We Are Young
By Bad Company and Reapergirl.
Disclaimer: the authors claim no right to Sons of Anarchy or its characters. No copyright infringement is intended. They do not claim 100% accuracy in depicting outlaw motorcycle clubs, this is a work of fiction. Story title comes from the song "Young" by Hollywood Undead. Ava Ortiz belongs to Bad Company and Cassie Purcell belongs to Reapergirl.
Summary: A continuation of the Ava/Juice Koz/Cassie saga.
AN: This will be a continuous, though long story, and there will be time jumps throughout. We are both big believers in attainable character growth over time and the steady strength of the women who support these men, the struggles of the kids who grow up in the life. We love reviews and love hearing from our great readers.
…
1. Venture Management
Today: thirty years later
Juice had been finishing up his morning coffee at the garage when Sam's call had come in. Think you can come to the courthouse? He'd asked, and the litany of possibilities that had inspired had not been good. But he had long ago learned that his eldest didn't ask for favors lightly. So he told the latest bimbo du jour behind the office desk to put someone else on the tow truck and he'd headed toward the San Joaquin Justice Center. Halfway there, he'd started to wonder if he should have brought along bail money, but the moment he pulled into the parking lot, that curiosity had been dispelled.
Déjà vu had slammed into him hard as he'd walked toward the courthouse, a smile tweaking his lips. Sam had been here in this same capacity as a one-year-old, held in his grandmother's arms while a judge sanctioned Juice's lifelong commitment to Ava.
Now, the kid was thirty-one, in his cut and boots, shades, looking very much like his old man. There were no cuffs, Juice had seen, no cops. Just the slender blonde at Sam's side in a body-hugging off-white, cashmere sweater dress, tan boots and belt, smiling radiantly.
There had been a time when Juice had lain awake at night, worrying about Sam, about the deep-seated, genetic coldness that had left his mama in tears over the idea that he might turn out like Hap: guarded and heartless. But Juice hadn't lost faith. And it was amazing what five years could do to a man, how huge life changes could bring out the good shit and leave it sitting on the surface, for everyone else to see. In the war against nature versus nurture, nurture had finally won out for Sam.
"And now," the judge said in a big, deep voice that reminded Juice of the judge from My Cousin Vinny, "by joining hands, you are consenting to be bound together as husband and wife. You are promising to honor, love and support each other for the rest of your lives. Do you, Samuel James Morales Junior, take this woman?"
It wasn't Hap's son, but Juice's who said, "yeah, I do." Though the voice was a haunting reminder of his lineage.
"Do you, Halen Elizabeth Kozik, take this man?"
"I do, too," said Koz's tiny, blonde-tressed, blue-eyed descendant. Her old man would have been so proud, but it was always harder for the father, wasn't it? Juice had learned that firsthand. Koz should have been there. So should Cass. Christ, Cassie would hate this: no flowers, no yards of fabric, no guests in neat little rows of chairs, no music. Just Sammy and Hay-Hay.
At least she was wearing white, Juice observed. Or, almost-white. Eggshell? He knew too much about colors, damn all those hours of HGTV he'd suffered through with Ava. But the dress didn't matter: the light sheen in her eyes did, the emotion that was bubbling up and making her smile quiver.
"Then by the authority vested in me by the laws of the State of California," the judge said, "I now pronounce you husband and wife."
Wow. Jean Carlos to the masses, Juice to the brave, Pops to the few, was proud. He couldn't hold back his megawatt smile as the couple turned to face him, their only legal witness. Much as he had thirty years ago, he was in jeans and boots, the Reaper hanging proudly from his back. "Congrats," he told them. "But you know your mother's gonna kill me, right?"
Halen smiled – pretty like her mama, but thoroughly laced with Kozik DNA. Her eyes twinkled mischievously. "Which one?"
Sam chuckled. "Both of 'em."
Yesterday: 2018
March didn't usually come in like a lion in Northern Cali. It was a soft day: cool, cloudless, sky crisp and blue, with the occasional breath of warm air in the wind currents. Sunlight poured through the UV glazed windows of the Silver Plate Diner on Main and heated up the right side of Jax's face, left him relaxed and a little sleepy. The diner was full of the usual lunch crowd, voices and the clatter of flatware the soundtrack to his conversation. Steam was licking up off the grills in the back, bringing with it the smell of fried potatoes and the tang of fresh-grilled onions.
