“The girl?” CJ stopped behind the guy, who had the sense to rise and face him, his posture submissive—shoulders down, gaze lowered, a dumbass smile on his face. “Who is the girl? And be very, very careful how you answer that.”

“She’s, um, Ricky’s old lady.”

“And who is Ricky?”

The guy paused, and I sensed disrespect in that pause. After a moment he said, “He’s the road captain, right?” A self-deprecating laugh. “Sorry, I guess I’m not ready for the membership exam, huh? I’m still getting used to the titles.”

He babbled on for another few minutes, until CJ silenced him with, “You ever want to have a chance of becoming a prospect, boy? You’ll learn to keep your mouth shut. It’s not one of the official rules, but for some people, it ought to be.”

To join the Saints, you first had to get to know guys from the club. If they approved, you could hang around while they vetted you. If they liked what they saw, you became a prospect and got to wear part of the colors while the club put you through your paces—a process that could last years. Only then did you become a patched member.

While Ricky was old enough to have his patch, he was young for road captain. But it was a message from Don. My kid is on the succession track. He’s going to prove to you that he can handle it, but if you don’t like the idea, the door is over there.

CJ left the guy alone after that and gave me a pool lesson as he downed two beers. Wallace watched and drank nothing. When we started a game, CJ invited Wallace to join in, but he only grunted, arms crossed, looking as if he could think up a hundred and one better ways to spend his evening.

“We’ll play,” someone called.

It was the guy from earlier, sauntering over with his arm around Lily.

“Sit the fuck back down,” CJ said.

“No,” Wallace said. “That’s up to Ms. Jones.”

I snuck a look at Wallace. Did he expect me to stand firm and refuse to play with people who’d mocked me? Or rise above the insults?

“It’s fine,” I said.

Wallace’s expression didn’t change, and I got the feeling there was no right answer. He just wanted to see which I’d pick.

The game went fine for about fifteen minutes. I’ll flatter myself and say that I did reasonably well, considering my inexperience, but that didn’t keep Lily and her new beau—conveniently named Beau—from smirking and sharing eye rolls every time I missed a shot.

Finally, Lily said, “You don’t belong here, you know.”

CJ started to answer, but a look from Wallace stopped him.

“I know,” I said. “I’m going to need a lot more practice.”