Cash looked at him like he was crazy. “Fuck yeah, I did. He waited right up until the day the axe was supposed to fall. Let me stew in the thought that I was a cooked goose. Just to teach me a lesson. So, we met, and he tells me everything. He knew about the good stuff we did. Like killing the cartel boss, getting rid of that piece of shit dope dealer neighbor we used to have, Preston, and the dope guy up north that we robbed. He knew the bad stuff, too. The job in Indio, the job up by Torrey Pines, the one in Ramona. Fucker knew where we grew up, my grades in school, even my mom’s name. Kind of freaked me the fuck out.”
“He met with Watson more than once,” I offered. “He told me that last night. He said Watson was instrumental in letting him make the decision to let you—and us—go. Watson convinced him we were doing more good than harm.”
“Watson ain’t the only one he met with,” Cash said. “Crazy prick drove up to Crip’s place. Parked his car right in the Filthy Fucker’s clubhouse. Told Crip he had two options. One, get Peyton to give written testimony about the Savages raping her, or he’d prosecute him and Pee Bee for killing that guy a couple of years back. Peyton signed the statement that let ‘em get the search warrant for the Savage’s club house.”
“So, what did he say when you met at 7-Eleven?” Goose asked. “You never said.”
“Well, he made me promise not to mention anything to you guys until after the news aired. I was supposed to act like I was still under agreement with him to turn myself in. And, he made me promise not to so much as jaywalk for the rest of my life. Said if I did, he’d make sure I spent a considerable amount of time behind bars. Also said that as far as he was concerned, we weren’t bad people, we just made a bad decision. He said the Savages were a group of low-life fucktards. Told me he knew about them raping women and cooking meth for years, but he needed Peyton’s testimony to arrest them.”
“How’d he find out about Peyton?” Reno asked. “About them raping her?”
“Crip told Watson and Watson told Gottschalk,” Cash replied.
“SoCal’s a small place,” Reno said, shaking his head. “Hard do believe Crip’s Ol’ Lady ends up getting connected to Gottschalk.”
“Six degrees of separation,” I said. “Anyone can be tied to anyone else on the planet through no more than five intermediaries.”
Baker chuckled. “How about one intermediary?”
“Speaking of one intermediary, listen to this,” I said. “I almost forgot. Gottschalk knew my neighbor’s son, Braxton. Ends up Braxton helps the cops out all the time. He does the shit that they’d be prosecuted for doing. He plants evidence, steals surveillance tapes, moves dead bodies, manipulates crime scenes. All kinds of shit. Gottschalk used him to plant the pistol and a few coins they recovered from the explosion. On the morning of the arrest, Braxton snuck in the clubhouse and planted that stuff on the Savages. I was blown away when Gottschalk told me about Braxton. I’m surprised he walks on both sides of the sidewalk.”
“What do you mean?” Reno asked. “Both sides of the sidewalk?”
“He helps criminals and helps cops. Both sides of the law. He’s like a whore.” I laughed. “Whoever pays him gets to utilize his services.”
Goose coughed out a laugh. “I bet that fucker has some stories to tell.”
I raised my brows in wonder of all that Braxton may have been exposed to in his day-to-day activities. “I bet you’re right.”
“I’m glad this shit is over,” Cash said. “What a fucking relief.”
“I can’t believe we’ve reached the end,” Baker said. He glanced around the clubhouse. “It’s sad to think about but I need to sell this building. We’ll get a new start in a new place. As friends.”
“I’m all for a new start as friends,” Ally said. “I’m not doing so much as getting a speeding ticket from here on out. This scared the shit out of me.”
“You’re not the only one,” I admitted. “I haven’t slept for a month.”
Reno grabbed a piece of pizza and glanced around the clubhouse. “You’re selling this place?”
“Too many memories here,” Baker replied.
“Some good, some bad,” Goose said. “I was sitting right here when I found out Ghost died.”
I had only good memories of my times in the clubhouse. The countless meals Goose prepared, the numerous late-night parties, and sleeping there for five weeks—on the couch—while my home was being remodeled.
