Zach flipped his cigar, staring at the tip for a second before he lowered the smoldering stick. He leveled Copper with a look that had his stomach twisting.
“Shit. That bad?” There went the tension-reducing effects of one of his favorite activities. “What? He not showing up for shifts or something?” Copper inclined forward, resting his forearms on the desk.
Zach shook his head and leaned back, propping an ankle on his knee. His mouth formed an O right before a perfect ring of smoke floated into the room. Clearly, Zach wasn’t stressed by Rusty’s behavior. “Nah, it’s not that bad. Well, he missed one shift and was two hours late for another, so that shit’s not ideal.” He cocked his head. “It’s more an attitude thing, to be honest. He’s short-tempered as fuck. Aggressive with my customers. To be honest, Cop, and I say this with all due respect, he’s just been a dick since he’s been out.”
Well, fuck. That wasn’t what Copper wanted to hear. He needed to check in more with Rusty. Spend some quality time with his brother and help ease the transition back to real life. Since the night of the welcome home party over a week ago, Copper had spent nearly all his spare time with Shell and Beth. It was fucking fantastic, but didn’t do his blood brother any favors.
“I’ll have a chat with him.” Soon as he was done with Zach, he’d give Rust a call. Shell had the night off from her second job and had scheduled dinner at her mom’s for her and Beth weeks ago. Since she wasn’t masochistic enough to bring Copper along, he’d planned to catch up on some club shit, but now he could devote the night to hanging with Rusty.
“Appreciate it, Prez.” Zach’s demeanor grew serious. “Not why I busted in on you, though.”
“What’s going on?” Copper asked as he puffed on his cigar, watching the tufts of smoke rise from the tip. At Zach’s heavy sigh, he shifted his focus to his enforcer. “Shit. Don’t like the sound of that.”
“And you shouldn’t.” Zach dropped his foot and sat straight in his chair. “We got a problem. Least I think we do. Beginning of a problem, maybe.”
“Spit it the fuck out, Zach.”
With a grunt, Zach pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it onto Copper’s desk. The small baggie slid across the desk, coming to a stop directly under Copper’s gaze. “Fuck.”
“Yep.”
Lifting the clear bag, Copper inspected the product that looked exactly like its namesake. Small white crystals. “Meth,” he said more to himself than to Zach.
“Some Walter fucking White shit right there.”
“The fuck you get it?”
Zach snubbed out the last of his cigar in a skull ashtray on the desk. “Screw copped it off some shitheel who owed him. Guy couldn’t pay his debt so he offered that shit to Screw instead.”
“And Screw accepted it as payment?” He’d strip that fucker’s shiny new patch in a heartbeat.
Zach laughed. “What the fuck kinda operation you think I’m running, Prez? Fuck no, he didn’t accept it. He pocketed the meth, busted a kneecap, and told the guy he’d be back in a week for payment in full.”
Huh. Not bad. Screw was one of the newer young patches, being groomed to function as Zach’s second in command. At first, Copper had been skeptical when Zach wanted to take Screw under his wing. He wasn’t nicknamed Screwball for nothing, but he’d taken the job seriously and was stepping up to the plate in ways Copper hadn’t expected.
He’d be sure to mention it to the kid later.
“Ragnar?” Copper asked.
Zach ran a hand through his always perfect hair. “That’d be my guess. Guy Screw lifted his from said there’s been a huge surge in meth dealers over the last month. That shit is getting easier to buy than fucking ice cream.”
Leaning back in his chair, Copper stroked his chin. Yeah, he knew he did it whenever he was deep in thought. Just a fucking reflex that made him a shit poker player. By the time he realized what he was doing, every damn player was on to the fact he had a shit hand and was deciding to bail or not. Only good thing to come of his men learning his tell was that they gave him a wide berth and allowed him to string his thoughts together when they noticed it.
And Zach remained silent, permitting just that.
Ragnar was Joe’s boss. As in Joe, the motherfucker knocking on Shell’s door each month. Thing of it was, they weren’t based out of Tennessee. Which meant they’d need someone local running the operation. So who the fuck was it?
Copper’s hand stilled, and he looked Zach in the eye.
As though reading his mind, Zach nodded. “Yeah, Cop. I’m tracking the same way.”
“Lefty.”
“Gotta be. No one else stupid enough to push meth through our town.”