“Well, listen to ya.” She laughed. “You’re not an eejit after all.”
* * *
For a man who didn’t apologize, it sure seemed I was doing a lot of it lately. I stood over Reno’s bed truly embarrassed about how I reacted to his remark.
Both eyes were black, his lips were swollen, and it appeared he was missing every tooth that a smile would reveal.
But, he wasn’t smiling.
“All I can do is apologize. I’m not making excuses, Brother, but I blacked out. I was mad as hell, don’t get me wrong, but I never should have done this to you.”
He rose to his elbows, took a sip of water, and gazed down at the floor. “I get drunk and thay thit I thouldn’t. This ain’t the first time.”
“Little kids and drunks are the two most honest fuckers on the planet, Reno. You wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t mean it. I’m not here to blame you for--”
“I was raithed differently than you,” he interrupted. “I’ve heard your thstories about Belfatht, and about how they treated the Catholics. How your mother uthed to tell you bedtime thstories and thit. Well, I grew up different. A black family moved into my grandfather’s neighborhood. He burned a croth in their yard. Went to jail for it, but he went proudly. It wathn’t nineteen fifty, either. It was about ten yearth ago. In my family’s eyes, blacks are nig—" he paused. “I was raithed lithenin’ to it, but I don’t want to believe it. I’m thorry, Brother.”
“She ain’t speaking to me right now,” I explained. “If she decides to one of these days, I’d like for you to give her a chance.”
He nodded. “I’ll do it. Duth tshe know what I thaid?”
I shook my head. “I didn’t tell her.”
“Can you not? Not tell her?”
Making up with her – if that time came – would come a lot easier if I could explain what actually happened. Protecting her from Renos family’s hatred would be far more important, though.
I gave a sharp nod. “I’ll keep it to myself.”
He sat up. “I’m sorry, Cath. I truly am.”
I extended my clenched fist. “Not as sorry as I am, Brother.”
He pounded his fist against mine and grinned.
“You might want to keep from smiling until they get some teeth in that mouth of yours. You look like hell, Brother.”
“Feels worth,” he said. “It’s hurth like hell.”
It sure does.
TWENTY-NINE - Kimberly
A night’s sleep did nothing to ease the pain. On my second pot of coffee and wondering how in the world I would make it through the day, I sat at the kitchen table and ran through my thoughts, hoping I’d made a mental mistake in asking Cash to leave.
Despite my burning desire to fix things, I couldn’t change the fact that Cash was a violent man. That violence exposed him to risks. Those risks meant me potentially losing him permanently, and that wasn’t a risk willing to take.
Ridding myself of him now would be far easier than having him taken from me without warning. I’d gone through it once with my parents, and I couldn’t handle it again.
Jennifer’s pounding at the door reminded me that it was no longer four am. Not necessarily wanting to hear her advice, but wanting someone to speak to, I walked to the door and unlocked it.
I pulled the door open. “I should give you a key.”
She nudged her way past me. “Not a good idea. I’d be over here eating Cheetos on the couch while you and Dolla Bill are fucking.”
“I don’t think either of us will have to worry about that,” I said.
Saying it drove another stake into my already aching heart. I turned toward the table and shuffled to my seat.
Halfway through fixing her cup of coffee, she spun around as if she had a revelation. “Are you wearing the same shit you left in?”
I sat down. “Last night?”
“Those are the same clothes, aren’t they?” She sipped her coffee. “The new outfit?”
“They are.”
She sat down across from me and scrunched her nose. “What’s wrong with you?”
I took a sip of my coffee and realized it was tepid. After pushing it aside, I answered her. “I slept on the couch.”
“Why?”
“I couldn’t make it to bed, I was sad.”
“I’d be sad, too.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry that guy said that stuff.”
“What guy?”
“I don’t know what their names are. The one who said that crap. The guy Dolla Bill busted up.”
Initially, I was shocked that she knew what happened. Then, I realized Tito probably told her everything.
“You know about it?” I asked.
“Well, the ambulance drove by my house,” she said. “Twice.”
“I forgot about that.”
“About what?”
“The ambulance.”
“Surprised Dolla Bill didn’t kill him,” she said.
She obviously knew more about the situation than I did. Curious as to what she knew, I stood and walked to the sink. After rinsing my cup, I poured another cup of coffee.
“Why do you say that?” I asked on the way back to the table.
She gave me a look of confusion.
“Why did you say you’re surprised Cash didn’t kill him?”
“Tito told me what happened. If he’d have said that shit to me, I probably would have killed him.” She glanced toward the bedroom and then looked at me. “Wait a minute. Where’s Dolla Bill?”
“He’s gone. I asked him to leave.” I raised my brows. “What did that guy say? I never heard.”
“Wait. You asked Dolla Bill to leave? When? Why?”
“Last night. After the fight.”
“Because of all the blood?”
“Because I’m tired of the violence. In the month I’ve known him, he’s broken Tito’s jaw, and then he beat that guy last night until his face was distorted. There was blood twenty feet away, on the fence. It wasn’t pretty.”
She shrugged. “He deserved every bit of it.”