“I’ve got good memories of this place,” I admitted.
“Me, too,” Cash said. “Was just thinking about the time Ghost fired up Eleanor for the first time and I pissed myself a little. Tried saying it was from washing my hands, but nobody believed me.”
“Nobody believed you because it was bullshit,” Reno said with a laugh. “You had a piss spot right where the tip of your dick hangs. It was pretty fucking obvious.”
Goose laughed like he’d heard a great joke. “It sure was.”
Baker raked his fingers through his hair. “I’ve got fond memories of this place, too. But. I don’t want anyone to be able to say we’re a motorcycle club. Hell, we’ve never really been one, anyway. Just a bunch of friends who like riding.”
“Keeping the carwashes?” Reno asked.
“Yeah,” Baker said. “We need to keep our jobs. They’ll be legit from here on out, though. No more laundering money through them.”
“Listen to this.” I chuckled. “When Reggie’s dad found out I worked at a car wash, he said they were nothing more than a place to launder money. I about had a heart attack.”
“He’s no dummy, that’s for sure,” Cash said. “He asked me about bustin’ your jaw. Said, what kind of friend does shit like that? I told him a hot-headed one. He said I needed to keep myself in check.”
“So.” Goose said, lifting his chin slightly. “Is that your plan? To keep yourself in check?”
Cash nodded. “I’m going to toe the line from here on out.”
“Through all of this, I think I had a spiritual awakening,” Baker admitted. “I felt like I needed to come clean on everything.”
“Everything?” I asked. “What did that include?”
He forced a sigh. “I told Andy that we were the club that robbed her bank.”
“Holy shit,” Goose gasped. “How’d that go?”
“Better than I expected,” Baker responded. “She took it in stride.”
“You’re not on the outs?” Goose asked.
Baker shook his head. “Not at all. We decided meeting one another for the second time was nothing less than fate. Truthfully, I think it made the bond between us stronger.”
“I’m glad you came clean,” Goose said. “I’ve been worried about that.” He glanced at each of us. “I say we have a celebration. Embrace the fact that this is over, and that no one is going to prison.”
“Here?” Baker asked, looking around.
Goose shook his head. “We can hold onto our memories, but we need to let this place go. I say we have it at my house.”
“Just us?” Cash asked.
“Us and our Ol’ Ladies,” Goose replied, alternating glances between us. “Hell, I say we invite the two cops that saved our asses. Might seem weird hanging out with a couple of cops, but if Tito’s Ol’ Lady’s got a cop for a dad we better get used to it.”
I didn’t know if Ted would agree to come, but I liked the idea of inviting him. “I think that’s a great idea.”
“Invite both of ‘em,” Baker said. “Gottschalk and Watson.”
“What?” Cash gave Baker a look. He glanced at each of us. “Cops coming to a party, and we’re not going to have a vote?”
“We’re just a bunch of friends having fun,” Baker replied. “There’s no longer anything to vote on.”
Out of everyone, I was sure I’d have the most difficult time accepting the changes. Nevertheless, I was eager to begin my new life.
“I’ve got one other thing,” I said. “The police department started a GoFundMe for Reggie’s dad. Th
ey’re trying to gather up funds to help him buy a fishing boat. If anyone has a few extra bucks that are legitimate, it’d be appreciated if you could make a small donation. Getting a boat is his retirement dream.”
“How do we make a donation?” Goose asked.
“Just type ‘Detective Ted Gottschalk’ into GoFundMe’s web page, You’ll see it. It’s up to about three grand right now.”
“I’ll toss him a few bucks,” Goose said. “I’m going to be strapped here in a while, I better do it before I’m too broke to make an offering.”
“I’ll contribute,” Baker added. “Out of the coin income from the carwashes.”
Cash looked at Goose. “Broke?” His eyes narrowed. “How the fuck can you be broke?”
“I’ve got something expensive in the works,” Goose said. “I’ve got a hell of a lot of money going out right now, and there won’t be any coming in for a while.”
“What are you doing?” Cash asked.
