Another backpack slid through the hole. “That weighs about the same. All cash.”
“Is that it?”
“Short of watches and shit, yeah,” he said. “There’s another small safe, but--”
The men knew not to fuck with watches. Despite their worth, they were too easy for the police to track, as all high-end watches were serial numbered.
“We don’t have time for the other safe,” I said. “We get greedy, and we’ll get got.” I turned to Tito. “Time?”
“One and fifteen.”
I leaned in front of the hole. “Get the torch and get out of there.” I faced Tito. “Get that shit on the roof.”
Within thirty seconds, Cash had everything hoisted everything on the roof. Fifteen seconds later, we stood at his side.
“Tool check,” I said.
“Fifteen seconds,” Tito said.
I glared at Cash. “Motherfucking tool check.”
Excitedly, Cash rifled through the equipment. “Twenty-pound sledge. Four. Plasma rig. One. Cell phone jammer. One. Flashlights. Five. Tool box small. One. Tool box large. One. Dust masks. Six. Night vision. Five. Six-foot pry bar. One. Cutting torch. One. Folding aluminum ladder. One.”
He looked up.
I looked at the human computer. “Is that it?”
Tito shook his head. “Missing one flashlight.”
“Reno’s got it,” I said.
“And, the goggles,” he said.
I looked at Goose. “God damn it, Goose.”
“Fuck!” he exclaimed. “I set ‘em on the small safe.”
I looked at Cash. “Get loaded.” I turned to Goose. “Get your ass in there and get ‘em. Hurry the fuck up.”
High on adrenaline, I began to pace the roof. Concerned that I hadn’t heard any sirens from police racing to Reno’s diversion, I wondered if it happened at the same time we were beating on the wall. Hoping I’d simply missed it, I walked to the parapet and peered over the edge. An orange flicker in the distant northern sky brought a smile of reassurance to my face.
Atta boy, Reno.
Fifteen seconds beyond my nine-minute mark, and forty-five seconds shy of Tito’s ten-minute estimate, we pulled out of the lot with an undetermined amount of cash, nine bars of gold, and a back pack filled with jewelry. I had no idea how much cash we’d taken, nor what the jewelry was worth, but the gold bars alone had a street value of six million dollars.
The drone of the SUV’s exhaust acted as a subtle hint as to the power it had under the hood. I glanced over my left shoulder. “What’s the top speed of this fucker?”
“One-eighty. Give or take. It’s not limited by horsepower,” Ghost said. “It’s drag coefficient.”
“One-eighty, huh?”
“Didn’t take their word for it. I’ve tested this fucker. We’re faster’n CHP, that’s for sure.”
The SUV had been professionally covered in matte black vinyl, had black wheels, and tinted windows. We were definitely in stealth mode, and in SoCal, the black on black on black theme fit right in. I chewed on my bottom lip for a moment while I wondered about the red paint beneath the black film.
Technically, it was still a red vehicle.
While we traveled down the two-lane highway at five miles an hour over the speed limit, I struggled with my superstitious beliefs. Eventually I gave up.
“You see Brother Reno’s glow?” I asked.
Ghost grinned. “Every time I check the rear view.”
The sign for Pala Mesa Drive illuminated at the end of the headlight’s reach. An intersecting road to highway 395, it was the pickup point for Reno. I prayed that he was there, waiting. Short of making it back to the clubhouse, it was the last piece to the night’s puzzle.
As I gazed through the side window anxiously, we passed the intersection.
“See him?” I asked.
Ghost shook his head and then checked the mirrors. “Not yet.”
Leaving a man behind troubled me. We couldn’t wait for him, nor could we search. Putting the entire club at risk wasn’t practical, and I knew it. It didn’t make not knowing any easier, though.
As we passed Via Belmont, and intersection a little more than half a mile ahead, two narrowly placed headlights illuminated in the parking lot of a hotel. Ten seconds later, the lights shot past us and merged into our lane.
