Domino by Ivy Black
Chapter Six
Domino
“Tell me what he said again,” Prophet says.
Cosmo and I are sitting at a table with the prez in the clubhouse, washing away the road dust with a cold beer. We thought he’d only be slightly disturbed, maybe just a bit pissed off. But Prophet’s face is red, his nostrils are flaring, and he looks like a man who wants to rip somebody’s head off with his bare hands. And right then, I’m pretty sure he could do it.
After taking a long swallow of his beer, Cosmo sets the bottle down and recounts the story once more. For the third time. And when Cosmo’s done, Prophet sits back, his expression dark, and a fierce scowl on his face.
“We need to teach these pricks a lesson. We’re not gonna have them thinkin’ they can just roll into our town and not pay a price for it,” he says.
“Is antagonizing them the best thing, Prez?” I ask.
His eyes shift over to me with a look that could curdle milk and I find myself wishing I hadn’t said a word.
“This is our town, kid. We have rules here. Standards. And there’s no doubt in my mind that these scumbags don’t meet our standards. You disagree?” he asks.
“I—no, you’re right.”
Cosmo shifts in his seat. “Afraid I have to agree with the kid here, Prophet. I don’t know that starting a war with these guys is in anybody’s best interest. These are the kinds of assholes who will go shoot up Blue Rock just because. I don’t want any innocents caught in the crossfire. And I know you don’t.”
Prophet drains the last of his beer and slams the bottle down on the table, then signals for Derek to bring him another. None of us say a word as he brings over a fresh round for all three of us. Prophet’s got this faraway look on his face, but his fist is clenched as tight as his jaw and I realize there’s more going on here than what he’s saying. This deal with the cartel is somehow personal for him.
“What’s goin’ on, Prophet?” I ask. “I mean, really. You seem to want to wipe the cartel out of existence. But why?”
He snatches up his bottle and drinks half of it down, seeming to ignore my question. Setting the bottle back down on the table, he looks over at me, the anger etched into every line on his face. Cosmo glances at me, and I can see that not even he seems to know what is behind Prophet’s intense hatred of the cartel.
“What is it, Prez?” Cosmo asks. “Even the kid here can see there’s somethin’ more going on here and that’s sayin’ somethin’, because he’s dumb as dirt.”
I give Cosmo the finger, but smile, knowing he’s just trying to lighten the mood in a room that’s suddenly gotten very heavy with tension. Even Prophet grins at that. He sighs and leans forward, folding his hands together on top of the table, looking at each of us in turn.
“A while back, I was with a special ops team and we were doing some covert work against the cartels. Came across a village down there who’d resisted working for the cartel and found a mass grave. Seventy-two men, women, and children had been murdered, beheaded, and tossed into the fucking pit,” he says.
Cosmo and I exchange an uneasy glance. Prophet is staring off into the distance, his mind traveling back to that day, and it’s as if he’s seeing it all playing out in front of him again. This is obviously a really painful memory for Prophet and the look on his face is one of sheer agony. It makes me feel like an utter asshole for bringing this up in the first place.
“In that village, I found that some people had been crucified. Left there, nailed to crosses, to rot in the fucking sun. There was a girl, maybe nine or ten, named Maria, among them. We’d done some work in that village before. Knew most of ’em. Good people, and Maria was a sweet kid. Really sweet fuckin’ kid. Loved Snickers and pop music. Said she wanted to be the next Britney Spears,” Prophet says.
The pain in his voice is as fresh as if this happened yesterday, not years ago. It’s the one time I’ve ever heard that kind of emotion in Prophet’s voice and I find it a bit unsettling. I didn’t think anything could rattle the man.
I still see her eyes. It was like she was lookin’ right at me. Through me. It was like she was accusing me. Askin’ me why I wasn’t there to save her,” he said, his voice low and husky. “So yeah. I hate the fuckin’ cartels and I will do everything in my power to wipe them the fuck out.”
Silence descends between us as Cosmo and I both take a few moments to process Prophet’s words. Initially, I was struck by the heat in his voice. I’ve never seen or heard him so angry before. But given what he saw, I can’t say I blame him. There’s shit I saw in Afghanistan that’s stuck with me. Shit that still makes my blood boil if I think about it too long. So yeah, I get it. I get where his anger is coming from.
But he’s talking about starting a war with the most bloodthirsty, ruthless cartel in Mexico. The MC is only about thirty men strong and Zavala’s got an army at his back. If Prophet leads us into this, into a war with this cartel, not only are a lot of us going to die, but the bloodshed could erupt in the streets of Blue Rock itself.
The cartel, like the fuckin’ terrorist assholes we all fought overseas, don’t shy away from brutal, evil shit like murdering innocents. They wouldn’t think twice about gunning down a group of people at a restaurant any more than they would about killing us. To them, nothing is out of bounds. There is no bottom to their evil depravity. They have no sense of morality, humanity, or the rules of warfare. They’re little better than wild animals.
Going head up against them would turn into a bloodbath. Worse, it would be suicide. I have faith in all of the Pharaohs who are vets as well-trained soldiers. I wouldn’t be able to come up with a better unit that I’d rather have at my back when the shit got real. But Zavala is a man who commands an army and many times, sheer numbers carry the day. A superior force sends wave after wave after wave, wearing you down, until they’re finally able to overrun you.
And Prophet wants us to go head up with that?
“All due respect, Prez, but I don’t think puttin’ our thirty against however many hundreds Zavala can muster up is a great idea.” Cosmo says.
Thankfully, he and I seem to be on the same page as he said almost exactly what I was thinking. I know I should have said something, should have spoken up, but I don’t have much seniority in the club, and it’s not my place to be questioning the president of the MC.
Prophet turns to Cosmo, a contemplative look on his face. I know that look. I’ve seen it before. He’s got the gears in his head turning and is planning something. When he gets his mind set on something, Prophet’s often intractable. He can be a bit like a dog with a bone when he sinks his teeth into an idea. And he’s definitely got his teeth into the idea of going to war with the cartel.
This isn’t going to go well. Not for any of us. I guarantee it.
