Page 12 of Handful

Here was the thing. I’d been sitting through forty-five minutes of revenue projections, property acquisitions and security verticals, and my brain had been running a parallel track the entire time. The way it always did during church when the business got dense and my attention started looking for side doors.

“That place on Route 9,” I said, looking at Dutch. “The strip club. The Dollhouse.”

Every head in the room turned to look at me.

“The owner wants to retire. Building’s in good shape, licenses are clean. Decent location. If we’re looking for cash-flow businesses, it could work. We could rename it. Call it Riders’ Rally House, Handful’s Honeys, Denim Dolls, Bunnies in Stilettos—”

“We are not buying a strip club,” Indira said firmly. No give in her voice. Maya stirred against her shoulder and made a sound. If I didn’t know better, I’d have thought she was seconding a motion. First church and the kid had opinions.

“Just a thought,” I said. It wasn’t a serious suggestion. It was the kind of thing I said to make the room laugh, because making the room laugh was what I did. That was my contribution.

“It was.” She looked at Dutch. “Make sure that’s all it is. An idea. A very bad idea.”

Dutch was looking at the table. His mouth was doing something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” Indira left. The door closed behind her.

The table was quiet for about three seconds. Then everyone burst into laughter. It kept going until Dutch banged the gavel.

Church ran another twenty minutes. Louisville rotation assignments — Baxter had it next month, then Target. The Portland pilot staffing. A fence dispute with a property line neighbor that Colt was handling. Formation training Saturday — Holden had two prospects he wanted ride-ready before the next run. Prospect reports. Dutch worked through it with the sling still hanging empty from his shoulders, which he either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care about.

Dutch banged the gavel. Pointed at me. “You. Stay. The rest of you, get out.”

My brothers filed out, Colt squeezing my shoulder on the way past.

Dutch hadn’t moved from his chair. He had pulled the sling over his head and was folding it in neat thirds. He set it on the table next to the gavel and looked at me.

“Close the door.”

I closed it and sat back down.

“I named a role at this table today,” he said. “You heard it.”

“Glitch said field lead for exec protection. He didn’t say my name.”

“He looked at you. I looked at you. Everyone at this table knows what that means.”

I didn’t say anything because, yeah, I did know what it meant.

“Sergeant-at-Arms,” Dutch said. “That title’s been vacant since King retired and the old guard went with him.” He let it sit. “You know why I never filled it?”

I didn’t answer. Two reasons. One, I knew his question was rhetorical. Two, I didn’t know the answer.

“Because I wanted you in it.”

I rocked back in my chair. “You’re shitting me.”

He wasn’t. I knew he wasn’t the second I said it, and got hit with that hard stare for the second time today.

“I gave you the work. All of it. Door security, run security, enforcement when it’s needed. The armory. Backstop for me when I need one. You’ve been doing it for years.”

“I’ve been—”

“Doing exactly what I asked. No more. No less.” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. “I gave you time to grow into the role, Handful, and you’re still doing the bare minimum. I don’t need an officer who does the job. I need one who does more than I ask. Who walks into church with something I haven’t thought of yet. Who sees the gap before I do. Who’s already moving on it by the time I notice.”

Hey, I gave you the strip club idea today, my clown brain offered up. I shut it down. Even I knew that wasn’t going to help.

“You want the SAA patch, you earn it. Not by showing up. Not by running the door. By being the man this club needs at this table.” He uncrossed his arms. “The exec-protection vertical needs a field lead. That’s yours if you want it. Louisville, Portland, wherever the contracts go. Glitch handles tech, you handle people. You’re good with people when you’re not being a fucking clown.”