He reached for the letter and handed it to me. “Read it.”
I unfolded the letter and did as he asked.
Detective Ted Gottschalk,
The typed confession described below is made without coercion, and the confessor is of sound and solid mind as of this writing.
Furthermore, this confession is given with the agreement that the prosecution of the confessor will include a lifetime of incarceration. As part of the typed agreement, the death penalty will not be sought for punishment of this—or any other—instant offense brought against the confessor.
I, Brock Cashton Flannigan, did, on or about the early morning hours of July 18, knowingly and willfully kill two armed police officers while active in the commission of a crime.
Although there were other parties present, they were unaware of my whereabouts and further unaware of my actions, including, but not limited to, the murder of the aforementioned officers.
To clarify, I acted alone.
My eyes welled with tears, preventing me from continuing. I had read no more than the first quarter of what was typed. I lowered the confession and looked up. “Cash, you can’t—”
He snatched the letter from my grasp. “Already did.” He folded it and tossed it to the other side of the table. “In the future, you fuckers won’t be able to say anything about me but good shit.”
“God damn it, Cash…” There was so much I wanted to say before Ted got back, but I couldn’t get the words to come out.
I cleared my throat.
Cash wiped the tears from his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Just make sure to take care of Kim, my mom, and the baby, will ya?”
Overcome with emotion, I could barely speak. “Cash…you can’t…this is on all…it’s on all of us.”
He coughed out a tearful laugh. “Hell.” He clenched his fist and held it between us. “From what I recall, you weren’t even there, little man.”
I glanced at his fist and shook my head. “No.”
“Pound it, ‘midge,” he demanded in a broken voice.
“No.”
He raised his fist. “Pound it, before I catch another case for pounding your ass right here.”
Out of my peripheral I saw Ted come through the door, carrying a plastic case. I glanced at Cash’s clenched fist.
“I love you, Brother,” he whispered.
I pounded my knuckles against his. “I love you, too.”
247
Reggie
Following another late-night outing with the motorcycle club, Tito was irritable, nervous, and couldn’t fall asleep. I had yet to meet one of the men he called his brothers. To be honest, I didn’t care to. Whatever the club was doing to him, I didn’t like. If given an opportunity, I’d give each of the men a piece of my mind.
Frustrated that he didn’t act on his impulse to walk away from them, I made the final touches to my makeup. As soon as I finished, I stepped into the living room. Tito was sitting at the breakfast table drinking a cup of coffee.
“Are you ready?” I asked.
A long breath escaped him. “Yeah.”
“I hope you’re in a better mood by the time we’re there.”
He stood and faced me. “I’m sorry. It’s just—”
“It’s just what?” I snapped, letting my frustrations be known by the tone of my voice. “It’s just the motorcycle club, that’s what it is. Every time you’re out with them lately, you come home late, angry, and unable to sleep. I don’t know what you guys are up to, but I don’t like it.”
He gave me a kiss. “I’m sorry. I really am.” He leaned away and looked me over. “I’ll be fine at your father’s.”
It was impossible to stay mad at him. I loved him far too much. I mentally crossed my fingers that the club’s late-night activities would dissolve to nothing and gave him a peck on the lips. “Okay.”
When we walked into my father’s house, he was in the kitchen preparing our meal. The smell of onions and garlic tickled my nostrils, and the sound of his whistling filled the air.
“Someone’s in a good mood,” I said.
He was standing at the kitchen counter, slicing an onion. “Something wrong with being in a good mood?”
“I suppose not.” I wrapped my arms around him from behind and kissed his cheek. “Is there something I should know?”
“I love you,” he said. “I guess that’s it.”
I chuckled. “I’ll make note of that.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “You look like haggard shit, Son.”
Tito sighed before managing to muster a crumpled smile. “Thanks.”
“Have a beer,” my father said. “Maybe you’ll feel better.”
“I’ll grab us each one,” I said.
Much to my surprise, the fridge was filled with Michelob Ultra. I handed Tito one, and then set one beside my father. “When did you start drinking this?”
“I just thought I’d give it a try,” he said. “A guy bought me one yesterday evening, and I thought it was a novel idea. Full-bodied taste, low calories, and almost no carbohydrates.”
He set the cutting board aside and turned around. “In fact, the guy was a friend of yours.”
“Oh, really?” I asked.
