“Wanted me to keep an eye out for property for sale ‘round town and in the area. Found two possibilities. Car wash at the other end of the lot where Justice Bail Bonds is, near the Walmart. And,” Deacon lifted one brow and smiled, “a pet crematorium. The local vet built it. He’s old as fuck now and wants to unload that part of his business. His kids don’t want anythin’ to do with it.”
“Why the fuck would we wanna burn pets?” Judge asked, stroking Jury’s head, which was still in his lap. The dog was asleep while sitting up.
Deacon shrugged. “It’s a good business. Looked at the books and it’s in the black.”
“Yeah, plenty of good businesses out there. Like the car wash,” Judge suggested.
“Not one like this.”
“Yeah, there’s a reason for it,” Deacon’s cousin grumbled. “It’s creepy as fuck.”
“You ain’t gonna get her cremated when she dies, then spread her ashes?” Deacon asked Judge.
Judge’s big body jerked. “Bite your goddamn tongue.”
“Well, when my boy dies, I’m havin’ his ashes put into somethin’ I can display. A lot of people do. Dead pets are a big business.”
“That didn’t sound right,” Cage said.
“Know what I fuckin’ mean. People spend a lot of scratch on their fuckin’ pets. They treat ‘em like family. Prolly spend more on their fuckin’ pets than their own damn semen demons. And I’m sure after hearin’ what we’re gonna discuss next, thinkin’ a crematorium would be fuckin’ perfect for us.”
The table went silent. Deacon’s smile got even bigger.
“Jesus fuck,” Trip muttered.
“Yeah. Think about it,” Deacon said.
“How big are the furnaces?” Judge asked, suddenly looking a whole lot more interested.
“He’s got two in the buildin’. One for smaller animals like cats and shit. And one,” Deke paused dramatically, “big enough for full-sized hogs, even cows.”
“Damn,” Sig whispered, sitting back.
Deacon’s eyes slid to Sig. “Damn right. That’s a big fuckin’ deal.”
“Okay, I’m fuckin’ lost here,” Ozzy said. “Why the fuck do we wanna burn cows and not eat ‘em? I love a good steak.”
“Don’t wanna burn fuckin’ cows,” Trip said, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “Wanna burn somethin’ the size of a cow.”
“What’s the size of a cow?” Ozzy asked, his eyebrows pinned low. “A horse?”
“An inbred goat fucker,” Sig whispered. His eyes met Trip’s, whose lips were nothing but a slash since he was pressing them together so hard.
“Not sure we wanna get into that type of business,” Sig’s brother said. “Seems like there’d be a lot of rules we’d need to follow. You know, like EPA and shit. Could be a hassle.”
“It’s lock and key, brother,” Deacon explained. “Just gotta maintain the equipment, the buildin’ and the licensing. It’s easy fuckin’ peasy. Pick up the animal, put it in the Easy Bake Oven, set it to well-done and poof... got ashes. Shovel those into a bag. Throw that bag into whatever container they pay us a lot of scratch for, then deliver them to the grievin’ owner.”
“What about the cows and horses?” Ozzy asked.
“Those ashes can get spread in a field as fertilizer,” Deke answered with a half shrug.
Sig’s eyes held Trip’s again as he murmured, “We got plenty of fields.”
“We sure do.” Deacon raised his eyebrows at Sig. “Lots of room to spread ashes of large animals.”
“Goddamn genius, Deke.”
The man sat back and shot Sig a smile. “Nooo shit.”
“Fuckin’ genius,” Sig repeated, scraping his fingers down his beard.
“We got the scratch for it?” Trip asked Deacon.
The club’s treasurer nodded. “Enough for the down payment. Gonna negotiate the sellin’ price with the vet. Get it knocked down some. He wants us to offer his clients a discount. Told him no fuckin’ problem. He’s even gonna help train whatever dog shit prospects we get to run it. Also talked him into includin’ the van he uses for pickup and delivery. And... best part... he’s willin’ to finance the balance with a super fuckin’ low interest rate.”
“Damn, Deke,” Trip said, looking impressed. “How soon he wanna close on it?”
“Fuckin’ yesterday. But I’ll get with him and hammer it all out. Because of regulations and licensing, might take a little longer.”
“What about the car wash?” Cage asked.
“We do the deal with the vet, ain’t got the scratch for the car wash. That’d be a bank loan for the balance, if we did. And the banks are a major pain in the fuckin’ ass to deal with for an organization like us. The crematorium’s the best deal outta the two.”
“Yeah,” Sig said under his breath. It sure fucking was.
“Let’s vote,” Trip suggested, surprising Sig by suddenly being on board with the idea.
Within thirty seconds, the plans for the club to buy a pet crematorium were approved by everyone sitting at that damn table. The table where Judge, Trip, Sig and Stella’s fathers sat around more than twenty years ago.
Now the current exec committee needed to talk about Red.