It was Reno. I relaxed into the hard back of the of red leather racing seat. “We’re good.”
“Thank fucking God,” Cash spouted. “I was sick and tired of this silent shit.”
Another rule of mine was that there was no talking until everyone was accounted for. It wasn’t uncommon for us to use a vehicle and a motorcycle while doing a job. En route to the clubhouse, the motorcycle acted as a rabbit – a lure to police – if it was necessary to get them away from the vehicle carrying the stolen cargo.
Until I was certain we were all safe, the laughing, story-telling, and discussions about who was going to do what with their share ground against my already worn nerves.
Now that Reno was leading the way, everyone was free to speak.
Discussions of the nervous tension, how much gold we’d managed to steal, and what we predicted we had in cash and jewelry followed. In an hour, we pulled along the alley that led to the clubhouse.
The windows from apartment 3A glowed above us as we turned into the parking garage’s entrance.
I checked my watch.
2:16
I wondered if she was alone, or if she’d simply fallen asleep while watching television. As the vehicle came to a stop in the designated stall, I further wondered why I cared.
I came up with nothing.
As we unloaded millions of dollars’ worth of stolen merchandise, the not knowing inched its way up the length of my spine until a migraine ensued.
20
ANDY
Mister Greene’s advice swam around in my head like a shark seeking prey. After several hours of tossing and turning in bed, the possibility that I was interested in more from Baker than what was below his waist repeatedly came to mind.
I missed feeling him inside of me. The comfort that came along with the complete satisfaction of my sensual desires. The feeling of utter and blissful exhaustion that always followed the orgasms that shook me to my core. But. I simply couldn’t decide if there was more to it than that. The next time I saw him – if I saw him – I would deny his requests for sex. Only then would I know if I truly enjoyed sharing time with him.
Groggy and needing sleep, I rolled to my side and hoped I’d somehow manage to fall asleep. City and Color’s Lover Come Back played softly from the speaker in the living room, and I found irony in it as I mouthed the words into the darkness.
I’d always felt superstitious people were gullible and irrational. Nonetheless, I found the song’s timing troubling, and wondered if I should view it as some kind of message about having found the perfect latke.
Most of my life’s questions had been answered with a mouthful of food, so I meandered to the kitchen and flipped on the lights. Two bowls of cereal and one tub of yogurt, and an apple later, I was convinced there wasn’t an answer.
I shuffled to the bedroom at a complete loss as to what I should think about it all. On my way there, the music paused. At that instant, I heard a strange scraping sound from inside the kitchen cabinets.
I stopped in my tracks.
A prickling feeling ran up my neck.
I swallowed heavily and tip-toed to the kitchen. The unfamiliar sound returned from deep inside the lower cabinet, sending a chill along my spine when it happened. Quietly, I opened the island cupboard, removed a cast-iron skillet, and turned around.
A clank, followed by a dull thud came from the cabinet. I swallowed heavily, reached for the cupboard door, and hesitated.
Then, the sound came again.
I swallowed heavily, raised the skillet, and yanked the door open. “Aaaaaahhhhh!” I screamed, frantically.
Nothing.
Aft
er cleaning all the Tupperware, cutting boards, and baking sheets out of the cupboard and finding nothing, I was convinced lack of sleep was the culprit behind the things that go thump in the night.
During round two of my attempt to fall asleep, I recalled Stephen’s claim of hearing noises coming from the apartment, and wondered if his noises and my noises were related.
I fell asleep as I mulled over the possibilities.
21
BAKER
A thunderous knock at my door was muffled by the sound of Cash’s voice shouting for me to open the door. Still high on adrenaline, but not in the mood for one of his brilliant late-night ideas, I took long strides across the living room floor and toward the commotion. Upon yanking open the door, Cash burst through it with his pistol in his hand.
