Page 74 of Goose

I tossed the monitor to the side and stood. “See for yourself. I think my eyes are going buggy.”

My stomach knotted into a tight ball.

Baker looked at the monitor for an instant. He turned the flashlight on and off. “Motherfucker!” he tossed the monitor onto the floor. “Mother-goddamned-fucker!”

“What?” Tito asked.

Baker’s fist slammed against the side of the safe. “The fucker’s empty.”

“What do you mean, it’s empty?” Tito asked.

“I mean, the fucker’s empty.” Baker stood. “Have a fucking look.”

Tito knelt in front of the safe and reached for the monitor. In seconds, he stood. “Holy. Shit.”

“This place is a fucking mansion,” Baker complained. “It’ll take us a week to search this motherfucker. But, that’s what we’re going to do. From one end to the goddamned other.”

“Sun will be up in an hour,” I said.

Baker spun around. “So, what do you fucking suggest? We leave? It’s fucking here somewhere.” He looked at Tito. “Right?”

“All the information I have points in that direction,” Tito said.

“Search this place from one end to the other,” Baker said. “North to south.”

A subsequent search of the premises revealed absolutely nothing. No jewelry, no money, and nothing of value, short of appliances and the occasional television set.

We met in the kitchen. “We’ve got about ten minutes,” Tito said. “Then, the sun’s going to start coming up.”

“God damn son-of-a-fucking-bitch,” Baker seethed. He gestured toward the master bedroom. “Load everything up.”

After loading the SUV, Baker got into the driver’s seat and buckled up. His hands were shaking as if he was in the final stages of a neurological disease. “I’m so fucking mad,” he complained. “I don’t even know if I can drive.”

“I’ll drive, Boss,” Cash said.

Baker looked at me.

I shrugged. “We didn’t steal anything. I don’t see the risk. All we’ve got to do is point this fucker south and set the cruise control.”

Cash and Baker switched seats. With Cash in the driver’s seat and me riding shotgun, we pulled out of the garage and into the long, winding driveway.

“When we get back, I’m going to sleep until tomorrow,” I said. “I want this fucking nightmare to be over.”

“Same goes for me,” Reno chimed. “I been pacing that fucking yard for damned near five hours. Asshole’s been puckered tight all night. For nothing.”

Landscape lighting illuminated the palm trees that lined each side of the drive. I gawked at the sight. It was as if we were entering one of SoCal’s many well-landscaped theme parks.

“I hate rich people,” I murmured. “This fucker has half a million in fucking trees.”

“I hate the motherfuckers, too,” Cash agreed. “Especially this one. We should have torched this place.”

“I might come back and do it next week,” Baker said from the back seat.

“I’ll blow the motherfucker to Kingdom Come,” Reno said. “Be fucking glad to.”

We exited the drive and entered the neighborhood’s access road. We’d gone no more than a hundred feet, and headlights illuminated behind us.

“Cop!” Reno shouted. “Six o’ clock.”