuscany, brass sconces giving off soft light, the plucking of mandolins and guitars coming out of the speakers, tables covered in spotless white cloths, matching napkins and dinnerware and the aroma of espresso, garlic and tomato sauce leaking from the kitchen into the dining room.  The smell of rich food had a calming, satisfying effect, no doubt that’s what Emilio Santagio had in mind when carefully selecting the venue.

              Tanner and Wes sat around a bistro table by the front window where several black Lexus’ were parked while Doug and Taz manned the rear.  All four men had Italian counterparts, Emilio’s men, right with them at the entrance and exit ways as they prepared for a dick-size stare-down for the duration of the meeting.

              Seated in the middle, Vic sat with his VP by his side while Ben stood behind.  Across, Emilio mimicked the same formation.  Slickly dressed in a black suit with gray pinstripes, his salt and pepper hair and smooth, olive skin made it hard to determine his actual age.  “You wanted to meet, Victor.  Here we are.”

              On the cusp of sixty years, Vic Connors was no slouch in the presence of crisply, dressed men whose outward appearance was nothing more than a façade meant to intimidate.  Little did men like Emilio Santagio know was that Vic could do his fair share wearing nothing but a worn, leather cut.  “I’ll be direct, Emilio.  Your nephew let it be known you’re exploring other options which cuts out my crew.”

              Leaning back, Emilio folded hands across his lap.  “Unfortunately, that may be true.  What happened at the warehouse concerns me, gentlemen.  As a matter of fact, the entire narcotics enterprise is long past its prime.  Market’s not as in-demand lately.  Want to move on to bigger and better things.

              Aero smirked, rolling his head to the side.  “Don’t tell me you’re gonna jump on the meth train?  That’s for cave-dwelling hillbillies.”

              “You’re right, it is,” Emilio politely replied.  “Which is why we’re going with heroin.”

              Two decades as club president meant Vic also knew what their allies dabbled in.  And their allies’ enemies.  “With all due respect, Emilio, I’d cut back on the double-espresso.  It’s making you a bit too ambitious.”

              Emilio looked unfazed.  “Care to clarify that, Victor?”

              Vic leaned forward, the kaleidoscope of ink coloring both forearms lit brightly against the spotless, white tablecloth.  “You may have just taken over for your ol’ man, but you’ve been schooled in the ‘family’ enough to know that the heroin trade has been locked up by the Caprese family the last two decades.  You step on
don
Carmine’s toes, you’ll end up losing an entire leg.”

              Laughter.  Haughty, arrogant laughter.  Just like Emilio’s putz of a nephew, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.  It made Ben’s fingers curl into tight fists from where he stood behind his president and V.P.  But he had to rein it in and embrace his usual calm control.  That’s what earned him enforcer status and garnered the spot front and center at this meeting, while Vic’s experience and Aero’s strategic thinking combined to plead their case.  But men like Emilio Santagio, who think they can take over the world with a snap of their fingers, made him sick to his gut.  And this upstart wannabe thinks he can pull a twenty year heroin empire out from under Carmine Caprese’s nose? 

              “And you’ve been around long enough, Victor, to know what’s on the grapevine.  Carmine isn’t well.  Lung cancer.  Stage three. Word amongst the families is that he’s temporarily halting business.  His son, Adamo, is chomping at the bit waiting for his ol’ man to cork off so he could resume.  In the meantime, we’re going to use it to our advantage.  We’ve got runners and dealers set up and on stand-by from New York to Florida.”

              “That’s the entire Caprese pipeline,” Aero exclaimed.  “You really think once the ol’ man dies that Adamo ain’t going to come after the Santagio’s – guns blazing?”

              “Oh, I’m sure he’ll try,” Emilio replied.  “But he doesn’t have the clout and respect his father has.  He’s the only man feared by the other two ‘families’ on the east coast.  No one would dare tangle with Carmine Caprese while he lives and breathes.  Dead?  That’s a whole other story.  By the time the good
don
dies, his suppliers will have moved on in frustration – right into my lap.  By then Adamo will have no leverage.  If he wants to come, as you say, ‘guns blazing’, they better be big.”

              Ben couldn’t contain the smile threatening his face over what he was hearing.  He didn’t even need to see Vic and Aero’s faces to know his superiors were doing the same happy dance in their head.  First rule of outlaw living – you keep your damn, fucking mouth shut.  What Emilio thought was bragging was really committing the biggest faux pas in organized or any kind of crime.  He talked.  Too much.

              Stupid, guinea idiot.

              This changed the entire dynamic of the meeting.

              “And I’m guessing this new venture of yours doesn’t have room for the Skulls?” Vic asked.

              “Peddling steroids and oxy was just enough for your little club to handle all these years,” Emilio sassed.  “Heroin’s a different monster, my friend.  And if someone tried to pilch the storehouse like they did several weeks ago…….?” He left that question dangling.

              “Those guys were acting on someone else’s orders.   Could be someone who has a beef with the Santagios.  If they were smart enough to connect you to the ‘scripts, how long before they connect you to heroin?”

                “We’ll be ready – and with better security.  Let’s just say that missing black market drugs don’t cause as much of a ruckus as every federal prison up and down the east coast who doesn’t receive their illegal contraband.  Bottom line – I can’t trust the Skulls to handle this.  No offense, Victor.  It’s just business.”

              “You have any idea what you’re taking off our table?” Aero asked.

              Ben knew the answer to that – right down to the cent.  With only legitimate body work, parts laundering and their individual day jobs, they’d barely break even.

              Emilio chuckled.  “I would think, over the years, that your charters would’ve expanded into other ways to earn.  What’s that saying about not putting all your eggs in one basket?”