Stay Vertical (The Bare Bones MC #2)(28)
He should have done that. But he wouldn’t. He wasn’t that type. He’d never be a snitch, having been on the wrong side of the law for so long.
Karma would get Ford Illuminati in the end. If Lytton could help that karma along by assisting Ford’s mortal enemies, so be it. He’d gang up with The Cutlasses and make a few bucks while doing it.
It was losing June that really twisted the knife in Lytton’s gut. He could find no way clear to continuing to see her while remaining morally outraged with what Ford had done. It would be hypocritical, to say the f*cking least. If he was going to have the conviction of his words, he couldn’t hook up with June. What would it look like, f*cking the sister-in-law of the guy he so proudly refused to acknowledge?
But his balls throbbed with a craving for that sweet woman. He wanted serious carnal knowledge of her. He had not even gotten a chance to bang her before fever had overtaken her last week. Her excellent, enthusiastic blowjob had only whetted his appetite for more of her creamy boobs, and what he was sure was her tight, snappy cunt. She had an hourglass figure that knocked him out, just like her sister. She was meaty and bouncy in all the right places, not a stick figure.
The Jack had taken care of some of his desire. Booze always saturated him and tamped down that craving. But when he sobered up and rode past Lake No. 1, Lytton started wondering about how much of a straight arrow he wanted to really be. June wanted him, that much was obvious. When he kissed her when dropping her in front of the Hip Quiver, she had melted into his arms. He’d barely given her a dry peck, but her eyelids were trembling, and she was shaking like a vibrator in the TSA line. Probably the fever.
He felt like the biggest dirtbag in the world cutting her loose like that after telling Ford he never wanted to see his ugly f*cking face again. Now he truly was a renegade, a dropout from society, an even bigger reprobate than before. Only problem was, he didn’t feel like calling any of his slaves back to his house.
It was strange. Maybe he was entering some period of life where work was more important than sex. No. Could never happen. But maybe it was.
“First, we have to get certified by the Department of Health Services,” Lytton said now. One half of the double-wide trailer was devoted to Cutlass office space, the other half evidently being the living space where the wasted-looking sweetbutts draped themselves. Lytton had been right—The Bare Bones had much classier sweetbutts. It was as if the leftovers, the rejects, the wannabe Bare Bones sweetbutts all came here. “I’ve got good, solid contacts in that agency, so I can fast track that through the process.”
Doug Zelov nodded sagely. “That’s what we figured. That’s why we knew you were our man.”
Isosceles Weaver brown-nosed it. “That, and your brilliant chemistry knowledge. Did you know that indica plants are short and wide, but sativa plants are tall and thin?”
“I do.” Oh, brother. That was the most basic sort of cannabusiness knowledge. “Indicas are used to treat insomnia, relax muscles, relieve stress, best smoked at night before bed. Sativas give you an uplifting, cerebral high, suited for daytime smoking. Energizes and fights depression.”
Iso leaned forward pointedly. “Can a patient smoke both?”
Lytton shrugged. “Sure. Just keep them separate, one during the day, one for nighttime.”
Zelov grinned crookedly. “Just testing you. How often do you hit the bong?”
Lytton grinned too. “Almost never. I have to road test some once in awhile to make sure it’s up to par, but it really doesn’t agree with me. Maybe I’ve soaked enough into my pores over the years, or maybe it’s the Apache in me, but I can take very little of it. Where do you plan to rent this facility?”
Zelov said, “We’ve already got a space on Entwistle Drive. Three thousand square feet for the showroom, another four thousand in back for the warehouse. We’re getting the display cases, shelving, security installed.”
Lytton frowned. “Entwistle Drive? That’s only about ten blocks from A Joint Effort.”
Zelov’s smile was devious now. “You hate those guys as much as we do, don’t you?”
Lytton was taken aback. It hadn’t occurred to him that his rift with Ford would have traveled to The Cutlasses already. “Yeah, of course. But do you think there’s enough of a client base within that radius to support two dispensaries?”
Zelov shared a conspiratorial look with Iso. “If not, then one shall fall. How much you want to bet it won’t be the guys who are giving patients the good, clean, organic stuff?”
Iso added, “The Young Man Blue and the Eminence Front that you’re so famous for.”
That was true. The Bare Bones got their stuff from the Ochoa plantation near Show Low. “They use those new super-mega-steroid plants that get as big as a f*cking Christmas tree. Those places suck the rivers dry. Their f*cking pesticides poison wildlife.”
Zelov pointed at Lytton with his coffee cup. “Exactly. And don’t you want to be on the forefront of running some f*ckwads like that out of business? We’ll advertise Pipe Dreams as being family-owned, a hundred percent organic, green, eco-friendly, locally sourced. All that shit that people eat up.”
Iso sat up straight. “Pipe Dreams? I thought we were calling it The Strain Train. It rhymes.”
Before Zelov could protest, Lytton said decisively, “The Buddy System. Yup. I’ve thought about it. If I’m going to be the proprietor, that’s what I’m calling it.”