Tito

by Hildreth, Scott

  “Roger that,” Goose responded.

  Describing Baker as superstitious would be like describing the Grand Canyon as an eroded riverbed. His demand that we be gone at 3:17 was made for superstitious reasons, I was sure. Granted, we needed to be gone as soon as possible, but four minutes left us little time to get everything loaded—especially with Reno being poised and ready for a diversion at the other end of the city.

  “Goose and l will take the jewelry,” I said. “You and Cash get the coins.”

  Working as a well-oiled machine, Goose and I emptied the steel boxes of their jewelry, consolidating everything into one large metal container. The coins—each fitted in a clear plastic case—were swept off the table and into the empty jewelry boxes by Baker and Cash.

  In just over three minutes, everything was stacked inside the exit. Cash and I went back to the room for one last look.

  He gestured toward a door at the rear corner of the room. “What’s in there?”

  I checked the time. We had thirty seconds to go. “Fuck, I don’t know.”

  He tried the handle. As expected, it was locked.

  “Fucker’s locked.” He rubbed his hands together feverishly. “You know whatever’s in there has got to be good.”

  “Quit fucking around,” Baker bellowed into the room. “Let’s go. We’ve got everything.”

  Cash jiggled the door handle. “What’s in here?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Baker responded. “It’s time to go.”

  “Town’s fucking dead,” Cash argued. “You heard it from Goose. All these retired fuckers are asleep. Cops included. C’mon Bake. The man’s got this fucker locked. A locked room inside a locked room?” He nodded toward the door. “Get Ally in here.”

  Baker checked his watch. He forced a sigh and reached for his earpiece. “We’ve got another lock, Ally.”

  “On my way,” she responded.

  In seconds, Ally was inside the room with her lock picking devices. After choosing the proper pick, she inserted it into the lock.

  With our greedy eyes fixed on the door, Baker, Cash, Goose, and I waited with bated breath to see what was inside.

  The mechanism clicked. With the lock pick still in the lock, Ally pushed the door open and peered inside the dimly lit room.

  “Lighted jewelry cases,” She said. “They’re full.”

  Baker took a step toward the room. “Tito, stay with me. Everyone else, get the car loaded.”

  “Let me take a look,” Cash said, outwardly excited to see what was inside the room.

  “Get the fucking car loaded,” Baker snarled. “Tito and I will get this.”

  The building’s interior, less the open storefront, was configured in an “L” shape. With the two rooms that we were in at the lower leg of the “L”, the establishment’s exit door wasn’t visible without walking out of the rear room and around the corner. Goose and Ally had already disappeared in that direction.

  Cash hesitated, and then turned away in a huff. Before he took one step, a voice from the other room caused the hair on my neck stand on end. It wasn’t the lack of familiarity in the voice so much that startled me.

  It was what he said.

  “Take one more step,” the voice said in a firm drawl. “And I’ll blow a hole in you big enough to drive a truck through.”

  “You, too, Missy,” a second voice said. “Don’t fucking move.”

  Hidden from view, I pinned myself against the back room’s interior wall. The veins on my neck pulsed with each beat of my overactive heart. I lowered myself to my hands and knees and crawled to the door.

  Nervously, I peered around the corner.

  A police officer that was big enough to challenge Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson to a fist fight stood with his pistol aimed at Goose’s chest. His hands were rock-steady. His threatening glare bore the intensity of a man who was committed to his cause. It wasn’t the first time he’d been in such a situation, that much was clear.

  Beside him, another officer stood. Not near as sure of himself as his partner, he pointed a shaking assault rifle at Ally.

  I quickly surveyed the situation.

  The first officer was on the left side of the door. He was ten feet away from Goose. To the right of the door, the second officer was fifteen feet in front of Ally with his rifle pointed at her chest. Neither of the officer’s uniforms bore the square-shaped outline of a bulletproof vest.

  My heart raced at a breakneck pace as I attempted to assemble a plan of escape.

  The exit door was open. Our escape vehicle sat outside the door, running. The rumble from the high-performance exhaust was a welcome sound. Without it I feared the officers would be able to hear my heart pounding.

  The first officer barked out his command. “Get on the floor, asshole! I’m not going to tell you again.”

  There was only one option. I withdrew into the room and pulled my weapon, a HK USP .45 caliber pistol. Still on my hands and knees, I looked in Baker’s direction.

  I signaled for him to cover the man with the rifle. He quickly got in position. I mouthed the words “on three.”

  Baker nodded.

  Cash shook his head adamantly and then pointed to his chest. “Move out of the way,” he whispered, nudging his way against the doorframe. “You count, we’ll shoot.”

  There was only room for two men in the doorway. Cash was undoubtedly a better shot than I was, therefore, I gave no opposition to his demand. I quickly moved to the side, allowing him to step into place.

  Baker and Cash simultaneously gave a nod.

  Incapable of seeing into the other room, I pressed my finger to the side of my Bluetooth device. “On three,” I whispered into the mouthpiece, knowing Goose and Ally could also hear my faint voice. “One…Two…”

  I drew a breath and held it. The thought of proceeding made me feel ill, but I had no choice. When I looked last, Goose’s right hand was twitching—a signal that he was seconds from attempting to draw his weapon.

