42
Tito
Sitting in the Marcie’s Diner waiting to start an early morning meeting with Ted, I felt ill knowing that the day would likely be Cash’s last free day on earth. Try as I might, I couldn’t make myself accept what was happening as being fair or just.
Although at one point in time we’d all had our problems with Cash, each of looked at him now as our savior. The man who stood up against the odds when most would have fled. The man who took the brunt of the blame for two decades of bad decision we made as a club.
Memories of the five of us walking through the fields behind Cash’s house when we were kids, poking each other and laughing on our way to the best fishing spot south of the Canadian border.
We’d often stay all night, pitching two tents to sleep in. The campfire we lit to ward off coyotes and wolves would later be used to cook the fish we caught, and Cash always caught the biggest.
During the summer before we were entering high school, we wandered to the creek one Friday evening. The first night of fishing, as the sun fell low on the horizon, Cash hooked something. Ghost, Baker, Goose and I swore Cash’s lure was caught on a rock at the bottom of the creek. With the tip of his pole bent at 90 degrees, and making no headway on reeling in the monster, Cash argued our claims of being snagged.
We laughed and called him a liar for the thirty minutes that he fought to reel in the rock.
In the end, he was right. We enjoyed the 22-pound trout he caught that night, eating until we were too full to move. Cash entered high school that year telling the story of the trout that fed him and his four brothers for an entire weekend.
We got older and the stories we once told faded. Then, one day, I turned around and they were gone. As the years passed, we never took time to make new memories—short of which bank we robbed, how much money we made, or how we narrowly escaped capture. Thanks to Ghost—and Ally—we were never caught during our departures from the scene of our crimes.
In the end, it was greed that got us caught.
One of Ghost’s sayings, the hungry pig gets fed, and the greedy pig gets slaughtered, held true right to the bitter end.
I gazed at the ceiling and closed my eyes.
I miss you, Brother Ghost. Was just sitting here thinking of the weekend we ate that twenty-pound trout. I miss those days.
I wish I could say all is well here, but it’s not. Honestly, I have no idea what the future holds. Whatever it is, you can bet I’ll approach it with a different outlook, a better perspective, and an open heart. Life’s good in so many respects. In others, I just can’t begin to explain.
I know you didn’t plan your exit, but you got out just in time. Hope all is well with you and Abby.
Be well, my Brother.
I lowered my head and opened my eyes. Much to my surprise, Ted was seated across from me.
“We make decisions as men, and we’re forced to live our lives hoping those decisions are the right ones,” he said. “In my line of work—and in yours—oftentimes our decisions have a profound effect on the lives of others. Sometimes, men lose their lives, their freedom, or their sanity. All we can do is hope we make it to the end with all three intact.”
I nodded my head in agreement. “This is going to be one of those days.”
“One of which days?” he asked.
“One of the days like what I was thinking about when you sat down. A day that I’ll remember for the rest of my life.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” He lowered his head for a moment, and then looked up. “I hope the decision I’ve made is the right one. Time, I suppose, will tell.”
I tried to smile, but I couldn’t. I was on the cusp of shedding a tear for a man I’d grown to once again love with all my heart. I pursed my lips and gave a crisp nod. “I suppose it will.”
The waitress paused as she walked past, noticing Ted had taken a seat.
“I’ll get you a cup,” she said.
He shook his head. “Don’t bother. I’m on my way out.” He shifted his attention from her to me. “Regardless of how this day pans out, we never met here. We never had a discussion about anything other than whatever it is we talked about on Sundays, when you were at my home. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Your little club?” He let out a breath and shook his head before giving me a serious look. “It no longer exists.”
“Understood.”
“Watch the five o’clock news tonight for an update.”
I had my doubts that I could watch anything regarding the capture and imprisonment of my brother. I gave a nod, nonetheless. “Okay.”
“Give your word these meetings and their contents will never be discussed. With anyone,” he said dryly.
“You have my word,” I said.
“That’s enough for me.” He stood and tugged the wrinkles from the military-esque jacket he wore. “Collateral damage.”
I realized he was wearing a SWAT outfit. My mind was going a thousand different directions trying to piece together what was about to happen. I mentally shook my head. “Excuse me?”
“The police officers,” he said. “They were collateral damage. Lives forfeited for the betterment of mankind.”
He gave a nod and turned away.
* * *
I’d never be able to know what was going through Cash’s mind immediately prior to his door crashing down, but I had my own ideas. I suspected he, like me, was coming to terms with the mistakes of his past.
Ultimately, Cash was a good man. A good man who made a decision to save the lives of his friends at any cost. He made that decision when he pulled the trigger, and once again when he confessed to the crime.
Cash certainly had his faults. We all did. Mine were no better than his, only different.
It saddened me that he didn’t want to see any of us before his arrest. He feared if any of us were near him that we would become part of the investigation. His last hours were spent with his child, his mother, and his wife.
There had been no updates from any of the men, or from the news.
Sick to my stomach with worry, I listened while Reggie watched a recorded episode of Jeopardy! from the previous day.
My mind—and my body—were numb.
