The Davenport Christmas Chronicles - Piper Davenport Page 0,42
a burner phone. More old-school demands from an out of touch President on his way out.
“You have agreed to accept the charges. Please hold while you are connected to your party. As a reminder, all calls are recorded and may be monitored at any time. Any discussion of illegal activity is prohibited by law.”
I hated these weekly meetings. The prison recorded every conversation, so we couldn’t talk business. Any real information came from the lawyer, which came straight from Char. These little chats always felt more like the old man letting me know who was really in charge.
“Are you using a burner?” Char barked, as soon as we were connected.
“Yeah.”
“You gonna destroy it when we’re done?”
“What is this? Mission Fuckin’ Impossible?”
“Don’t get cute with me, just do what you’re told,” Char growled.
“Yeah, boss, got it,” I conceded.
“You make sure Roth put money in my commissary account?”
“What the fuck is the point of askin’ me if the lawyer did his job?”
“Because I’m also asking him if you’re doing yours. If I don’t have you two checkin’ up on each other how the hell am I gonna know if you’re doing what the fuck I tell you to do?”
“I don’t know, Char. Maybe you could trust me,” I ground out. “You know, since you went through all that trouble of making me the club’s President.”
“Shit, if I went around trusting people, I’d be dead.”
“Fair point,” I replied.
“Besides, you’re only acting president and don’t fuckin’ forget it. I brought you in to run things on the outside because I couldn’t trust anyone in my club anymore. Someone set me up, and I just can’t be one hundred percent about anything anymore.”
I didn’t know if Char was overly cautious from a life of crime or if meth had made him totally paranoid. Maybe there had been a rat in the club that got him locked up. I wasn’t sure, but I knew one thing for sure. The Spiders were currently pest free, and every member had gone through the flames when I took the head seat.
“The club is solid. I’ve got shit handled.”
“And my account?”
“Don’t worry. You’ll get your Chocolate Yum Yums,” I snapped.
“Listen, you cocky motherfucker. Commissary is all I have to trade with in here so don’t fuck around.”
“Roth put the money in your account. Can we move the fuck on?”
“How’s the other thing?” Char asked, instantly switching gears.
“Which thing?” I huffed in irritation. I hated talking in code.
“The new seat for that old bike?”
Char was obviously talking about Minus, the new Burning Saints’ President, and the current thorn in my ass.
“It’s being handled.”
“You sure?” he pressed.
“I’m gonna have the prospect take care of it,” I replied.
“The prospect?”
“He’ll have a foreman with him on the job.”
“If you think he’s qualified to take care of a seat like that.”
“He’s good. There is one thing, though.”
“What?”
“There are two seats now,” I said.
“On one bike?”
“Two new seats, two old bikes. One belonging to our old friends.”
There was a long pause on the other end before Char asked, “The V.P?”
“Rapunzel,” I replied.
“That gonna be a problem for you?”
“I’m good.”
“Take care of the original order first.”
“I said I’m fucking good.”
“You have two minutes remaining,” the automated voice interrupted.
“How’s my baby boy?” Char asked.
I rolled my eyes. Ryder Carsen owned several bars and restaurants in the area and had married a nun for fuck’s sake, further solidifying the fact he wanted nothing to do with his father. Char didn’t like that Ryder wasn’t taking up the mantle, but there was nothin’ he could do about it now. I had the baton.
“He’s insignificant,” I said.
“You watchin’ him?”
“Yeah, boss, we’re watchin’ him. He gets out of line, we’ll deal with it.”
“He gets out of line, use his pretty little pussy to deal with him. He’s fuckin’ whipped.”
“Got it.”
Jesus, even for me, that seemed harsh. There was no love lost between father and son, and I got it. I hated my own father, but I wouldn’t fuck with my mother to get back at him. Low fuckin’ blow.
“You good otherwise? Anyone hassling you in there?” I asked.
“You think I can’t fuckin’ handle myself or something?” Char bellowed.
“Anything else then? No? Good.” I hung up before Char could respond. I was done putting up with his shit. I had more important things to do than be his backup cupcake fund guy. I had real fuckin’ problems to deal with out here. Shit to tend to with my club. Besides, he wouldn’t have to worry about snack time, or anything else for very