I led Ian inside with a smile. The last time we'd come through that door into a room wherever everyone was assembled, we had our game faces on. This time, things were more relaxed. I can't stress enough the importance of being relaxed before something like this. If everybody's tense, then they're unpredictable. The only way to see a plan through to completion is when you can rely on your crew. As soon as they saw me, a cheer went up from the crowd. I was glad to see it. My doubts about whether I'd be accepted as the new president of the club were waning if not completely evaporated by this point. Jake, Hector and Needles were sitting on the couch while Lewis, Cyrano and Kevin stood together near the garage. I had a feeling they'd been discussing the relative frustrations they'd suffered in the different jobs I'd set for them. "So," I asked Jake, "How'd it go?" The room got somber quick. "It was fine," he said. "Trevor was right where Needles said he'd be. There was no sign of those fake cartel guys around and we got everything tidied up." "Good," I said. "When this is all over, show me where you buried him. We'll do a thing. Say our last respects, you know?" Jake nodded. Lewis stepped forward next. "The van is all ready, prez. Want to see it?" "Hell yeah, let's see what you guys managed to pull together." They all piled into the garage ahead of me. Only when they split down the middle was I able to get a clear view of the van that had so recently looked like a bullet-shredded wreck on wheels. The work was masterful. I wouldn't even think it was the same van myself, if I didn't know otherwise. The panel had been replaced and the rusted grey exterior had been painted white. On the side, a logo read "Christina's Floral Delivery." Next to a bouquet of flowers there was a caricature of me wearing a delivery jumpsuit with a wide, cartoonish smile. I started laughing and couldn't stop until Kevin put his arm around me.