He looked like he’d either seen a ghost or just finished a police lineup. Knowing neither had happened in the thirty minutes since I’d last seen him, I asked the inevitable as he stomped past me.
“What in the ten kinds of fuck is going on?” I asked, my tone low and demanding.
He turned around. The tone of his skin had transformed to a pale white. After catching his breath, he responded. “She’s here.”
“Who’s here?”
“That bitch.” He waved his pistol toward the ceiling. “She’s spying on us.”
He was on the verge of lunacy. The first thing I needed to do was get him to put down the gun. “Put down the piece, Cash.”
“I fucking…she’s…I fucking swear,” he stammered. “Goose, Ghost. They’re all gone. It’s you and me, Bake. We’ll need to do something with the body. How in the fuck are we going to get her out of there without someone seeing us?”
I had no idea where his mind was, but I wasn’t going to do anything with a body at three o’clock in the morning, nor was I interested in him accidentally shooting a round off in my concrete place of residence.
With my luck of late, the ricocheting bullet would kill us both. I had to find a way to calm him down.
“Put down the fucking piece, Cash,” I demanded. “And who are we getting out of where? You’re not making sense, Brother.”
“That mouthy bitch.” Frantic, he waved his pistol toward the ceiling again. “She’s spying on us I swear.”
I had no idea what he was talking about, but the gun was making me nervous. I extended my arm. “Give me the piece. I’ll give it back as soon as we decide what we’re going to do.”
After some thought, he placed the gun on the wooden buffet beside him. He covered his face with his hands. “What are we going to do?”
“First things always come first.” I gestured toward the kitchen. “We’re going to have a drink.”
A low moan escaped him. He raked his fingers through his hair and turned away. “She’s not going to wreck this job, Bake. I won’t let her. Biggest job we’ve ever done, and she’s not going to put us in a trick bag.”
He’s completely lost his fucking mind. As I walked past the buffet, I nonchalantly grabbed his pistol and shoved it into the waist of my jeans. Once inside the kitchen, I poured two shots of tequila.
I slid one of them across the bar. “Not a word. Just drink it.”
I raised my glass and waited for him to raise his. When he did, I gave toast. “To Pat’s Gold and Jewelry.”
He wagged his eyebrows and downed the shot. As soon as his glass hit the counter, I poured it full and gave a crisp nod. “Just drink it.”
He complied, and then reached for the bottle. After downing a fourth of it in one long gulp, he lowered it to his side.
“I’m…I don’t…how the fuck did she find us?” he stammered.
“Who is she?”
He took another drink and then wiped his mouth on his bicep. “The girl from the bank.”
The two shots of tequila burned the back of my throat as my stomach rejected them. I fought to keep them down, hoping I could maintain a believable poker face, but doubted my attempt was a success.
Somehow, he’d found Andy. My mind raced to figure everything out, but all my thoughts ended up jumbled into an indiscernible wad of nothingness. The only thing I knew for certain was that I wanted her to remain safe.
I gestured toward the tequila. “What bank?”
He handed it to me. “The mouthy bitch from the job in Indio.”
I took a long pull from the bottle. I needed to figure out a way out of the mess I was in, and somehow save Andy in the process. I considered speaking, but took another drink instead.
“She’s staying next door.” He reached for the bottle. “I saw that bitch clear as day. Never forget that mouthy bitch’s face. Never.”
“Next door, huh?”
He took a drink and then nodded. “Been hiding shit above the kitchen cabinets in the clubhouse. Made a little cubby up there in the kickboard of Preston’s cabinets. It looks like she’s living up there now. Saw her a minute ago.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “You what? In the kitchen? What the fuck are you talking about?”
“There’s a pipe chase that goes from the first floor to the fucking roof. Instead of hiding shit in it in our clubhouse, I shimmy up to where Preston lived, and hide it in the kickboard of his old cabinets. I was putting some cash up there tonight, and she opened her cabinets. I saw the bitch through a slit in the fucking kickboard.”