“He uses his left hand to write checks to the charitable foundation named for him and wife Melinda.”
“Who is Bill Gates,” Reggie said.
“The distance a photon travels in a vacuum in 365 days, this unit is often hyphenated.”
“What is a light-year,” Reggie said. She looked at me. “You haven’t answered one, yet.”
“Sorry,” I said. “My mind’s elsewhere.”
“I hope it returns soon.” She rested her head against my shoulder. “I’m sick of you being a shell of your former self.”
I wondered if—and when—that day might come. I stroked her hair. “Me, too.”
During the reading of final Jeopardy, Astronomy buffs visit Idaho for the USA's first dark sky reserve; oddly, part of it is this resort area with a bright name, Reggie gave her response.
“Sun Valley,” she blurted.
The television went to the commercial break. I smiled to myself. I loved her dearly. If I had to paint a picture of the perfect woman, I’d paint one that would be her doppelganger.
“I love you,” I said.
She looked at me and smiled. “I love you, too.”
Breaking news! San Diego Sheriff’s detective Ted Gottschalk cracks the case of a two-decade long series of SoCal bank heists and leads a SWAT team into a deadly shootout. More after Jeopardy!
My heart faltered. “Did you—”
Reggie leaped from the couch. “Oh my God,” she cried. “Oh my God. I hope he’s okay.”
“I hope he is, too,” I replied.
We embraced, waiting for the news to continue. When it did, we listened to the revelation in each other’s arms.
After thirty years of service to San Diego County, Detective Ted Gottsc
halk planned to retire. That was three years ago.
Something told him to wait.
He’d been chasing a group of thieves for much of his career. Frustrated, but not willing to give up, Gottschalk continued his quest to find these criminals for nearly one hundred and eighty exhausting months. The case became personal. Year after year, the detective got no closer to arresting the slippery thieves.
According to information gathered in an exclusive interview with Detective Gottschalk, many cases are solved on a nothing more than a hunch. This morning, Gottschalk’s instinct pointed him to an outlaw motorcycle club. Acting on a gut feeling, Gottschalk interviewed an unnamed witness. Based on the testimony of that witness, the detective had the evidence he needed to obtain a search warrant.
When San Diego County’s SWAT Team converged on the clubhouse of the notorious outlaw motorcycle club “Satan’s Savages” to serve the warrants, officers were met by gunfire.
San Diego County Detective Marc Watson, who was assisting with the arrest, was shot prior to the team entering the building. Detective Gottschalk returned fire, killing the suspect in question.
Agents of the joint task force then entered the building, and were met with more gunfire, some of which was from illegal machineguns.
With the aid of ATF, the SWAT team searched the building through a hail of gunfire. When the search was over and the shooting was done, all eleven remaining members of the nearly defunct Satan’s Savages were killed. One detective, the previously mentioned Detective Watson, was wounded.
Over thirteen pounds of methamphetamines, forty-one weapons—one of which was suspected to have been used in the killing of two Ramona police officers, and sixty-three-thousand-dollars in cash were seized in the deadly raid.
Detective Watson is expected to make a full recovery. The full story on this breaking news, our interview with Gottschalk, and much more at six o’ clock.
I squeezed Reggie’s shoulder. “Your dad’s my hero.”
She wiped the corners of her eyes with the tip of her finger. “He’s mine, too.” Staring blankly at the television, her bottom lip quivered. “He said one of these days he’d catch those guys. He did. It’s finally over.”
“Yes,” I said. “It sure is.”
43
Reggie
I burst through the front door and rushed inside. “You asshole!” I shouted. “I can’t believe you—”
In the kitchen prepping food, my father stepped into the doorway. “Asshole?” He smirked. “Really, Reg?”
“You didn’t call to say you were alright,” I complained. “You didn’t call to say—”
“That shit you saw on the news happened late this morning.” He turned away like it was no big deal. “We didn’t want to make the announcement until we got a ballistics report back on one of the weapons. I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“A surprise?!” I stepped into the kitchen. “A surprise? That you were in a deadly shootout? An officer got shot, daddy.”
“Tito’s buddy?” He chuckled. “He’s got two broken ribs and a fractured ego. He’ll be fine.” He glanced at Tito, who was now standing at my side. “You look a hell of a lot better than last time I saw you, Son. Feeling better?”
“Much better, thank you,” Tito replied.
My father placed three large steaks on a plate. “I thought you might be over after the news. Follow me.” He reached for a clean platter and nodded toward the back door. “I’ll get these on the grille.”
My entire body went rigid. “You bought.” I swallowed against my tightening throat. “You bought a grille?”
“I’ve been busy this evening. Bought some patio furniture, too. Tough for a family to have a sit-down meal outside without a patio set.” He stepped through the back door and paused. He faced me and smiled. “Something wrong, Reg?”
We were a family again. I swallowed twenty years of sorrow. I glanced at Tito. The look of indifference he’d been harboring for the past two weeks was gone. He smiled and gestured toward the door.
“Not at all,” I said, fighting back tears. “Everything’s fine.”
