Shelter From The Storm (The Bare Bones MC Book 6)(9)

Lytton said, “You also might head up Mormon Mountain and see what remains of Mormon Lake. While everyone’s waiting for a spaceship to land, hardly anyone heads up to God’s country.”

Slayer said, “Dr. Driving Hawk is partial to it because his plantation is up there.”

“And my house.”

“And his gorgeous, state of the art, new mansion,” agreed Slayer.

I assumed they were talking about a pot plantation, and that business was good. “What do you think of that proposal to legalize recreational marijuana in Arizona? Looks like it’ll qualify for the ballot,” I said.

Lytton became heated. “Best thing ever to happen to this state, I say!” He wrenched an unseen person’s neck in his fist. “Choke the living shit out of those beaners who had a monopoly for so long.”

“Now they’re growing opium instead of marijuana,” I noted.

“Damn good stuff too,” Lytton had to admit regarding the H. “That Mexican Black Tar is getting popular with the elite crowd who don’t like to mainline anything. Grind it up, mix it with lactose, and boom, a sixty percent pure missile.”

Slayer said, “I know a tech billionaire who is behind the bill. Anyone getting in on the ground level before it booms stands to gain a lot.”

Lytton asked, “Is it Wesley Gunhammer, by any chance?”

“Yes, that’s the one.” Slayer told me, “He made billions off apps like the one that tells you where you can use a private toilet inside someone’s house when you really need to go bad.”

“And don’t want to use those plastic funnel things,” said Kneecap.

I was skeptical. “Seriously? You just look on your phone, find someone’s house, and knock on the door?”

“And they open right up,” said Lytton. “Genius, no? Or the simulated stapler you can staple things with.”

“But not really staple,” said Slayer. “You just touch it, and it staples onscreen.”

“That doesn’t sound too genius to me,” I said.

Lytton said, “Well, he sold it to Apple. Along with the one that blows out your birthday candles for you.”

Kneecap said, “And the bullseye that you touch.”

“What’s that for?” I asked.

Kneecap shrugged. “You see who can hold their finger on it the longest. You score against everyone else playing it.”

Slayer said, “I heard Gunhammer was making an offer to the Ochoas to buy out their plantation near Show Low.”

Lytton nodded. “I heard that too. He’s approached me, too, that’s how I know so much about his stupid apps.”

A couple other guys who’d been hanging around seemed to be struck dumb. “You’re not going for it, are you?” one of them asked.

“No way in hell, Sock Monkey! Now, peon, you’re remiss in your duties. You haven’t asked our guests what they want to drink.” Sock Monkey’s leather cut boasted a patch that told us he was a Prospect.

“Yeah, peon,” said the other guy, who probably had been a Prospect recently, thus why he enjoyed bossing them around. “Take their drink orders.”

Slayer seemed to have been thinking about his order already, it was so elaborate. “I would like a dirty martini with Absolut Crystal, and the vermouth just wafted over the surface. Forget the olive juice, but make sure the olives are stuffed with bleu cheese.” He held his fingers to his mouth and kissed the air. He was one strange bird, but the two sweetbutts sitting at the bar were sure taken by him. They were drinking him in with their eyes.

Sock Monkey looked like he’d mixed for Slayer before. “Got it. And you?”

I would perhaps be taking someone out later that day, so I said, “Coke is fine.” Couldn’t afford to make any more errors.

“No,” said Lytton, getting back to our prior conversation, “I’d never sell out to a corporation. Can you imagine, Human Resources coming up with dress codes? All their f*cking chemists getting up in my shiz? Corporate retreats where you play those asinine trust games?”

“Renaming your brands?” suggested the recent Prospect. “Young Man Blue becomes McBlue. Eminence Front of course is McFront. Eyew. Who’d want to smoke that?” His expression changed. “Actually, me. I’ll be right back.”

Lytton shook his head at the former Prospect. “That’s Wolf Glaser,” he explained to me. “He’s a little…different.”

“But a good man to have in a hard place,” Slayer pointed out.

“Anyway,” said Lytton, “my wife June is going back up the mountain shortly if you want to follow her. She can show you some turnouts, some dirt roads that no one uses, if it’s solitude and quiet you want.”

That did sound f*cking good, actually, but it didn’t fit in with my game plan. “I think I’ll check out the vortexes if you don’t mind.” One of them probably led me past the tux rental shop.

I nearly ate my words, though, when the side door opened and a bosomy, down-to-earth girl entered. Man, she was banging hot. My cock even started to plump, watching her boobs jiggle in their underwire encasings. She had some biker ink, but her Birkenstocks betrayed her as a sensible gal. Then she kissed Lytton, and I had to look away. Getting caught up with women was never part of any game plan, anyway.