I begin. He has a look on his face that says he’s immediately enthralled in what I have to say as well as angry. “Who the hell is selling drugs to other members?” he queries. “Boris Cardov,” I say. He takes a scrap of paper and scribbles some notes. “What kind of drugs is he selling?” he pushes. “Pot and pills, according to Pence and Spence,” I say. “Pence and Spence?” he says as confusion sets in. “Scott Pence and Spencer Nottingham,” I tell him, stifling a chuckle. “So, Frick and Frack told you that Boris is selling pot and pills?” “Yeah, basically,” I say, trailing off. “We’re going to need to call a meeting of the club’s officers and see how we’re going to deal with that,” he says, standing and making a move toward the door. “Wait, that’s not even the worst of it. You may want to hold off on that meeting.” “What’s going on in the club that I don’t know about?” “Ken Clayton has also been bragging to the guys about coming into thousands of dollars, but he hasn’t been more specific about when or where this money is coming from.”