Dumbfounded, and at a complete loss for words, I simply stared at him.
“She’s spying on us, I’m sure of it,” he said, his words thick with equal parts frustration and anger. “I’ll get that silencer out of the safe, and put one in between her eyes while she’s eating breakfast in the morning. We’ll just need to get her out of there before someone comes looking for her.”
“You’re not going to kill her,” I said flatly.
His eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
“Because you’re not.”
“We voted on it,” he snarled. “She’s a threat. Bitch said she’d make sure I fried for that robbery, and now her crazy ass is posted up next door. I know it’s her. I’ll never forget that bitch’s face.”
I may not have known my way out of the predicament I was in, but I knew one thing. I couldn’t let anything happen to her. I took a step in his direction and locked eyes with him. “You’re not killing her.”
“She’s going to turn us in, Bake.” He looked me up and down. “I’m gonna thump the bitch.”
“You’re not thumping her,” I growled.
He eyes thinned to slits. “Why not?”
“Because.” I drew a long breath and then exhaled slowly. “She’s the girl I’ve been fucking.”
22
ANDY
“Tip the right side up a little bit,” Holly said. “It’s still crooked.”
I released the corner of the picture frame and took a step back. It looked perfect. I dragged my finger along the mortar joint. “It’s even with the bricks. That’s what matters.”
“It’s crooked. Come back here and look at it.”
I stepped to her side and studied the three picture frames. The one in the center wasn’t crooked. The one on each side was. “Compare them to the bricks,” I complained. “The bricks are straight. Now they’re all screwed up.”
“Okay,” she said. “Start on the left.”
I forced a sigh. “This is going to take all day.”
While Hank had the kids for the weekend, Holly and I were doing our best to get everything I’d purchased put in place. I was beginning to have my doubts if two days was going to be enough time.
“Hank would do stuff like this in ten minutes,” she said.
“Yeah, then he’d have plenty of time to go get the chicken wing girl to suck his dick while you were changing diapers. I don’t need a man to help me if that’s what you’re getting at.”
She tipped the left side of the picture frame up a little. “We’re not made to do this kind of stuff.”
I took exception to her statement. In my opinion, a woman could do anything a m
an could do. Any. Thing. I cocked my hip and gave her a look. “What are we made for?”
“I don’t know. Cuddling.”
“Like teddy bears?” I asked sarcastically. “We’re basically stuffed animals that can talk?”
Her eyebrows raised slowly. “And cook.”
“You submissive twit,” I said with a laugh. “You should have been born in 1950.”
Instead of responding, she looked away. While I stared at her in disbelief of her narrow-minded way of thinking, there was a knock on the door. I looked at the door and then at Holly. She gave a shrug of uncertainty.
“Come in?” I said, asking the question and giving permission at the same time.
The door opened, revealing none other than a jeans and wife beater clad Baker. I looked him over and then turned toward the three askew picture frames, leaving him standing behind me in an awesome pair of brown lace-up boots I’d never seen him wear.
“Well. Look what the cat dragged in,” I said over my shoulder.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
I was more excited to see him than I would have expected. Truth be known, I wanted him to rush in and kiss me, but I wasn’t about to say anything or even give him the subtlest of hints. Instead, I wanted to be a bitch.
It was something I was good at, and required far less thought than anything else. “Going great,” I said sarcastically. “Just doing some mild construction work.”
“Looks like it.”
I rolled my eyes and then looked at Holly, who was standing near the corner of my desk. With her mouth hanging open, she gazed beyond me, toward Baker. I wagged my eyes to get her attention, but she was impervious to my signals.
Eventually, I gave up and turned around. Baker’s beard was looking badass as usual, and his hair was brushed back and held in place with product. I dropped my gaze to his new boots, and then raked them up the length of his frame slowly. He looked delicious. When our eyes met, I fought not to show emotion. “I’m guessing you’ve been busy?”
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