  I couldn’t let Goose take that chance. “Three.”

  Gunfire shattered the silence. One after another, the deafening blasts seemed to come from everywhere. After three dozen shots were fired, the room fell eerily silent.

  The ringing in my ears was brain-numbing.

  I stepped into the opening and peered into the other room. The two bullet-riddled officers stumbled to maintain their footing.

  The first officer took several awkward steps away from Goose. He came to a stop with his back propped against the wall, just beside the exit door. His glassy eyes were slowly coming to terms with what had happened.

  Still clutching the gun in his right hand, his arm dangled loosely at his side. He locked eyes with me and sucked a choppy breath. The crisp navy-colored uniform he wore now glistened dark crimson with blood.

  He was a few heartbeats away from death, and it appeared that he knew it.

  The second officer crumbled into a distorted pile at Goose’s feet. His rifle clanked across the floor and came to a rest beside Ally.

  The air was thick with the coppery smell of death. Through the chaos, cordite, and sheer confusion, it was impossible to tell if the officers had fired their weapons.

  “Is anyone hit!?” I shouted.

  I realized as I spoke that my ears were ringing so loudly that I could barely hear my own voice.

  Gun in hand, Cash boldly sauntered toward the first officer. “I’m good.”

  The sound of his voice was muffled and dull.

  “Same,” Ally responded, her voice equally as indiscernible.

  “I’m good,” Goose said.

  I stared in disbelief at the carnage while tugging against my earlobes. In seconds, events unraveled that would forever alter our futures.

  Cash pointed his pistol at the dying officer’s chest. Exhausted from his last efforts to remain with the living, he slumped to the floor. His pistol clattered across the tile, coming to a stop between them.

  In a sitting position against the wal
l, the officer held my gaze. Filled with regret, I watched as he drew his last uneven breath.

  Cash holstered his weapon. He turned and reached for one of the steel boxes.

  “Leave it!” Baker demanded.

  Cash paused. His face contorted. He faced Baker. “What the—”

  “Don’t take anything,” Baker barked. He glanced around the room. “Get this place policed of every hair, flake of skin, piece of fiber, shell casing, and whatever else might tie us to this robbery. Get everything. If we’re caught with one coin or piece of jewelry from this botched up mess, we’ll get the death penalty.”

  Baker was right. Death by lethal injection for everyone in the room would be the sentence if one person was caught and convicted for killing either of the law two enforcement officers.

  My eyes drifted to the first officer. Slumped against the wall like he was taking a rest from a long day at work, his eyes remained open. I wanted to fix everything—put it back the way it was—but there was nothing I could do.

  Everything I wanted. All that I had hoped for. My life’s aspirations. My dreams with Reggie. Our adventure. The thought of it all evaporating encompassed me, paralyzing me from doing anything but staring into the eyes of the dead man who sat before me.

  “Echo One to Echo Six,” I heard Baker say into the two-way radio.

  Reno’s response came quick. “Echo Six. Go ahead.”

  “We’re code black, Echo Six,” Baker said in a shaking voice. “We need a clear path home.”

  “Roger that,” Reno replied. “Everything’s in place. It’s your call, Echo one.”

  Baker cleared his throat. “Blow this place to Kingdom fucking Come.”

  31

  Reggie

  “Do you think you’ll feel better by time to go?” I asked.

  He looked up from sipping his tea. “I don’t know.”

  “I know you don’t want to hear it, but I think you should go to the doctor,” I said. “You’ve been sick for over a week. We didn’t two Sundays ago because dad was working, and we didn’t go last Sunday because you were sick. From how you’re acting, I’m guessing we’re not going again today. My dad’s going to be so disappointed.”

  “I’m sorry, but my stomach is killing me.”

  I suspected there was more to it than a stomachache. His symptoms—depression, lethargy, lack of appetite, and irritability—started the day after his motorcycle club’s impromptu late-night meeting on the previous Thursday.

  “You haven’t eaten anything or slept in a week,” I reasoned, my tone expressing my frustration with his refusal to see a doctor. “I’m surprised you’re not in the hospital already.”

  “If I’m not better in a few days, I’ll go.”

  I sat down across from him. “Promise?”

  He sighed. “Yes.”

  “If you’re not better by Tuesday.”

  “Okay.”

  He appeared to be defeated. Like he’d all but given up on life. For the most part, since we made love the first time, we’d spent every night together. One consistency was that he slept, and slept well, each night.

  Now?

  What little time he slept was interrupted by sudden wakeups, bouts of upset stomach, and oftentimes, me waking to find him scouring the internet on his phone.

  His late-night fascination?

  The news.

  “A stomachache?” I asked. “Is that’s all that’s wrong?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “This isn’t going to work out very well if we don’t talk to one another,” I said. “I think there’s more to it than that. Remember, I’m the daughter of a detective.”

