Maybe that’s why he didn’t like to spend time with the other man.
Or maybe that was due to the memories. Either way, he was already itching to get out of here.
“Spike, you’re late.”
Spike just grunted.
Steele, used to his ways, turned to their server. “You can go, Lucy. We’ll call you back up if we need you.”
Disappointment filled her face. He wondered if it was the missed tips, because Steele might own the place but he was always a generous tipper or if she’d been hoping to be the filling in a Steele-Grady sandwich.
Steele was known for that as well.
But she was too well-trained to argue. Instead, she strode across the room, with sultry, hip-swaying steps. It struck him as false. And wrong. He turned away from her, and he noticed Steele did the same.
He waved him to a seat and Grady took over getting the drinks. He brought them both glasses of scotch before grabbing one for himself. Spike set his down on the coffee table. He wasn’t much of a drinker.
“What do you need?” Steele asked.
Spike raised his eyebrows.
“You only visit when you need something. Last time it was a meet with that asshole pimp, Frankie.” Steele grimaced. “The city is a better place without him. Wish I could congratulate the person who got rid of him.” He sent Spike a knowing look.
“It wasn’t me.”
“Uh-huh.”
Whatever. He wasn’t here to convince Steele that he didn’t kill Frankie.
“Luther is back,” Steele told him.
“Frankie’s son?”
“Yes.”
“Thought he was working for Jared Bartolli in Seattle. Isn’t he married to Jared’s cousin?”
“Hmm. Makes you wonder why he’s here.”
“Think Jared Bartolli is trying to get a foothold in the city?” Spike asked.
“It’s possible he’s trying to expand out. He had a link into the city with Frankie, but now that he’s gone . . .”
Fuck. That was all the city needed. Luther Franklin buying and selling women. Spike felt ill at the thought.
“Jared Bartolli is smarter than his father was. But he doesn’t have much interest in selling skin. Which makes him a better man than Fergus, the fucker,” Steele said.
“You know much about the Devil’s Sinners?” Spike asked, changing the subject.
Steele’s eyes narrowed and he gazed over at Grady. Steele had most of the city tied up. His guys ran drugs. He owned chop-shops. Underground gambling clubs. This was his only strip club. But there wasn’t much competition, just a couple of seedy clubs in a bad neighborhood, so it was popular. He also owned a restaurant and a nightclub.
There wasn’t much that happened in the city that he didn’t know about.
Steele’s jaw tightened. “I know they’re scum. They’re bringing in a low-grade meth that’s mixed with shit. They’re making moves into Montana, taking over territory. They’re on the outskirts of the city, trying to inch their way in. Already heard reports of several people dying from a bad batch they’ve cut. They like to target high school kids, get them selling in the schools and move up from there. Know you don’t like what I do, but we don’t target kids.”
“They’re not just here,” Grady added. “They’re moving in on Markovich’s territory. Heard from Gray, his second in charge, that he’s fucking livid. Markovich doesn’t run drugs, though. He’s a loan shark, runs a few illegal gambling houses, but no guns, no drugs, no sex. He’s practically a saint. You know, for a criminal.”
“They’ve been hanging around Razor’s neighborhood, tried to recruit some of his boys. Beat one up when he refused,” Spike told them.