Presley pushed open the hip-high wooden saloon doors. After talking with his dad yesterday, he knew he would have to miss school today to fulfill his request. The rain finally spectacularly arrived last night. The water coated everything, including the dust Presley was glad wouldn't coat his motorcycle today.
His Harley, Scarlett, was his most precious item. He would burn down this town if something happened to her. That is what he named his Harley when his dad, Freeman, handed it down to him at age sixteen. The shiny paint glistened in the sun on the best of days. Everything on Scarlett was black, including the powertrain, battery cover, and rockers.
"Come over here, son." Freeman was leaning back in his chair at the prominent round table. His feet were crossed at the ankles, and he already had a small glass of rum beside him.
Presley took out the seat across from him. "Pops, I'm ready."
"Don't fail me. If you want to take over one day, you must prove it to me that you are ready. This is what I am asking of you. Don't reveal it to no one else."
Presley nodded. He knew being the leader's son wouldn't secure his future role. He needed that role to be the leader. Presley had big plans for the Black Toxins.
Freeman slide a folded piece of paper across the table to Presley. He picked it up and read the contents. His dad wanted him to go to the joining county to remind someone about his betrayal against him. This someone was the drug tycoon. Presley hated drugs and what they did to people. He hated his dad's business but could do nothing about it.
One part of the contract was the limit the tycoon could sell to one person. Freeman did not want any overdoses on his watch. But somehow, that happened. Something fishy was going on.
Presley tucked the paper in the pocket of his leather jacket. "Anything else?"
Freeman drummed his fingers on the table surface. His golden rings clanked with each hit. "Bring me back proof that you finished the job."
Presley stared Freeman in the eye. He hoped his dad wouldn't make him do that, but he should have never gotten his hopes up. He should have gotten up without another word before his dad could demand more.
Presley scooted his chair back. "Done." His steel-toe boots hit the floor with a thud.
"Presley." Freeman made Presley stop in his tracks. Presley waited for words he always wanted to hear but never did, words that fathers were supposed to say. They didn't come this time either. "Tell Huck to come in here." Presley didn't look back as he exited the saloon.
Freeman was the only parent Presley had. His mom died when he was a baby. Presley heard from hushed whispers that is when Freeman became the cold, hard man he is today.
Huck must have heard Freeman because he passed Presley while he was leaving. "You are late for school, as usual" Huck clutched Presley on the shoulder. Huck was Freeman's right-hand man. He had been there for Presley when Freeman wasn't.
"Yeah, I gotta hurry. See ya." Presley's voice was barely audible over the roaring jukebox that started playing.
He got on his motorcycle, bringing up the kickstand. Presley's engine sang to life. He could listen to the tune all day long. He revved it up, making fumes enclose his senses. There was nothing like the smell of a freshly started motor.
Presley wiggled around in his seat until he felt the long pocket knife in his back pocket. His trusty blade went with him everywhere. Today, he would have to use it. He grabbed his sunglasses from the sunglass holder strapped on his handles and twisted the gas handle.
The small pebbles crunched under his wheels. Once he turned onto the blacktop, it was as if everything else melted away. It was just him and the open road. The only good thing about today's mission was the drive. It would be nothing but Presley and the open road once he ran one last errand.
Before getting onto the highway, he slowly pulled into one of the two gas pumps at Davis Corner. He glanced inside to see Drucella wiping down the windows. Somedays, Louisa couldn't cover the day shift, so Drucella would have to miss school to work a double.
Presley couldn't imagine the work Drucella had to do sometimes. He shook his head to remember this was Drucella he was thinking about, strong and stubborn. He wondered if she wasn't the only one afraid of him sometimes because no one else talked to him the way she did.
Presley let down the kickstand before sliding off the seat. He opened the glass-paneled door to which Drucella was wiping down.
"The other door is working, Presley." Drucella huffed.
Presley smiled to himself. He loved to ruffle her feathers. "I need twenty in gas. Make it snappy."
A scowl spread across her facial features, making her forehead wrinkle. She threw her paper towel down before stepping behind the counter.
Drucella pressed the keys on the cash register. "Why aren't you in school?"
