Jerry Langton Three-Book Biker Bundle by Jerry Langton

okay.”
    â€œWhat, you work about eight hours a day?”
    â€œMore like ten, since the divorce—it’s been rough.”
    â€œRight, she got half of everything . . . even the dog, right?”
    â€œNo, she got all of him.”
    â€œChild support bad?”
    â€œWe never had kids.”
    â€œYeah,” André paused. “I thought you would take her name off the business.”
    â€œCosts too much.”
    â€œYeah, but doesn’t it remind you?”
    Seymour knew he was being abused for André’s pleasure, but there was nothing he could do about it. André was by far his most lucrative client and a large, unpredictable man who had some pretty seedy business interests. “It didn’t really,” Seymour replied. “But it may start to now.”
    André laughed. “Sorry, dude; you still got that minivan?”
    â€œNo, head gasket blew about three weeks ago; it’d cost more to fix it than the damn thing was worth.”
    â€œSorry to hear that, man, but it was pretty old . . . so how you getting to work these days?”
    â€œI ride my bike.”
    â€œNot the same one you had in high school?”
    Ned was surprised to hear that the two went to high school together. André was no fashion model, but Seymour looked about ten years older.
    â€œNo, no, that was stolen years ago; I got this one at the police auction.”
    â€œAin’t that just like Springfield PD? Trafficking in stolen goods.”
    â€œYeah, yeah,” Seymour laughed nervously again.
    â€œWhat you gonna do when winter comes?”
    â€œI’ll cross that bridge when I get to it.”
    â€œJust gotta keep on peddlin’.”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œWell, we just popped in to say ‘hello’; we gotta go.”
    â€œWell, it was nice meeting you Ned and always a great pleasure to see you, Mr. Lachapelle.”
    â€œYeah, yeah, don’t you work too hard there, Seymour.”
    As they walked out to André’s truck, Ned said: “Very subtle.”
    â€œYou like that?” André grinned back. “You still wanna be an accountant?”
    â€œThey aren’t all like that.”
    â€œBasically they are,” André disagreed. “Some make more money than others, but it’s more or less the same fuckin’ thing—working your ass off for some richer motherfucker.”
    â€œIt can be a decent way to live.”
    â€œYeah, if you don’t want a life or dignity or a chance to make it big or any of that other unnecessary stuff.”
    Ned exploded into something of a tantrum. “What the fuck do you expect me to do?” he shouted. “Be an astronaut? The only decent marks I have are in math and the fuckin’ business college is the only one who’ll fuckin’ take me!”
    André laughed. “Who says you have to go to college? I didn’t.”
    â€œThat’s different . . .”
    â€œWhy? Because I’m a drug dealer? A criminal? I’d like to remind you, Sonny Jim, you’re one too.”
    â€œYeah, but . . . I couldn’t do what you do.”
    â€œMaybe you could or maybe you couldn’t, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    â€œYou could come work for me,” André grinned. “Make more money in the first month than Seymour or your English teacher do in a year.”
    â€œI dunno, man, I don’t think I could do it,” Ned stammered. “There’s some bad dudes out there and there’s the cops and . . .”
    â€œYou think I’m asking you to stand on a street corner with a bag of weed and yell ‘Drugs for sale! Drugs for sale!’” André scoffed. “Is that how you think it works?”
    â€œI . . . I . . . I don’t know how it works.”
    â€œIt’s actually real easy.” I have a delivery boy—nobody ever suspects him because he