“According to who?” I snapped back.
“According to me. And, to Dolla Bill, I guess.”
“Well, I didn’t hear what he said or did, or whatever. I don’t think it matters.”
“What do you mean it doesn’t matter. Dolla didn’t tell you anything?”
“No, he tried to, but I wouldn’t let him. I just asked him to leave.”
She sprung from her seat. “What? You didn’t…you didn’t ask him to leave, like ‘ask him to leave’, did you? You broke it off? Over what happened?”
“I uhhm.” The reality of it all sank in. I choked on my emotions, and quickly caught myself before I began to cry. “Yes. I broke it…I broke it off.”
“Before you found out what happened?”
“I saw what happened,” I said. “I was there, remember?”
“He called you the ‘N’ word, Kimberly. That’s why Dolla beat him up.”
I was flattered and frustrated at the same time, but I wasn’t relieved. I stood and turned toward the window. “If I beat someone up every time I was called that, there’d be a line of bodies from here to San Clemente. When I was a kid, I was called that every day. When my parents were alive, my black father was a constant reminder to the kids at school that I wasn’t Puerto Rican. I’m glad he stood up for me, but I’m not pleased about how he did it.”
“Are you going to call him?” she asked.
I turned around. “No.”
“What?” She gasped. “Why not?”
“I’m afraid I can’t do this. It’s not worth it. With his temper, one of these days it’s going to be him in that ambulance, and I can’t fathom that.”
She put her hands on her hips and gave me a look. “You can’t imagine losing him?”
“Having him taken from me.”
“But you’re okay with asking him to leave? That’s okay?”
It wasn’t okay. It hurt. My chest was on fire
, my legs were shaking, and my mouth was dry. I looked like a raccoon, felt like death, and wondered if I’d ever sleep again without waking up yearning to feel his body next to mine.
“It’s not okay,” I said. “But it’s how it has to be.”
“You need to get some sleep. You’re delirious. Good thing that douche wasn’t over here, because if he’d have said that shit in front of me, you’d be asking me to leave.”
“With you, it’d be a one-time thing. With him, it’s standard procedure.”
“How do you know that?” she asked. “You’ve known him for a month.”
“In a month, this has happened twice. Tito has his jaw wired shut to prove it. If I was just ‘fucking’ him, it’d be one thing. But I’m not. It’s more than that. I’m falling in love with him.”
I cleared my throat, and then began to cry. “I was falling in love with him.”
THIRTY - Cash
It had been a week since I’d spoken to Kimberly. The text messages I’d sent had gone unanswered, and the hand-written note I’d left asking her to call hadn’t produced a response.
The thought of losing her consumed me. I ached, but I tried no to show it. The men in the MC may not have been my only love, but they were my first. It was time for me to focus on something other than my heartache.
With Reno still in recovery, and us incapable of changing the window of opportunity, we voted to raid the drug dealer’s home with the five remaining men.
Although he was only a month into his six-week recovery time, Tito refused to participate in the robbery without being able to speak. Much to the surprise of the club, and to his doctors, he chose to remove the wires that tied his mouth shut.
Left with a series of steel fittings fixed to his teeth – but with the ability to speak clearly – he looked like he had braces. He was yet another reminder of the bad decisions that caused my relationship with Kimberly to fail.
Using a glass cutter, Goose scored a section of the sliding door’s glass, affixed the suction cup handles, and nodded toward Baker. While we huddled under the pool deck’s canopy, Baker tapped the glass lightly with a plastic mallet. On the third strike, the four-foot round section pulled free.
As Baker set it aside, Tito went through the opening. After double-checking the security system’s output on his phone, he gave the nod of approval. I followed, and the remaining men trailed in one by one, after me.
Ghost sat watch in the driveway, with the SUV ready for a quick getaway.
I glanced around the gaudy mansion. Luckily, the owner had left random lights on throughout the home, making it easy for us to see our way without drawing attention to the fact we were there.
Gold-framed oil paintings of unrecognizable men – undoubtedly mentors of the home’s owner – were on every viewable wall. Ornate furniture, most of which appeared to be hand-carved, filled what portions of the travertine floor that weren’t used as a means of perusing the mansion.
The blueprints of the home that Tito obtained through the county’s records department were spot-on. Knowing what rooms were where, however, gave us no idea of where the eccentric heroin dealer kept his valuables.
Wandering aimlessly through a ten thousand square foot six-bedroom home – hoping to find the safe, strong box, or a hideaway – had my butthole cinched so tight it could have crushed a walnut.
“This place is insane,” I whispered.
“Nice artwork,” Goose joked, motioning to a painting of a man holding a gold-plated AK-47.
More nervous than a nun at a penguin shoot, I walked gingerly through the home, hoping to see something.
As per Baker’s instructions, each of us went to the bedroom we were assigned. After traveling up the stairs, Tito took the master bedroom, and I went to the bedroom described as number two.
The remote home sat on a large lot that was a little more than five acres in size, most of which was covered in trees. The portion that wasn’t tree-lined was a shielded from view by the mountain the home had been built against.