"I've got a date with fate." Presley stuck out the twenty. Drucella plucked it out of his hands, making sure not to touch him.
She opened the cash register and stuck the bill in its proper place before slamming it shut. She looked down. "Try not to get killed."
Presley was shocked at her concern. He stood still and silent, searching her face. Drucella knew the dangers of being in part of Black Toxin's, but never, not once, has she showed said anything regarding it. She avoids the topic altogether.
Drucella cleared her throat. "Colter would be inconsolable."
"We can't have that now, can we?" Presley flicked off an invisible piece of lint from his jacket sleeve. "Don't worry, your pretty little head. I will be fine, per usual." He rushed out of the store. Quickly filling up his tank, he never looked back into Davis Corner.
The wind raced through Presley's thick, raven hair, whipping it back from his face. The sun was beaming down, causing heat to rise from the two-lane road. Presley took each curve gracefully, leaning one way and then the other.
The red rocks rose before him while cracked, parched earth loomed at the bottom. The little rainfall wasn't enough to quench the thirsty ground. Tumbleweed skipped across the pavement while hawks circled a dead carcass nearby. The desert wasn't for everyone, but Presley couldn't imagine living elsewhere.
Presley rolled into Rock's Diner parking lot. The diner served great food along with someone's next hit. He swung open the door, and a bell rang overhead, alerting everyone to his presence.
Presley makes his way to the counter. "Tell the tycoon I am here to see him."
The waitress sat down the glass she was drying off to go to the back. Shortly after, she came back out. "He said to come back." The diner was full of people chatting over their lunches, paying no mind to the sketchy business under their noses.
The tycoon lounged behind his desk in an oversized brown leather desk chair. He crossed his arms. "What do I owe the honor, Mr. Hayes?"
His two guards stood beside him. "Tell your pets to leave. We need to talk privately." The tycoon waved them off. He knew he couldn't say no to the ones who supplied his business.
Presley walked, scanning the bookshelves that lined the dark office. Locking the door without giving himself away. "Freeman knows of your mistake."
"Mistake?" The tycoon adjusted his tie and then laid his palms on his desk.
Presley turned around so fast, jerking out his knife. He slammed his knife into the tycoon's hand in the blink of an eye. The tycoon screamed.
His guards tried to enter, shaking the doorknob and banging on the door. "Never betray the Black Toxins again, or this is the least of what we will do."
Presley jerked his knife out of the tycoon's flesh, swiftly cutting off the tip of his pinky finger. Blood squirted all over the tycoon's nice suit. The tycoon brought it to his chest, gasping. He tried to hide his pain, but sweat beaded on his temples.
Presley picked up the tip of the finger, wrapping it up in the handkerchief he pulled out of his back pocket. He tucked it into his vest that carried his gang's patch. The tycoon was grasping his hand. Presley pulled out another handkerchief. "Clean up. You wouldn't want your customers to see you all bloody." He threw the handkerchief in the tycoon's lap.
Blood trickled down the tycoon's suit sleeve and white button-up shirt. "You little..."
Before the tycoon could get the words out, Presley cut him off. "I'd be careful if I were you. Or you may lose the whole finger. Do not, I repeat, do not betray us again. You know the rules. If one more death is linked to you, Freeman will be here instead of me. I am an angel compared to him."
The tycoon's eyes widen then a manic laugh escaped him. "Me making a mistake? Maybe you need to be asking more questions before cutting peoples finger's off. I would have your body dumped on your dad's doorstep but you can be an important assesst to me in the future."
Presley's Adam's apple bob in his throat. "Have a nice day, tycoon." Presley unlocked the door and stepped past the guards without glancing their way. His hands and knife still had blood on them, but that was even more proof to show his dad that the job was done.
This was the first time he had to bring back his dad a souvenir. He has brought blood to someone before but never done violence to this excint. Presley didn't know what bothered him more; that he just cut off a mans finger or that it didn't affect him whatsoever.
His dad would take him along on trips to show him the trick of the trade. Presley never batted an eye to the gore and violence. The ways of the gang were something that must have been instilled into Presley in the womb.
As Presley rode back, he thought about the comment Drucella made. Colter would be happy to know he made it back in one piece.