Page 66 of Money Shot

VINCE

April 7th,2014

Never let your guard down. I have no idea how many times my father had told me that, but it was a phrase not only that I remembered, but something I applied in my day-to-day activities, and it proved to be some of the best advice I ever received.

“How bad?” Axton asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. “Pretty bad.”

“Well, fuck, Vince. Your definition of ‘pretty bad’ and mine might be different. Let’s hear it,” he said as he sat down.

I pulled the chair away from the edge of the table and hesitated. Although I was proud that I wasn’t hurt, and thankful I was aware enough of my surroundings to recognize what was happening at the time, I wasn’t proud of what happened.

“Broke out most of his teeth, at least the ones you can see when a guy smiles, anyway. Said I broke his jaw in a couple places, and broke his ankle,” I said.

Axton stood from his seat, crossed his arms in front of his chest, and shook his head from side-to-side. After inhaling a long breath, he exhaled a whistle. “God damn, Vince. And how in the fuck did you break his ankle?”

“When he came up behind me. I flipped him over my shoulder. He landed pretty bad on the table and all,” I said.

“Right there in the restaurant?” he asked. “Broad fucking daylight? This fucker just comes up behind you with a gun and tries to rob you?”

I shook my head. “Wasn’t really a robbery. He was mad about me taking the money I took from him on a deal from about a year ago and was trying for a little get back. Little more than ten grand, and he sure didn’t want to give it up at the time. He kept going on and on about how if I took the money it was going to cause the whole snowball effect and shit. Goes without saying I took it anyway. Guess he just saw me and recognized me.”

“And that girl? She wasn’t there?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Nope. Actually I was in there looking for someone else.”

“Work?” Axton asked.

“Yep,” I said with a nod.

“So in three months you’ve shot some prick, killed him, and beat some other poor bastard half to death, leaving him in intensive care in the hospital. And, to top it all off, when this shit happens, nobody can help you, you can’t help yourself, and the club’s got our pants around our fucking ankles and our asses in the breeze…” he said.

“Is that what this is about?” I said through my teeth as I stood from my seat.

“I haven’t said shit yet, Vince. Now sit the fuck down!” he demanded.

I stood for a moment, glared at him, and eventually sat down. Axton had called me to the clubhouse to have a talk, and although I suspected he wanted to talk about the incident, I had no idea he was going to make it club business.

“So what are you trying to say?” I asked.

“I’m not trying to say a damned thing. What I was saying was this; the business you’re in is your business, at least until it becomes a problem for the club. Your business isn’t a problem for the club…” he paused and lowered his arms as he sat down.

He locked eyes with me and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Yet.”

“At the rate you’re going, you’re going to be on the news more than Bret fucking Baier, and it’s going to become a problem if the club’s brought into it,” he continued.

I kept my eyes locked on his and leaned into the edge of the table. I respected Axton, but no one was going to intimidate me, including him. “Anybody named the club yet? Ever?” I asked.

He shook his head. “That’s not the point…”

“It sure as fuck is,” I interrupted.

“Slow down, Vince. God fucking damn, we’re on the same team here, you hot-headed prick. Jesus H. Christ,” he paused and pulled the rubber band tight, released it, and snapped it into his wrist.

After snapping it again, he fixed his eyes on mine. “Here, let me say this before you fucking explode again. Don’t wear your cut when you’re working. And, it goes without saying, nothing with the club name on it. Just while you’re working,” he said.

He leaned back in his seat and glared.