I stepped into the dimly lit room and turned on my flashlight. The room was almost as large as my entire home. A quick check of the obvious places: under the mattress, beneath the dresser and night stand drawers, and beneath the throw rug, produced nothing.
The closet had no hidden openings, and no safe.
The two pictures that hung on the walls concealed nothing, nor did the toilet’s tank. I pointed my light directly at each of the screws that affixed the heating and air vents in place, hoping to see signs of tampering, but each one appeared to be unaltered.
Frustrated, I walked to the next room. Baker was finishing his survey. He looked at me with hopeful eyes. “Anything?”
“Nothing.”
He forced a sigh. “Check on Tito.”
I went to the master bedroom just in time to find Tito leaving. “Nothing?”
“There was a safe with the door open. Empty.”
“Big one?”
He shook his head. “Small fire safe. Probably keeps his wallet in there.”
“Fuck,” I breathed.
“Anything in yours?”
“Not a fucking thing.”
After we checked with Goose and again with Baker, Tito and I searched the last remaining rooms. Ten minutes later, we had found absolutely nothing. The four of us met in the hallway.
“I fucking swear,” Baker seethed. “If we don’t find anything, I’m going to light this son-of-a-botch on fire.”
“Okay by me,” I said.
He sighed heavily. “You and Tito take the kitchen. Check that motherfucker with a fine-toothed comb. Goose and I will take every picture off the walls and check behind them.”
“Got it,” I said.
We did what we did for various reasons. Baker perceived himself as a modern-day Robin Hood, giving a good portion – if not all – of his proceeds to charity. Ghost did it for the thrill, looking at the financial gain as an added bonus. Tito did it because he enjoyed computer hacking, and he used the successes of each job as a means of measuring his abilities.
Goose did it because it was what the rest of us did. He lived in a modest home, spent a little of his earnings on landscaping and upgrades to his yard, and invested the rest.
Reno did it because he loved seeing things explode. Knowing what I now knew, I couldn’t help but wonder if his affinity for setting off bombs had something to do with his parents, and the childhood that he was forced to live.
Being angry with one’s parents was a common thread with people who enjoyed explosives.
Me?
I did it with the hope that one day I could buy a home big enough to enjoy living life beyond the MC. I dreamt of a home overlooking the beach but knew it would never come to fruition. It didn’t hurt to dream, and it was dreaming that fueled me to be the best I could be through the course of our ‘jobs’.
Tito and I spent an hour in the kitchen, which was fifty minutes longer than most thieves spent robbing an entire house. After finding nothing more than some fine dinnerware and a collection of expensive tequila, we looked at each other in wonder.
“How big was that safe upstairs?”
“It was one of those cheap Wal-Mart fire safes that you bolt to the floor.” He shrugged. “Maybe two feet square. It was in the closet, why?”
“Probably kept his jewelry, pocket money, and watches in there,” I said.
“Probably.”
“Drug dealer like this ought to have a big safe. If he’s peddling big dope, he’s got to have big money. Big money requires a big safe. You know he doesn’t keep that shit in the bank.”
“Only place left is the garage,” he said.
“We ought to take that fuckin’ Ferrari.”
“We’d be caught before we got on the freeway,” he said. “That thing’s so rare, the cops would know it’s his. My guess is it’s the only one in this part of the country.”
“You haven’t seen anything weird or out of place?” I asked.
&nbs
p; “Other than his bedroom smelled like ass? No.”
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “Smelled like he just decontaminated it. Probably mopped blood off the floor and cleaned it with bleach and Pine-Sol.”
“I can’t stand the smell of cleaning products,” I said. “Surprised you could smell shit, with that broken nose.”
“I can smell, it’s just, I don’t know, different.”
Because the smelly bedroom was the only thing that stood out as being suspicious about the entire home, I decided I wanted to smell it for myself.
“Let’s go up there,” I said. “I want to smell it.”
He turned toward the stairs. “Let’s go.”
I followed him up the stairs and into the room. As soon as we stepped inside, it was clear to me what the smell was. The room was freshly painted.
“It’s paint,” I said. “He just painted it.”
A quick check of the room’s trim revealed he’d painted only one wall – the one directly behind the bed’s headboard – and that he’d painted it the same color.
“Why the fuck would he paint only one wall,” I asked, not necessarily expecting an answer.
I touched the wall with the tip of my finger. The paint was dry. The room had only a faint hint of the paint’s smell, but the lack of air movement – from the air conditioner being set to an away setting – caused the smell to be more prominent.
I stared blankly at the wall.
Then, it came to me.
“All the tools are in the SUV?” I asked.
“That’s where Baker wanted them, why?”
“I need a stud finder. Is that on the list?”
He nodded. “There’s one in there. A digital DeWalt. Why?”
“I’ll be right back,” I said.
I ran to the SUV, got the stud finder out of the tool kit, and ran back to the room. When I got there, Baker, Goose, and Tito were bitching about the home being bare of anything valuable.
I looked at the men and grinned. “If I’m right on this, we’ll need a few sledgehammers and a couple of keyhole saws.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Baker asked.
“Gimme a minute,” I said. “Hopefully I’m right.”
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