He pushed his empty plate away, feeling significantly more confident than he had when he'd first slid into his favorite corner booth. Across from him, Eliot Oswald wiped his fingers on a paper napkin and reached for his wallet.
"Nah, man, I got this," the SAMCRO President said, but Oswald whipped out a twenty anyway and set it on the table between them.
"I just agreed to spend five-hundred kay on our 'arrangement', Jax. A truck stop lunch won't kill me."
Jax smirked.
The millionaire took one last swallow of coffee and slid out of the booth. He extended a hand that the biker shook. "Let me know what he says."
"You mean how pissed off he is."
He snorted. "That too. I'll be in touch."
Jax nodded. "Hey, I appreciate this, man."
"For once, I can honestly say, this has nothing to do with you or your club. It's just smart business, Teller." With one last bob of his head, Oswald shrugged into his spring-weight jacket, some rancher-looking suede number, and headed for the door, walking a little like a cowboy.
Through the window, Jax watched him walk out to where his Mercedes was parked along the curb. Who'd have thought: it may have taken ten damn years, but the club was finally taking that legitimate step he'd always talked about, just in a way he'd never imagined.
The whisper of sneaker soles over the tile announced the arrival of his waitress and pulled his attention. At eight months along, Ava's belly brushed against the table as she reached to clear Oswald's dishes. She was a comical sight when pregnant – all her weight was in her belly, well, and her chest, but he wasn't going to check his cousin out. She didn't seem slowed down, though, whisking the plates into the plastic tub and pulling a rag off her belt to wipe down the opposite side of the table.
"You done?" she asked, already grabbing for his plate.
He nodded. "When'd you get here?"
"Just clocked in. Working second shift today."
He chewed at the inside of his cheek. "They let pregnant chicks work till eleven these days?"
She straightened up and rested a moment, tub sitting up on the table. She smiled and rolled her eyes. "I know, right? How cliché can I get: pregnant waitress at an all night diner. Now I just need an abusive boyfriend and twenty-year-old Buick to complete the white trash ensemble."
Jax chuckled. "When you gonna put that degree to work?"
She shot him a pointed look that said drop it, then her gaze went out toward the window. "Hale's here."
Ava, of course, wasn't privy to this deal he was working, but she knew something was up: who knew how much Juice had spilled at home. That, and, she didn't miss much. Deal or no, she would have alerted him to Jacob Hale's creepy-looking ass coming up the sidewalk toward the door.
"Yup." Jax sat back and rested his hands on the table in a casual pose. "Official club business," he said and she nodded, knowing that meant she was suddenly supposed to lose her sense of hearing.
"I'll bring him some coffee. You need anything?"
"I'm good."
As she walked off, or waddled, more like it, he allowed himself a moment of pride for his little cousin – she was doing alright for herself – then the door jangled, Hale stepped in, and he focused completely on the exchange to come.
-O-
"You know," Carter said from across the table, "the money you've spent on those, you probably coulda put the down payment on a new house."
Juice shot him a quick glare and then returned his attention to the four scratch-off lottery tickets he'd laid out on the clubhouse table in front of him. He was, he knew, starting to obsess about the things. But no more than he obsessed about anything else. And every morning he rolled over and saw Ava sitting up on the side of the bed, her hand pressed between her swollen breasts because she had heartburn again, her belly looking bigger by the second, he panicked just a little bit more. Neither one of them had said it out loud, but they both knew that the two bedroom, one bath house that Hap had bought her wasn't big enough for the expanding family. Especially not once the boys started getting bigger…
Christ, in about four weeks, he'd have a son. Well, he already had one, he really did think of Sammy that way, but this was just…wow. He was so stunned, so excited, so goddamn terrified, he'd stopped fighting Ava on her insistence to name the poor kid after him.
"I'm gonna get lucky," he rationalized, taking a quarter to the first scratch-off.
"Mmhm."
"Don't you have something else to do?"
"Waitin' on Jax, same as you."
Carter didn't annoy him, it was just that, as he moved from ticket to ticket, his failure was embarrassing. Because as usual, he came up with nada, and it was another four bucks down the drain. He was pissing away their hard-earned money four bucks at a time.
"Ava has a degree, right?" the youngest patch holder asked, knowing full well, like everyone else, that she did.
Juice sighed and pushed the tickets away, disgusted. He propped his chin on a fist and glanced across the table. "I'm not gonna push her. She knows she should be doing something better than waiting tables." He snorted. "Charming's not exactly bustling with corporate job opportunities."