“That’s what he said,” he replied. “His name was Braxton Rourke.”
“Oh. Yeah,” I said excitedly. “Where’d you meet him?”
Tito choked on his beer and began coughing hysterically. I turned around. “Are you alright?”
Red-faced, and out of breath, he pointed to his chest. “Went. Down. Wrong.”
“Be careful,” my father said. “Hate to have you choke to death before the big day.”
“What big day?” I asked.
“I’ll be retiring next week,” he said. “Semi-retiring, anyway. If things go well, it’ll be permanent in a month.”
My heart raced at the thought of him being able to enjoy living life. I wondered if he could even make it through a day without police work. “Seriously? What about your little gang?”
“If things go my way, they’ll be behind bars next week.”
“Holy crap?” I gasped. “Seriously?”
He tilted the neck of his beer bottle toward me. “I’ll semi-retire after the arrests are made. After their conviction, I’ll retire permanently.”
“Oh. My God.” I alternated glances between my father and Tito. “This is the best news I’ve heard in a long, long, time.”
My father sipped his beer, and then lifted his chin slightly. “You’re looking pretty puny over there, Silva. You need to go puke or something?”
“I’ll be alright,” Tito said.
The color had all but drained from his face. He looked like a ghost. “You really look bad,” I said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
He wiped the sweat from his brow. “I need to sit down.”
“Let’s go in the living room,” my father suggested. “I’ll come back in here and finish this up in a few minutes.”
We gathered in the living room. My father took his favorite chair, and Tito and I sat across from him, on the loveseat. While Tito nursed his beer, my father’s mouth twisted into a ornery grin.
“Realized a guy I work with knows you,” my father said. “He had nothing but good things to say about you and your friends, which left me to wonder if his opinions were either bullshit or biased.”
I gave him a cross look. “Daddy!”
Tito wiped his brow. “Who was that?”
“Detective Marc Watson,” my father replied. “Said he knew you, and those five friends you run with. Said you were quite the Brainiac when it came to computer manipulation.”
My eyes darted to Tito. “You’re friends with a detective?”
He looked away before meeting my gaze. “I wouldn’t say we’re friends. I’ve met him a few times. He’s more a friend of a friend.”
“He sure knew a hell of a lot about you and your crew,” my father said. “A man’s an extension of the company he
keeps, and if he’s running with the likes of you and your crew, I wonder about him.” He chuckled. “I guess time will tell if he’s full of shit, or not.”
I couldn’t believe my father was acting the way he was. I scowled. “Stop being mean.”
He chuckled as if he was enjoying himself. “Looks like if I keep it up, he just might barf where he sits.”
I looked at Tito. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
He nodded. “I’ll be alright.”
“Well,” I said. “You sure don’t look like it.”
“That’s the damned truth,” my father said. “You look like you’re out of your element.” He crawled out of his chair and sipped his beer. “What can I get for you? To make you feel better?”
“I’ll be fine, really.”
My father shook his head. “Boy, you sure don’t look like it.”
“I feel like I’m being tortured,” Tito said.
I scrunched my nose and gave Tito a look. “Why would you say that?”
“Just a figure of speech,” he replied. “I feel like shit.”
My father turned toward the kitchen. “Look like it, too.”
My father disappeared, leaving Tito and me in the living room. I set my beer on the end table and faced him. “I’m worried about you.”
“I’m worried about me, too.”’
“Why?”
“I just.” He shook his head. “I just need to make some changes with the club, that’s all.”
“Are you having problems with your friends?”
“Not so much. It’s. I. We need to dissolve the club. We’ll be looking into it this week. Maybe that’s what’s bothering me, I don’t know.”
“Did something happen?”
A worried look overcame him. “Sometimes men in the club do things that I don’t agree with. Instead of standing up to them, I often just let it happen. Hindsight’s always twenty-twenty, but I wish now that I would have stood up to them a few times. In the past.”
I put my hand on his knee. “You can’t dwell on the past. All you can do is make sure you learn from your mistakes and live tomorrow knowing that you won’t repeat them.”
“That’s sound advice she’s giving you, Silva,” my father shouted from the other room. “You should listen to her. Repeating the mistakes of your past could prove disastrous.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tito muttered.
248
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 us 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 th
at 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.”
Devil's Disciples MC Series- The Complete Boxed Set Page 131