Free Torn by A.F. Crowell Page B

we haven’t seen ya around. I was worried my best
fuck was gone.”
    Sighing heavily, I took the bottle of Bud
Light she offered. “Hi, Kat, I’m fine and I’ve told you, we’re
done. We’ve been done for a long time. I’ve gotta old lady now and
she ain’t you. Now, just stand back there, pass out beers and shut
the fuck up. I don’t have the patience to deal with your damn
mouth.”
    “God, you always did know how to be a prick,
didn’t ya?” she sneered just before slithering back down to Rip and
Crazy Bart at the other end of the bar.
    “You good?” Viper pulled out the barstool
beside me and sat down.
    “Yup.” I took a long pull from the ice-cold
beer. The icy goodness slipped over my taste buds with a sudsy
awakening. “Damn, that tastes like fucking gold, dude.”
    Viper chuckled then patted me on the back.
“Gonna go make myself look busy. Check ya later.”
    “Well I’ll be damned.” The president’s voice
carried over all of the conversations, music and even the moans
coming from the dark booths. “Our vice president is alive and well,
boys. I see the old lady finally letcha out the house.”
    Standing, I walked toward Mark, beer in hand.
When I reached him, he pulled me in for a hug, patting me hard on
the right shoulder.
    “Easy, bro, still healin’ and all.” Shrugging
away, I pulled out a chair from a nearby table.
    “My bad, man.” Mark sat down next to me.
“Kat, beer and Jack.”
    “Leaning my elbows on the table, I whispered,
“So what’s happenin’? Figure out what the fuck happened with the
buyers?”
    “Hang on.” Mark took the Bud Light and shot
of Jack Daniels from Kat. “Thanks, Kat, now make yourself
scarce.”
    Kat turned and strutted her mini jean
skirt-covered ass back to the bar, clicking away in her ugly-ass
hooker heels. Kat wasn’t an ugly chick, hell, I had banged her more
than my fair share when I was single, but she got clingy fast. Her
bleached-blonde hair was halfway down her skinny back, but was no
longer soft and curly like it once was. No, now it was dry and like
straw. She used to think that one of the brothers would make her
his old lady one day, but she let herself go. To be fair to her,
she probably could be an old lady to Crazy Bart, Stretch, or Dig.
They weren’t exactly easy on the eyes or had women throwing
themselves at any of them.
    “So the buyers, that was yet another one of
Drill’s fuck-ups. He brought us these low-level piece-of-shit
bangers from the goddamned hood. I swear if I can prove that he was
behind this shit, Rem, I’ll skin him alive, like the fuckin’
traitorous no-good piece of dog shit deserves after sellin’ us
out,” Mark gritted out through clenched crooked teeth.
    “Where is he anyway?” I tried to ask without
seeming too obvious.
    “Don’t know. Haven’t seen him since
yesterday. He was actin’ all squirrely and shit.” Mark scanned the
room. “But I think I know why. He came into the office and I was on
the computer. I don’t know if he thinks I was lookin’ at the books
or what.”
    I glanced down at my watch as I raised the
beer bottle to my lips: 4:34. They should be coming through any
minute. “Did you find anything in the books?”
    “Who me?” He threw back the shot of whiskey.
“That shit looks like hieroglyphics to me. They are just pages of
spreadsheets with numbers and calculations on it, doesn’t make any
sense. Nah, I was online lookin’ for parts for the old Harley I’m
fixin’ up.”
    “We need to get someone in here who can tell
us exactly what he’s done and where to find the money. I still
think you need to call his ass out.” I set the beer bottle down
onto the stained, wooden round tabletop.
    “Once we have a handle on where the money
actually is, then we’ll deal with him. If he figures it out first
he might move it and we might never find it. No. We will wait.”
Mark looked up at me. “No one else needs to know about this, just
you and me. Got it?”
    “Yeah,