Through A Glass, Darkly (The Assassins of Youth MC #1)(70)
Slushy nodded. “A whole new level.”
“A whole new you,” added Dust Bunny.
Everyone looked at him, frowning.
“Anyway,” said Slushy, “I was thinking. Maybe these crybabies wouldn’t blubber so heavily if we helped them open their own clubhouse. We can’t have them playing pool in here flying their babyish colors. It’s frankly mortifying having guys around with patches saying ‘My bike is my psychiatrist’ and ‘You are about to earn your “I Just Got My Ass Kicked” patch.’”
“Yeah,” snorted Yosemite Sam. “One guy’s patch said ‘If you can read this, the bitch fell off.’”
Everyone actually laughed at that one, but Slushy’s point was made. We needed to get the Lazzat Un Nisa riding club members off our turf.
Slushy said, “I’ve already paid off the only realtor in town as a sort of retainer, so we can call on her anytime we need. She’s kind of a one-stop shop for all our needs, which brings me to you, Sledgehammer.”
Sledge looked around blankly. “Me?”
“I take it you guys will continue funneling iron through Cornucopia once the heat dies down.”
“Yeah,” I confirmed. “Rumor has it new guy in charge is named Verlan Turley.” Verlan Turley was the headman for the moment, anyway. There was a big power struggle going on with various high up muckety-mucks vying for control, each one probably as bad as the next. The new boss was the same as the old boss, as far as I was concerned, but I had to do business with them.
Yosemite Sam made a lip fart. “Verlan Turley.”
“Hey,” said Sledgehammer. “Get used to the names.”
I continued, “I’ve reached out to him tentatively to set up an initial meeting. I want to let him know the fact that Allred Chiles went to ‘spirit prison’ isn’t going to stand between meaningful and beneficial relations between Cornucopia and our club.”
“‘Spirit prison’?” asked Slushy.
I let Sledgehammer explain. It was good for my men to start learning the ins and outs of Cornucopia’s lingo. Especially if they were going to be pushing up on some of the refugee women I imagined would be streaming out of there in the coming months and years. Already Sledge had developed a sort of paternal relationship with Kimball. The fact that they were the same age led me to think it would soon be more than that, once Kimball traded her sensible black shoes for biker boots.
Sledgehammer spread his hands. “After you die, there are two places to go—paradise or spirit prison. See, you actually imprison yourself in this afterlife hell by being disobedient to the gospel while you lived. I like it. It takes away the idea there’s a vengeful God sitting up there on his throne, casting thunderbolts and decrees down on us. Spirit prison is only a temporary abode, though. Chiles will have the chance to repent.”
I snorted. “I doubt he will. He’s too full of himself.” Then I realized I was speaking as though Chiles was eavesdropping from his special prison, and I hurried to move on. I was neither a believer nor a non-believer at that point. I liked some of it and rejected some of it, as I did most religions I’d heard of. “Anyway, Slushy, your answer is yes, we’ll keep trading iron and using the fundies to funnel other things, once we establish those connections again. What were you saying about Sledgehammer?”
“Well,” said Slushy, “you mentioned that in Bullhead, you were a butcher. We’ll need to launder the gun or drug money. We can insert it down in Bullhead into one of Papa Ewey’s businesses. I can layer it through my offshore channels, and have it come out at the other end in your new butcher shop.”
Dust Bunny giggled. “Come out the other end.”
“New butcher shop?” queried Sledgehammer.
“Right,” said Slushy. “I aim to revitalize the downtown area. This way you guys are seen as saviors of the local citizenry, knights in shining chrome riding in to save Avalanche from becoming a ghost town.”
I said, “Several citizens have already approached me, telling me how glad they are we’re here.”
Slushy nodded. “There are oodles of opportunities downtown, and I think if Sledgehammer opens a butcher shop that might also sell groceries, you’ve got a new legit business that also benefits the community.”
Sledgehammer nodded. “Sounds good to me. I’ve talked to several ranchers. We can advertise grass-fed beef, that sort of thing.”
Slushy shaped his hand into a gun and aimed it at Sledgehammer. “Exactly. You can sell premium juice and offer reusable shopping bags. Have a deli with a place to eat out front.” It was obvious Slushy had put more thought into this than either I or Sledgehammer had. “There’s a place with hardwood floors I have in mind just up the street at the corner of Crosstown and Watchtower. We need to gentrify, take this ramshackle place back from the fundies. I was even thinking of starting up a local farmer’s market, but I don’t think we have enough people yet.” He shuffled some papers. “Yosemite Sam, what did you do in Bullhead?”
Yosemite Sam jutted out his lower jaw. “I ran a smoke shop.”
“Okay, that’s no good for the family atmosphere we want to portray, especially since Gideon here just quit. How’s about a coffee shop? That could go in conjunction with Sledgehammer’s deli, in the same block.”