Page 369 of Devil’s Disciples

I wasn’t looking for ten thousand dollars, nor was I in a high-income home owner’s residence. I was on a fact-finding mission in the home of one of SoCal’s wealthy residents. A home I was unfamiliar with.

Protected by the blanket of darkness draped over the city, I walked gingerly through the master bedroom. Despite the night vision’s eerie green glow and limited view, it was easy to see the room was sparsely decorated and meticulously neat. It was an extension of the anal-retentive owner’s personality.

Incapable of cleaning up or controlling his manner of living life, his spotless home became a substitute.

Just as I expected, in the corner of the master closet, a very large safe was neatly situated. Based on experience, I guessed its weight at over a thousand pounds, empty. Moving it would be impossible.

The locking mechanism would need to be manipulated. My ability to do so was one of the many things that separated me from the masses of common thieves. Being cautious not to disrupt anything in the closet, I made note of the manufacturer and the model number of the safe.

I needed a one-hour window to manipulate the lock. If things went well, it’d take fifteen minutes. My crappiest time to manipulate a three-number lock was when I was young—an hour and sixteen minutes.

This was a fact-finding mission. I had roughly an hour before the home owner would return. Attempting to manipulate the lock, clear the contents, and vanish into the night’s darkness would likely get me arrested. I’d have to return at another date.

The anticipation of that day’s arrival would be nearly as pleasurable as walking away with the contents of the safe.

But not near as rewarding as the look on the owner’s face when he found it empty.

134

Goose

Our clubhouse resembled a frat house living room. Sofas, a sectional, pinball machines, and a world-class kitchen were a few of the things that set it apart from the typical MC clubhouse.

The kitchen was my idea. I was the designated cook and used the state-of-the-art equipment for preparing meals when our meetings ran well into the night. It wasn’t uncommon for me to cook a meal of comforts foods when we returned from a late-night job, either.

The four of us were seated at the sectional. Baker was across from us, on the couch. I realized only one of our member’s was missing, but the room felt empty in his absence.

Without our sixth member, the meetings would forever be a reminder. With my jaw clenched, I gazed into my lap.

“Goose, Reno and I are going to Oceanside in the morning,” Baker said. “I’ve been busy with end-of-year accounting bullshit for the last week. I apologize. I lost track of time.”

“Oceanside?” I looked up. “I’m not going to fucking Oceanside. That’s your deal. I don’t know that son-of-a—”

“You said you wanted to be involved,” Baker argued, his tone stern. “You’re going. You’ll agree to how we’re disposing of this problem, or we’re not doing it. That cop can sit on your roof from now until the end of time for all I care.”

“Fine,” I huffed. “I’ll fucking go.”

As much as I didn’t want to expose myself to someone I wasn’t familiar with, it was for the better. Left to their own devices, the club would do something half-assed. The results would loom over me like a fog for the rest of my life—or until I got nabbed by detective Barnes.

“On to next order of business,” Baker said. “The job in Bakersfield.”

“I’m ready whenever we’re ready,” Tito chimed. “I’ve hacked into his server a few times, just to check on him. He leaves for conventions twice a month, so there’ll always be a window of opportunity right around the corner.”

Baker looked at each of us. “This one’s going to be huge, fellas.”

“It’ll seem fucked up doing a job without Ghost,” Cash whined.

“It’ll be fucked up,” Reno agreed. “But what are we supposed to do? Just dissolve the club? What would Ghost think about that? If we stopped pulling jobs because he wasn’t here, he’d be ashamed of us.”

“Who’s going to drive?” Cash asked.

“I’ll drive,” Baker replied.

Cash’s eyes thinned. “You? There’s a big difference between driving that SUV full of men and gear than there is driving that little go-cart of yours on that track. When someone’s chasing you, shit gets real.”

Baker shrugged. “I’m not going to argue that. But I’m the only logical answer.”

He was the only logical answer. I expected in time, things were sure to change for the Devil’s Disciples. We were certainly going to be challenged if we ever got in a run-in with the cops. Ghost had a natural knack for driving, almost as if he knew what was going to present itself long before it happened.