"And let's keep it that way," Jax's voice carried across the common room as he came into the clubhouse. He was grinning as he aimed a finger at Juice. "Get the stuff. Church in ten."
-O-
"You want me to do what?"
So far, this was feeling very much like the conversation they'd had when she'd come home to find Juice taking scissors to her only pair of panty hose: ludicrous and possibly illegal. Ava didn't even have her jacket off yet, was still trying to work the zipper down over her distended belly, and he was telling her he wanted her to buy a house. Two houses, actually.
He made that face that acknowledged he'd gotten ahead of himself again and had said everything all wrong. "Come here."
Wondering how worried she should be, she went to the table where he was sitting with a mess of paperwork strewn in front of him and sat at his elbow. "Please tell me I heard you wrong and you meant doll houses."
"Nope." He pulled out a thin stack of printouts that looked like aerial maps. Closer inspection showed they were plats: official property lines and measurements as documented with the county, for four homes. "Cedar Lane," Juice tapped the marked street at the bottom of the top page.
Ava nodded. "Those are nice homes. Dated, but big." Her parents lived two streets over from the neighborhood in question, and she'd jogged down Cedar Lane before, had ridden her bike there before she'd been able to drive. It was one of the early developments in town; classic construction and big lots, sprawling houses. The trees were tall and deep-rooted. It was a great spot in Charming – centrally-located but with a feel of tranquil isolation. They were the kinds of houses she drove by and just kept driving, because though she and Juice needed to upsize, it wasn't going to be in that neighborhood.
She glanced up at her husband and waited. Sometimes, Juice's ideas took a lot of patience.
"These four houses," he indicated the plats, "are set to be foreclosed on at the end of the month."
"Two weeks from now."
"Yeah. And the mortgages were taken out at Hale's bank."
A light bulb clicked on in her head. So that explained Jax's meeting with Jacob.
"My guy over at San Joaquin Savings and Loan said Hale doesn't expect anybody to show up for the auction. He's gonna buy 'em up and use them as leverage to push the rest of the homeowners off the street."
"Push how?"
Juice pulled a disgusted face. "High density town homes."
"Shit."
"Yeah. He's gonna break ground on the foreclosed lots and hope the construction will encourage the others to sell."
"When imminent domain won't succeed…" she sighed. Of all the outlaws in Charming, Jacob Hale was by far the lowest. His dream of turning the picturesque, backwards little town into Disneyland was never too far out of sight. And the Sons were running out of counter plays. She frowned. "Wait, why are you telling me all this?"
He twitched a sideways smile. "SAMCRO's goin' legit on this one. We've got stable financial backing, and we're gonna flip these houses."
That explained Oswald. Ava wanted to smile too, but she kept it in check. "And you need me to buy them why?"
"You and Tara. You guys don't have any criminal charges as adults, it'll look better all the way around. We give you guys the cash, you show up on the courthouse steps, and we'll handle the rest." His voice took on an excited edge. "Oswald's gonna buy one back from us, put his barn manager in it and list it as a tax write off, which, shit, that's how the rich get richer right there. Fancy tax shit. Once the other three are updated, we should be able to find buyers." He fanned out the rest of the paperwork for her perusal, looking very pleased with himself.
Pride surged through Ava: she knew her man had been instrumental in collecting all the info the club needed to make this new venture happen. It was a big gamble – all sorts of glitches could send the plan into a tailspin – but it was no more risky than gun runs and drug muling. And this was legal. This was money that couldn't be taken away, that couldn't land them in jail. And it didn't involve porn of any kind.
She couldn't hold back the smile that split her face in two. "I'm in. I am so in."
-O-
"Teller-Morrow Automotive," Maggie heard the soft feminine voice as she stepped over the office threshold with a heavy, almost-two-year-old Sam in her arms. Carter's wife – and she always had to force herself to think wife and not girlfriend – was behind the desk, phone in hand. The tall, thin brunette was a bit like a newborn lamb, trying to get shakily to her feet so she could face the big scary world, but she tried hard. She wasn't the best part-time receptionist Maggie had ever seen, but was the most dedicated. She didn't take breaks, didn't smoke at the desk, didn't flirt with the guys because she was head-over-heels for the blonde who'd brought her back from Sturgis on the bitch seat of his bike.