I walked outside. The sweet smell of honeysuckle brought a flood of memories with it. I hesitated and inhaled a slow breath. Memories of my childhood tickled my senses. The smell of the flowers. The sounds of the birds. Filled with emotion, I glanced around the back yard.
The orange tree my father and I planted as a centerpiece now bore fruit. On the left, cushioned patio furniture was positioned around a large coffee table. Beside it, a new fire pit. At the other side of the deck, a dinner table with seating for eight. My heart swelled at the thought of once again eating together as a family.
My father tossed the steaks on the grille and then faced us. “What do you think?”
I fought to contain myself. I didn’t want him to know how much I’d missed it over the years. I scanned the area. “I love it.”
“Thought we could invite Raymond and Melanie over for dinner sometime.” He glanced at Tito. “You’ll have to bring your friends for dinner, too.”
“I suppose I will,” Tito said with a smile. “They’ll be eager to meet you. Satan’s Savages were a thorn in the side of many SoCal clubs. The fellas might want to thank you.”’
My father turned toward the grille. “How’s club business, by the way?”
I couldn’t believe my ears. My father’s mere acknowledgement of Tito’s motorcycle club was so far beyond what I would have ever expected from him. His all but inviting the men to dinner?
I was flabbergasted.
“The club disbanded.” Tito took a seat in one of the new chairs. “We dissolved it, completely.”
Tito had yet to share the news with me. His odd demeanor now made sense. As much as I hated to see him in his recent state of depression, I knew the club wasn’t a good place for him.
My father flipped the steaks and turned around. “You’ll remain friends, won’t you?”
“We will,” Tito replied. “Just like we were when we were kids.”
“What did you guys do for entertainment when you were kids? You all grew up in Montana, right?”
“Fishing,” Tito said with a prideful smile. “We liked to go fishing.”
“Speaking of fishing, the fellas at work started a GoFundMe to raise money for my fishing boat.” He let out a laugh. “I said maybe they’d raise enough to buy me some bait.”
I realized the only father I’d ever known was a devoted detective that worked his ass off day and night because he wanted the city to be a safe place for ne to grow up. The money he earned fed me, clothed me, and put me through school.
He deserved to spend his retirement years fishing off the Pacific coast. It was his dream, but I doubted it would ever materialize. Growing up, his salary was barely enough to keep us alive. The little money he saved would buy several fishing excursions, but it certainly wouldn’t buy a vessel.
I couldn’t remember the last time I cried, but I was about to. I sat down in the chair beside Tito. “That was nice of them.”
“I thought so, too.” He placed the steaks on the clean platter. “Mind helping me get everything else out here, Tito?”
Tito stood. “Not at all.”
“I’ll help,” I said.
My father grinned. “Tito and I will get it. Just relax.” He gazed at the cloudless evening sky. “Enjoy the view.”
The essence of honeysuckle wafted by. I closed my eyes and dreamed of a future with a father who was safe from harm. A life without a motorcycle club crushing my lover’s spirit every time they held a late-night meeting.
When the men returned, I was in such a state of relaxation that I was nearly asleep. I opened my eyes to a plate filled with steak, salad, a tortellini salad, and garlic bread.
I rubbed my eyes. “That took a while.”
“We were discussing guy stuff,” my father said. “We got carried away.”
In four years, my father didn’t say three words to Jared. Having him discuss guy
stuff with Tito brought a joy to my heart that was undeniably welcomed.
Tito took a seat on my left. My father sat at my right.
“Let’s say a prayer,” my father said, reaching for each of our hands.
We bowed our heads.
“Heavenly father, we gather before you today as a family. We ask that you be so gracious to bless this food we are about to eat. We further ask that you provide those who are gathered here and those who can’t be present with your protection. Lastly, we ask that you provide us with the guidance to make the right decisions today, tomorrow, and as far in the future as you allow us to grace this earth. We ask all these things in your name. Amen.”
I squeezed the hands of the two men who mattered most to me and opened my eyes. “Amen.”
44
Tito
Gathered in the Devil’s Disciples clubhouse for what would likely be our last meeting, we discussed Reggie’s father and the development of our newfound fate. The night’s nourishment was a few pizzas and a case of sparkling water.
Cash folded a piece of pizza in half, lifted it to his mouth, and paused. “If you’ll stop talking, I’ll answer you.”
“I’m done talking,” Goose said. “Quit stuffing your face and answer me.”
“I got a text from a number I didn’t recognize, and it said, meet me at the 5th Ave 7-Eleven at six am.” Cash ate half the slice of pizza in one bite. After swallowing it, he continued. “I sent a text back that said, who the fuck is this?” He finished the slice of pizza, wiped his mouth on a napkin, and reached for another slice. “Boom. This text comes back, and it says, this is Detective Gottschalk. I fire another one back that says, how the fuck did you get my number?” He folded the slice in half and raised it to his mouth. “Fucker shoots me a text back and says, watch your tone with me, asshole, or you’ll be serving life in prison. I knew because it said, “or” you’ll be serving life in prison that he wanted to discuss options.”
“So, you went?” Goose asked.
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