Oscar has never tried to fit in and has never wanted to, but when his party friend, Max, is revealed to be mafia prince, Marcus Gallagher, suddenly being a 'lone wolf' is no longer an option; not if Oscar wants to woo his prince and get out alive!
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The next morning Oscar still hadn't heard anything from Max, but he didn't dwell on it too much. Max was doing his thing, in his world, and Oscar had his own shit to deal with. Again, it was only morning for Oscar. For the rest of the population it was technically afternoon, and as soon as he was dressed, he headed on over to Charley's Automotive.
When he pulled in, Charley had the garage door up, so Oscar just walked right in, issuing a loud, "Hey, Charles!" so that it could be heard over the radio blasting classic rock.
"Hey, Oscar! And it's just Charley, dammit!" the middle-aged biker snapped back without much of a reaction from Oscar. "What brings ya in? You need your ride tuned up?"
"Nah, Hugo's fine," Oscar assured while he strolled over and leaned across one of the red toolboxes. "Hey, did you hear Daryl was out early?"
"Ah, yep. I think Vick mentioned it a few days back. Why? He come find you already?" Charley wondered.
"He made his return pretty clear," Oscar tossed back.
"Mm. Never understood why you took up with him. He's on thin ice," Charley said thoughtfully as he reached over for a wrench and then went back to tightening the valve on a pressure line.
"He fast-tracked me into the club," Oscar replied. Daryl wasn't exactly a hard man to figure out. He'd taken an early interest in Oscar, and Oscar had leveraged that to secure his way into the gang. They'd never actually been a thing. At least not in his opinion.
"Mhm, speaking of fast track... Word is mafia's been sniffing around our turf. Keep your eyes out. Last thing we need is for our guys to get caught with their pants down," Charley warned, tossing the wrench back into the toolbox.
"Right, right."
"I'm serious, Oscar. The Irish and the Italians are on the brink of a fucking turf war if things keep up."
"Vick not picking sides?" Oscar wondered curiously.
"Hell, no. Let them rip each other apart if they want, as long as they stay out of Commerce City and the southern docks, then Vick aint getting involved."
"Hn. Makes sense I guess... Well, I'll see ya around, Charley!" Oscar said as he sauntered out of the garage back to his bike.
So, Daryl was on thin ice with Vick... That was good to hear but he wasn't sure how much that really meant. Daryl was part of the original crew. That allowed him certain exceptions. Even if Vick was pissed off at him, that didn't mean he was in danger of being ejected from the gang. Oscar, on the other hand, had to be careful. His position in the gang wasn't as solid, and he needed to play the politics if he wanted to stay in. Which meant...confronting Daryl.
He knew where he'd find him. The Stormcloud Brewhouse on 64th. Daryl practically lived there before he'd been locked up, and Oscar was sure he'd find the greasy bastard back at his old haunt.