"Hi, Mia," she mouthed and earned a quick smile in return.
"Uh, huh, yes, sir, we can take care of that for you…"
Maggie set Sam down and heeled the door to. He headed straight for the small pyramid of toys stacked up in the corner and she took a temporary seat in one of the visitor's chairs, ready to make a grab for her grandson if need be: he was a good boy though, didn't seem as intent on getting into things as some children.
Mia hung up the phone and typed something into the computer, the keys clipping under her fingers. She exhaled deeply, letting the breath hiss through her parted lips. That was when Maggie noticed the fine glitter of sweat on her temples and across her forehead. "Hi," she greeted in a voice that wasn't as bright as her usual chirp. She paused, one hand ghosted to the base of her throat a moment, then she shook herself and went back to typing.
All signs pointed to nausea.
"You feeling okay?" Maggie asked.
"Yeah. I'm fine." Though her face told a different story. "You have Sammy today?"
"Ava and Tara are up bidding on houses," she shook her head, still not quite believing this latest scheme. If the boys pulled it off, she'd be the first to congratulate them, but she had her misgivings. She had a lot of respect and appreciation for Oswald, but she wasn't ready to trust him quite like Jax and, once upon a time, Gemma had.
Mia nodded, then froze, face paling further. She grabbed at her stomach and started to turn toward the wastebasket, but caught herself. Swallowed. Rotated slowly back toward the computer.
"Mia," Maggie scooted forward in her chair, suspicious mind already churning. "Why don't you go lie down? Sam and I can hang out for a bit, I'll cover the phone."
Her eyes widened.
"I heard the stomach flu is going around and -,"
As if a switch had been flipped, Mia went from perfectly composed, to falling to pieces. She slumped forward on the desk and caught her face in her hands, a deep, shuddering breath came rushing out of her lungs. Maggie saw tears patter down onto the paperwork in front of her. "It's not the stomach flu!" she whimpered.
She'd been afraid of this. Though sympathetic for the girl, it was Carter who she thought of. She'd been the one to usher him into the club, to bring him out to that first party to meet Jax. And it was an almost maternal sense of responsibility that left her frowning: these kids were not ready for kids. It was impossible that they even knew each other at this point. "You're pregnant?"
Mia pulled her hands away and nodded, absolutely miserable.
"Shit."
-O-
The afternoon was another of those perfect Northern Cali spring ones. Ava slipped off her light jacket and tossed it into the passenger seat of Tara's Yukon before she closed the door.
Across the street from the curb where they'd parked was the first of the four houses they'd paid Oswald's cash for on the San Joa courthouse steps. It was technically Tara's, though would soon belong to Oswald's barn manager and his family. It was a stone and stucco ranch, with a big three car garage and a yard that looked designed for Thanksgiving football games.
"You know," Tara mused, folding her arms and surveying her property, "when I thought about buying a house, it wasn't like this."
"No kidding." Ava let her eyes wander further down the street, down toward 4653, one of the homes listed under her name. It was kind of disheartening, really, to know that she and Juice needed a home, and here were two she couldn't have, right under her nose. Frustrating, to say the least.
The rumble of bikes announced the guys' arrival and a moment later, half a dozen Harleys were pulling up behind the SUV and idling to a halt. The majority of the charter had shown up in what Ava knew was a calculated appearance: the club wanted the neighborhood to know that the Sons were the ones maintaining the street, and not the county, or Hale.
Jax was the first one off his bike and he looked smug, confident. He'd been talking about "leaning right" for so long, it was surprising the first "lean" had taken so long. Ava waited for her Old Man and father, feeling winded and huge, out of breath just from her climb down out of the car. She'd maintained her fitness routine through the first two trimesters, but she now only took the occasional walk. She wasn't nervous like she had been the first time, didn't have this buildup of negative energy. So it was easier to be content with down time. She couldn't wait to be skinny again, however.
"Homeowner!" Chibs boomed as they approached. "How's it feel?"
"Like I gotta give them up," she said with a snort.
Juice tugged off his gloves and put an arm around her shoulders: she didn't have much of a waist right now. "Still fun to look though, huh?" But even with his shades on, she could read the tension in his face: he was taking on the burden of provider. She knew he felt guilty about not being able to move them into a family-sized home.
"Yeah," she offered him a smile, not wanting to add to the guilt, and let him steer her down the street, toward 4653.