“Business venture,” Goose said.
“On the up and up?” Cash asked.
“Of course,” Goose said.
“What is it?”
“It’s a surprise.”
Cash rolled his eyes and then faced me. “I’ll give him a few bucks from the flower shop’s profits.”
“I’ll see what I can gather,” Reno said. “Coming up with money earned on the up and up isn’t easy.”
“I’m kind of limited on legitimate funds,” Ally admitted. “But I’ll think of something.”
“I can’t think of anything else,” I said.
“Meeting adjourned?” Cash asked.
“Meeting adjourned?” Reno laughed. “From here on out, Brother Cash, when they stop talking we just get up and leave.”
Cash shook his head. “This is going to take some getting used to.”
I took one last look at the clubhouse.
It sure is.
45
Reggie
Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any better, it did. For the past few months I’d spent most of my days in a dream-like state, incapable of believing I was deserving of Tito and the love we shared.
Standing on the rooftop of a beachside mansion once owned by the infamous Uptown Abby, I looked around me. Perfectly pruned flowers were everywhere. Apparently, growing them was one of Goose’s many talents.
Two of Tito’s childhood friends were talking with my father. Cash, the tallest of the group, was telling a story.
Baker, once the leader of the now defunct MC, was trying to sync his phone to the sound system. It was the only time of the entire evening that there wasn’t music playing.
I glanced at Goose, who, along with his wife Ally, now owned the home. He was talking to Tito while putting the finishing touches on the meat he was cooking. From what I’d heard, Goose’s cooking was world class. If his cooking was anything like his ability to grow beautiful flowers, I was going to be in for a treat.
Wearing his normal attire of a well-fitted suit, Braxton stood to the side of the rooftop kitchen, talking to Detective Watson. Beyond them, Mel and Raymond were drinking wine and laughing.
“Quite a party,” Hap said, draping his arm over my shoulder. “Gotta love a gathering where they have an Uber pick you up and take you home. Never been delivered to a party before. Especially one like this.”
I chuckled. “I’m surprised you agreed to that.”
He took a drink of his Michelob Ultra. “Didn’t have a choice.”
Cash tossed his hands in the air and screamed boom! Then, he limped away from the group with one hand covering his crotch and the other covering his right ear. Every few steps he glanced over his shoulder. My father and Reno laughed hysterically.
My life had turned into a fairy tale.
“Dance Mix!” Baker shouted.
I shifted my gaze to the “dancefloor”. It was identified by a string of lights that were draped overhead, around the perimeter of an expertly crafted wooden deck. Baker tapped his finger against his phone’s screen and looked up. The unmistakable introduction to V.I.C.’s Baby Wobble began to play.
Ally sprinted to where we stood and grabbed my hand. “Sorry, Hap,” she said. “But we’ve got to dance to this one.”
She took off for the dance floor, nearly yanking me off my feet in the process.
All the women—Ally, me, Cash’s wife, Kimberly, Baker’s wife, Andy, Reno’s wife, Carma, Detective Watson’s wife, Taryn, Mel, and of course, Raymond converged on the dance floor. We danced as if we were puppets being controlled by one master, each taking the same precise steps to the well-known line dance.
With his beer in one hand, Hap sauntered onto the dance floor and into the group. As we danced, he stood amongst us, studying my feet.
After a few steps, he gave me a puzzled look.
“Jump forward,” I said, jumping forward. “Shake your hips. Hips. Hips.”
I jumped back. “Jump back.” I gyrated my hips. “Then, hips. Hips. Hips.”
“Twist to the right,” I said. “Hips. Hips. Hips. Twist to the left. Hips. Hips. Hips.”
In no time, Hap joined the fun. His rhythm was off at first. Convinced his beer bottle was throwing off his ability to dance, he tossed it into the air.
“Heads up, asshole!” he screamed.
Braxton, in the midst of talking to Watson, leaped forward and caught it. He shook his head.
“You old prick,” he shouted.
Hap was right. After getting rid of the beer bottle, he was right there with us, dancing like he was forty years younger.