  His posture straightened. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m not stupid when it comes to things like human nature. You’re acting different. Something’s bothering you. I’m not saying your stomach isn’t. I’m just…I guess I’m saying that I think something else is causing it. It all seemed to start when you got back from that meeting with your MC last Friday morning. Since then you haven’t eaten or slept worth a damn. Your stomach problems are a result of whatever’s bothering you.”

  He stared back at me, blankly.

  I arched an eyebrow. “Well?”

  “You’re partially right,” he admitted.

  “Which part?”

  “Pretty much all of it.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  His look softened. “I can’t.”

  I was annoyed, and he could clearly see it. I rested my elbows on the table and looked into his weary eyes. “Can’t, or won’t?”

  He struggled with his response.

  “I’ll give you a minute to chew on that,” I said, leaning away from the table.

  “The club got into something I wish we wouldn’t have,” he replied. “I can’t discuss the details, but I can say I regret what happened. There’s talk of the club disbanding. We’d remain friends, but the club would be no more.”

  “The club’s disbanding because of what happened?”

  “I didn’t say anything happened,” he replied. “I said we got into something I wish we wouldn’t have.”

  “Let’s not bicker about semantics.” I waved my hand in his direction. “You know what I mean.”

  “The club may be disbanding because we’re all older, less reliant on what the club provides, and much less eager to continue along the same oath we’ve traveled upon for the last fifteen years.”

  “Is the club dissolving what’s really bothering you?” I asked. “You’ve been in it since high school, right?”

  “I have.”

  “So, is that one of the things that’s making you sick? The thought of losing that?”

  “It might be,” he responded, pushing his cup of tea to the side. “But it’s not the thing that’s bothering me.”

  “What’s the thing?” I asked.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t say.”

  “Is it something you did?”

  “No.”

  “One of the other guys?”

  “Yes. But I’m as culpable as anyone.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “As far as the laws are written, when anyone enters into a gang, which is what our MC falls under by definition, all members of the gang are responsible for any other gang member’s actions.”

  “Was whatever the other person did a felony?” I asked.

  “It was.”

  My heart sank. “Oh.”

  I knew Tito wasn’t a choirboy and allowed myself to fall in love with him despite that knowledge. I didn’t like the thought of him being charged with a felony, or of him potentially going to jail, but it came with the territory that I’d knowingly agreed was mine.

  I stood, crossed my arms, and gave him a crisp nod. “Get up, we’re going to my fathers to eat dinner.”

  “I feel like shit,” he replied.

  “So do I, now that I know half the truth on why you’re sick.” I gave him a serious look. “But sitting here sulking about it isn’t going to fix it. We’ll get through this, and we’ll get through it together.”

  His face washed with worry. “If you knew the entire truth, you might not be saying that.”

  “Saying what?”

  “That we’ll get through this together. Part of what’s eating at me is that I’m afraid the actions of the club are going to tear us apart.”

  “I knew who you were when I agreed to be in a relationship with you,” I replied. “I can’t have my cake and eat it, too. Whatever it is, we’ll get through it. Together.”

  “No matter what?” he asked.

  “No matter what,” I replied. “I mean, it isn’t like you guys went out and murdered someone.”

  32

  Tito

  I may have been wallowing in guilt, but Reggie’s father wasn’t doing much better. He was happy to see us, no doubt, but he wasn’t his normal self. Gathered in his living room for our Sunday evening get together, Reggie and I were side by side in th
e loveseat across from him.

  Seated in his favorite reclining chair, Ted reached for his phone. “If everyone’s okay with pizza, I’ll order it.”

  “You’re not going to make steaks?” Reggie asked, clearly disappointed.

  “Don’t feel like it,” he responded. “I’ve used this DoorDash thing four or five times this week. It’s a pretty good deal.”

  Her brows raised. “You haven’t been cooking?”

  “I’ve been a little under the weather.”

  “Since when?”

  “All week.”

  “You’re not the only one,” she replied, shifting her eyes to me. “Tito’s been a little off all week, too.”

  “You’ve been sick?” he asked.

  “Just not feeling myself.”

  “That’s about where I’ve been.” He raised the phone to his ear. “Just a little off my normal self.”

  “Do you want to talk bout it?” Reggie asked.

  “Not particularly.”

  “You know keeping it bottled up will just make you angry,” she said.

  He raised his index finger, turned away, and ordered the pizzas. When he was finished, he placed his phone on the end table. “It’s just work.”

  “Of course it is,” she replied. “What else would it be?”

  “I’ve sheltered you from the details of my work for many reasons,” he said, seeming almost irritated by her remark. “Partially because I don’t want to compromise an investigation. More importantly, I don’t want to expose you to the world I’m forced to live in.”

  “What world is that?” Reggie asked.

  “One where one man has no regard for his fellow. One where a human life doesn’t receive the value that it should. One where criminals seem to always be one step ahead of their captors, roaming amongst the law-abiding citizens, free to wreak their havoc on the lives of the innocent.”

  Reggie’s eyes widened. “Where did that come from?”

  He moved the chair from reclined to an upright seating position. He stood. “I’m pissed off, Reg.”

  “We’re listening.”