The sounds of the bikes had pulled curious neighbors to their windows: Ava saw a few faces peeking at them from behind lacey curtains. What the trio they must look, walking down the street: two bikers, one of which had ink on his head, and a waddling, pregnant chick who probably looked like a hostage. She hoped though, that, like she had Juice had discussed in the wee hours when her heartburn had been too bad for sleep, that SAMCRO would make friends here rather than enemies. This was fantastic PR for the club.
By the time they reached the driveway, she felt sweat misting her back, her summer weight long-sleeved tee stuck to her skin. "This boy needs to come out," she muttered as they started up the curving concrete drive that led around to the side of the house. Her physical condition was soon forgotten though as she started soaking up the details.
The yard was large, but plain, no landscaping save the empty beds along the front walk full of faded bark chips. A tall oak stood sentinel on the far side of the drive, dappling them with shade and throwing shadows across the three garage doors.
"Nice," Ava murmured, coming to a halt.
"Yeah," Juice had an excited smile to his voice. "Room for two cars and a workshop. That's pretty sweet."
She turned toward him and arched a brow. "Did you read up on all the specs?"
"Aye," Chibs answered for him. "Boy's been gettin' his real estate on."
Ava chuckled. "Alright, lead the way, Tour guide Barbie."
They went in through the front, pausing to appreciate the white-railed rocking chair front porch that stretched across most of the house. Inside, the foyer was tiled with what looked like green marble laced through with thick veins of white. It was garish and out of date, but had at one point been pricey. To the right was what she guessed was the dining room that boasted a big bay window, and ahead, two arched doorways that led into an expansive family room.
"This is a gallery," she said, stepping into the carpeted hall that seemed to run from one end of the house to the other. "Love that."
"Master's to the left," Juice led the way, and she wasn't quite prepared for how fantastic it was.
Under the velveteen, rose-patterned wallpaper, the shag carpet, the bedside lamps affixed to the wall, the ceiling fan with dangling light globes, all the brass and green tile in the bathroom, was a huge amount of floor space, walk-in closets, and a Jacuzzi tub.
She was in love before she even saw the rest of the house. The kitchen had a big breakfast nook and overlooked the back deck, a yard big enough for five swing sets. There were three other bedrooms, a laundry room, full guest bath, and a finished basement with its own bathroom. All the fixtures were bright brass or some sort of faux-crackled copper. The green was everywhere: in the laminate countertops and cabinet pulls of the kitchen. The lamps were circa 1985 and the carpet heavily stained. But the potential…there was tons of it.
As they walked down the overgrown, weed-riddled path of flagstones that led from the basement exit up and around to the driveway, Ava's walk slowed to that of an eighty-year-old, and then she stopped all together. Her face was flushed, she could feel her pulse throbbing in her cheeks, but she was covered in goose bumps. When she pushed the escaped strands of her ponytail off her neck, her skin was clammy to the touch. And the baby was kicking and thrashing around like a wild man.
"I'm sorry, I just gotta…" she trailed off because she wasn't sure what she just had to do. Throw up, pass out, give birth, something. There was a little concrete bench along the path and Juice towed her over to it, kept a hold of her arm as she sank down onto it with painful slowness.
His eyebrows had climbed so high they looked fused to his Mohawk. "You're not -,"
"No," she finished. "I don't think so. I haven't had lunch so maybe that's it. Kinda lightheaded."
Chibs made a disapproving grunting noise. "You want me to getcha somethin'?"
"No," she hated being treated like an invalid just because she was pregnant. "I'm supposed to meet Mom at Nikki's to pick up Sam."
He scowled. "She can get ya right bloody now." He fished out his phone and walked back toward the street, grumbling about hard-headed women.
Juice sat down beside her. "You sure you're alright?" He looked terrified.
"Yeah," she scraped up a smile. And she was feeling better. Sitting down had helped with the cold chills. Baby boy was still active: but that wasn't unusual. Juice had teased that he was hyperactive like his old man, even in the womb, and she was very convinced that was true. She took a deep breath and leaned back, putting her hands behind her on the bench. "This place is beautiful," she said, letting her eyes take a trip around the backyard again.
He snorted. "You did see all the green inside, right? And the applique wallpaper?"
She grinned, because you had to either grin or pull your hair out thinking about the mismatched, ungodly wallpaper in every room: flowers, flowers in baskets, flowers in fields, and one bathroom done in old wooden sailing ships. But wallpaper could be stripped off and green laminate countertops could be replaced. "I have a vision."
