Page 20 of Property of Sugar
“On edge.”
It was expected. The last time we had a dead body in one of our establishments, it ended with Cooter and Pocket going to prison.
“What’d they do with the body?”
“Put it in one of the lava tubes. It’ll have to wait until after the storm,” Cookie said.
In the basement, behind a hidden access panel, we had access to a small series of undocumented lava tubes. Cooter discovered them when he surveyed the land before building the clubhouse. He saw the opportunity for what it was and took it. We mainly used the tubes to hide imports and grow weed, but sometimes they were needed to hide bodies and evidence. Unfortunately, we couldn’t hide everything down there.
“What about his car and the rest of his shit?” I asked.
“One of the prospects put on some of his clothes and drove his car to the part of Kalapana Road that always floods first. We put most of his shit inside and left the window down. Once the car is found, they’ll assume he was washed away and count him as a storm casualty.”
“Sounds good.” I was somewhat disappointed that the truth about Matthew and his death wouldn’t be known beyond the club. “Thanks, man.”
Cookie nodded in acknowledgment and disappeared down the stairs.
I went back inside and glanced at Kalani, who was staring at the wall. Hoping she would continue not being a pain in the ass, I let her be and made myself a cup of coffee.
When I sat down and brought the mug to my lips for the first sip, I could feel her eyes burning into me. I turned and looked directly at her over the top of my mug as I slurped a large sip.
“Whore.”
“A whore with coffee,” I said smugly.
“Whores who gloat don’t float.”
My forehead wrinkled in confusion. “What?”
“I don’t know. I was going for something like snitches get stitches,” she explained.
“But what the fuck does yours mean? Why won’t gloating whores float?”
“Because things with holes sink,” she said and swiftly added, “because they got stabbed. For gloating.”
“Huh.” I took another large sip. “You’ve already stabbed me, and here I am floating.”
“That doesn’t count. I didn’t mean to stab you.”
“You didn’tmeanto stab me?”
“Relax, pissy pants. I meant I wasn’t there to stab you.”
“That makes it better.”
“I hope your coffee provides some avengement.”
“Will you shut the fuck up?”
“If you give me some coffee.”
Fuck this bitch.
“Fine.” I made her a cup of coffee, dragged her chair beside the table, and placed a straw in the mug. Then I watched as the little psycho sucked down the entire mug of hot black coffee in one go. “That was supposed to shut you up for a while,” I sighed.
“It’ll take more than that.”
As I got up to make her another cup of coffee, I wondered why I was entertaining any of her bullshit. I didn’t have to do anything more than keep her alive until Coochie returned with Birdie. Making her coffee and letting her go to the bathroom were beyond the call of duty. Allowing her to continue to use her mouth was also a courtesy I did not have to extend.