Halfway through the song, everyone was dancing except for my father and Detective Watson. With their arms crossed, they stood on the edge of the dancefloor watching us make fools of ourselves.
“Leave it to the only cops at the party to stand out like a couple of turds in a punchbowl,” Cash shouted.
Watson glanced at my father at the same time my father glanced at him. Then, they stepped onto the dancefloor and joined the fun.
The entire group danced, some in time with the music, and some not. Everyone, however, had fun.
During the Cha Cha Slide, Ally and I were laughing so hard at my father’s lack of rhythm that we couldn’t dance any longer. Standing at the edge of the dancefloor nearly out of breath, I looked at her and smiled. “I’m about to pee my pants.”
“Follow me,” she said. “I’ll take you to the bathroom.”
I followed her inside. After using the bathroom, I took a quick tour of the gorgeous home. From what she said, it was a mixture of how Abby left it and how she and Goose wanted it to be. All I could say was that it was nothing shy of perfect.
When we finally got back to where we started, I paused. “So, what do you do?”
She gave me a funny look. “About what?”
“For a living?” I asked.
She returned a blank stare. Maybe she didn’t need to work. Afterall, she and Goose inherited the home, so there was no mortgage payment.
“Do you work?” I asked.
“Oh.” Seeming amused, she chuckled and opened the door. “I’m a semi-retired race car driver.”
I looked at her like she was crazy. “Get out of here.”
“No,” she said, straight-faced. “I’m serious.”
It sounded like an exciting career. “For real?” I asked excitedly. “A race car driver?”
“For real.”
“Do you have a race car, and everything?” I asked. “Like Danica Patrick?”
“Follow me,” she said.
She led me to the garage. She punched a code into the keypad and opened the door. Four motorcycles and a spotless red BMW SUV were parked in the stall on the left. On the right, the stall was empty. A framed poster of a silver Porsche sliding around a corner with the words “the road to excellence takes many turns” printed below it was hanging in the center of the wall.
“See that silver 911 Turbo S in the poster?” she asked, gesturing to the framed wall-mounted print.
>
I nodded. “It’s cool.”
“I set a track record at Lime Rock Park’s racetrack in Connecticut in one of those,” she said.
I glanced at the poster and then at her. “Oh, wow.”
“I used to have one. It was silver, just like that one.” Seemingly sad, she glanced at the red SUV. “Now, that’s my baby.”
I faxed the SUV. “This red one?”
“Eight hundred horsepower.” Her voice was laced with pride. “It’s a beast.”
The SUV was bright red, had tinted windows, and extremely wide tires that looked like they were fitted to racing wheels. Even though it was an SUV, it looked menacing.
“I like it,” I said. “What happened to the car like the one in the poster?”
Her gaze dropped to the garage floor. After a moment, she looked up. “I sold it the other day. A guy in Florida bought it sight unseen.”
She seemed rather sad about not having it. I felt bad for asking and tried to keep the conversation upbeat. “Maybe you can get another one of these days.”
“They only made 345 of them, so they’re stupid expensive,” she said. “I’m going to start saving for another one, though.”
“Hopefully you’ll find one better than the last one,” I said. “What are you going to do for work to save money? Race this red one?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” she said, gesturing toward the door. “I’m also an amateur magician.” She laughed. “Maybe do some stand-up shows at the Looney Bin, or something.”
“Can you show me a trick?” I asked.
She stepped to the side and faced me with her arms crossed over her chest. “Sure.” She nodded toward my hands. “Where’s your watch?”
I looked at my wrist. My watch was gone. “Oh my God,” I gasped. “It’s gone. My dad bought me—”
She raised her left arm. Two watches were on her wrist, one of which was mine.
“Holy crap!” I exclaimed. “How’d you—”
She unbuckled it and handed it to me. “A true magician never reveals her secrets.”
“That’s crazy,” I declared. “Do you know a lot more?”
She smiled. “Quite a few.” She tilted her head toward the door. “Come on, they’re going to wonder where we are. I’ll get a deck of cards and show you some more, later.”
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