He chuckled. "Must be a good one."
"It is."
A spring breeze that still held the coldness of a Canadian winter came rippling through the newborn leaves of the oak above their heads. The sound of the stirring foliage was somehow comforting: it was timeless and natural. The rest of the world didn't care about the problems, or hopes and dreams of a little biker family in Charming. And rather than discouraging, it was a nice little reminder that the world turned regardless of what happened to them.
"I'm sorry," Juice said, and his voice took on a heaviness that worried her.
When she glanced over, he was staring at his boots, not enjoying the afternoon the way she was. For a moment, the role reversal was so startling, she couldn't find her voice. Not so long ago, she was the one who hadn't been able to see anything except her own toes, too locked in her own head. "Sorry for what, baby?"
He shrugged. "You love this house and I won't ever be able to afford something like this for us. I'm forty years old and -,"
"Not yet."
"I'm almost forty, and I can't provide any better for my family."
He was a dweller: his ADD did not, contrary to popular belief, prevent him from focusing on anything. In fact, he tended to hyper-focus on problems. Ava sighed. "Well, if I got outta that diner, it would help."
"You shouldn't have to work anywhere," he threw up his hands in exasperation. "I should be -,"
"Hold up." She straightened as much as she was able, now agitated. "This isn't nineteen-fifty. And I'm not some spoiled little rich girl who wandered in off the streets, Juice. Give me more credit than that. I know I have to work. You think you're the only one who wants to provide?"
He gave her a sideways glance.
"We're fine," she assured, hoping that was the truth. They'd both been so exuberant about getting pregnant, but now that he was almost here, the reality of adding another mouth to feed was weighing on both of them.
-O-
"I called Lonnie at the mill," Opie said that night at the table. "He can get us the lumber we need for cheap."
"Oswald Construction gets it wholesale," Jax countered. "And it simplifies the process."
"Nothin's ever simple about owin' one guy a shit-ton of money," Bobby said, and Tig nodded in agreement.
"We're gonna have to reach out to get the hardware anyway," Ope said. "Granite, tile, faucets and shit…goddamn," he reached for his pack of smokes on the table, "I feel like Bob fuckin' Vila."
Chibs exhaled twin plumes of smoke through his nostrils. "Wha about the prospect? Rio? Don't his old man have his own tile business?"
"Yeah," Tig, his sponsor, snapped his fingers. "Bet he'd do it for cheap too."
Jax sighed in a way that indicated he knew they'd be at this for a while. "Juice," he aimed a look down the table. "How's the list coming?"
Juice had been slipping in and out of his own head throughout the impromptu church meeting. For some reason, stupidly, he'd thought that after he and Ava had survived the tumultuous first year together, after all that shit with Hap dying and dealing with Sal Rubio, breaking down her walls, things would be so simple. But watching her walk through that house today, seeing the unspoken longing in her eyes again reminded him that building one life out of two was complicated.
He leafed through the legal pad in front of him, registering Ava and Tara's handwriting, some of Maggie's too once she'd shown up. "Forty-six-fifty needs a new dishwasher, the wallpaper stripped, linoleum pulled up…" he read off the needed improvements for each property for what felt like hours, until his mouth was dry and he had to take a swallow of the beer at his elbow. The girls had left no detail unnoticed, things like "crack in the dental molding in bedroom four" in Tara's neat script making his head hurt.
When he was done, the President let out a low whistle.
"Jesus," Bobby muttered. "And who're we gonna get to do all this work pro bono?"
Chibs snorted. "Nobody."
Opie shrugged. "I'm a'ight with a table saw." He motioned across the table with his cig. "Juice can handle all the electrical."
"Call Fresno," Tig said, "Wilbur's a contractor."
"Tacoma too," Tux said. "Koz and RJ are glaziers. And apparently we gotta have double-pane windows."
Jax was nodding. "We pay our guys and it still comes out cheaper than getting an outside crew in here." He grinned. "Shit. SOA Construction Co."
"I'm beginning to think you might pull this shit off, Prez," Bobby said with a chuckle.
"That's the idea." He tapped the gavel. "Start making calls, boys."
Chibs offered a game of pool, but Juice begged off. This close to the due date, and with Ava not feeling well, he wanted to be home as much as was possible.
But he stopped to buy four more scratch-off tickets on the way.
TBC