“When you’re his age, will you be like him?” I asked.
“Sadly,” Braxton replied. “I’m sure I will be. We’re an extension of the asshole’s who raise us.”
“Damned shame I won’t be here to witness it,” Hap said.
Braxton’s claim was accurate. I had adopted my father’s patterns of speech, odd quirks, mannerisms, and his system of beliefs. As much as I tried to tell myself they were my own, I knew better. I was a female version of him.
No differently than my father, the world I lived in was separated into two segments. Right and wrong. There was no gray area. Everything either fit into one category or the other. I knew nothing or no one would ever change my—or my father’s—views.
I glanced at Braxton. “I think you’re right. We’re an extension of the parent or parents who raised us.”
Hap handed me a glass of wine. “You’re lucky you were raised by a cop. I’m sure your father has a good sense of moral value.”
I handed Tito the glass and waited for Hap to pour another. “He does.”
“Unlike those shit birds across the street.” Hap poured another glass and set the bottle on the handrail. “Not a moral bone in their bodies.”
“It’s sad, really,” I said, reaching for the glass. “That they think it’s okay to steal.”
“There’s no lower life form than a thief,” Hap said.
I handed Tito the glass of wine. “I’ll agree.”
“A cheater,” Tito said. “There’s nothing’s worse than a cheater.”
“Cheater’s nothing but a thief,” Hap argued. He reached for another glass. “He’s stealing time and emotions from whoever he’s cheating on.”
“Exactly!” I blurted. “You stole time from me, and I’ll never get it back. That’s what I told my ex.”
A dilapidated silver sedan cleared the crest of the hill at a speed so rapid that it became airborne. When it came back down to earth, the front end crashed against the asphalt with a loud bang!
Each of us craned our necks in that direction.
“Looks like we might be having company,” Hap said.
“Is that—”
“The neighbor,” Braxton said, answering me before I finished my thought.
The car came screeching to a stop in Hap’s driveway. The door flew open. A man bun-wearing guy with broad shoulders and long lean muscles pulled himself out of the car. Wearing stained khakis, a dingy wifebeater and sneakers, he stood at the edge of the driveway with his fists clenched, glaring at Hap.
“Come here, old man,” Mister Manbun said through his teeth.
“You got something to say,” Braxton said in an emotionless tone. “Come up here and say it.”
“I’m not talking to you, Slick,” Manbun said without taking his eyes off Hap. “I’m talking to the old man.”
Hap set the wine glass aside and barked out a laugh. “I whip cocksuckers like you on my way to a fight.” He bounded over the handrail in one leap and landed on the other side. “What’s the problem, dipshit?”
“That guy’s mad,” I whispered. “Aren’t one of you guys going to help Hap?”
Braxton laughed like I told a really good joke. “Help him? Against one guy? He doesn’t need any help, believe me.”
I shifted my attention to the driveway. Simply looking at the men’s size, it appeared to be a mismatched fight. Hap was twice the size of Manbun and despite his age appeared to be in far better physical condition. Towering over his opponent like a muscular giant, Hap stood a few feet away with his bulging arms dangling loosely at his sides.
“You accused my kids of being thieves,” Mister Manbun said. “And called my Ol’ Lady a liar. Got news for you, Old Man. My kids ain’t fuckin’ thieves, and my Ol’ Lady ain’t a liar.”
“I didn’t call the kids thieves,” Hap responded in a much calmer tone than I expected. “I said I came up missing beer out of my cooler. Then, I pointed out that there were beer bottles in your driveway, under your carport. I suggested she ask them where they got them. She said they were yours, and I responded that I doubted it. Told her I never saw you drink from a bottle, only a can. That’s all that was said.”
“She said you called her a liar and called the kids thieves,” the man insisted.
“I’m going to explain something to you,” Hap said, his tone now laced with irritation. “Sundays are sacred to me. I sit on my porch and drink beers with my family. When that tradition is interrupted by a man standing in my driveway with a dumb look on his face and his hair in a fucking bun, I get irritated. When I get irritated, I get short tempered. When I’m short tempered, it’s in everyone’s best interest to keep their distance. So, before your car leaks oil all over my drive, why don’t you get in it and go? I can assure you it would behoove you to do so.”
“Maybe you need to turn up your hearing aid,” Manbun growled. He puffed his chest. “I said, you need to apologize to my Ol Lady, motherfucker.”
I heard a thud. Mister Manbun doubled over like he’d been shot. Mystified as to what happened, I leaned over the edge of the bannister and peered toward where they stood. All I could see was Hap trying to help the man to his feet.
“What happened?” I whispered.
“The Old Man punched him in the sternum,” Braxton said. “Guess he was tired of listening to him.”
“Holy crap.” I gasped. “I didn’t even see it.”
Braxton laughed. “Neither did he.”
The man gasped to catch his breath. After a moment, he stood upright. Red-faced and out of breath, he looked like he’d just finished running a 10k.
Hap took a step back. “What do you say we just call it a day? I’ll replace my beers and you can go back to your life of petty crime.”
Mister Manbun straightened his posture. He raised his hands like he wanted to fight. “Fuck you, Old Man.”
With the speed of a bolt of lightning, Hap slapped him with his open right hand so hard he nearly knocked him off his feet. Before the man had a chance to recover, Hap slapped him with his left hand, just as hard.
Stunned, Manbun stammered to remain on his feet.
Hap swung his clenched fist into the man’s ribcage. The punch hit him with such force that it lifted him off his feet. He crashed against the car and then slumped to the ground like a ragdoll.
Heaving to breathe, he looked at Hap with wide—and very worried—eyes.
“I’m going up on the porch to have a glass of wine,” Hap said, turning away. “I’d be having a Michelob Ultra, but someone stole the stuff out of my cooler. When you catch your breath, I suggest you get in your car and go back to wherever it is you came from.”
Proud as a peacock, Hap sauntered to the porch. After straightening the wrinkles from his tee shirt. he picked up an empty wine glass. As if nothing had happened, he poured it full and handed it to me. “This one’s for you, sweetheart.”
“And, this one’s for me.” He tipped up the bottle of wine and took a drink.
Whipping the neighbor in the driveway may have been no big deal to Hap, but it wasn’t a typical day’s happenings for me.
“Where’d you learn to fight like that?” I asked excitedly.
“Like that?” He laughed. “Various bars from here to Timbuktu.”
Mister Manbun was struggling to come to his feet. Teetering back and forth, he steadied himself against the side of the car.
“He’s getting up,” I whispered.
Hap turned around. “If you’re considering getting a gun and trying your luck, I suggest you reconsider.” He gestured to the USMC flag hung from the porch’s overhang. “I can guarantee you I’ve got more guns than you do, and that I’m a much better shot than you are. You best bet’s just to go back to where you came from.”
He gave Hap a dirty look, got into his car, and sped away. After he disappeared over the hill, Hap faced us.
He took a drink from the bottle of wine and then shook his head. “Only thing worse than a thief is the man who stands u
p to defend one.”
36
Tito
When I sat on the other side of Baker’s office desk in the past, I felt like I was being interrogated. Now, I felt that I was interrogating him.
“Everyone’s been keeping their distance since the coin shop,” Baker said. “They’re all in agreement that we need to go legit. Everyone except for Cash, that is.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked.
He stroked his beard but didn’t immediately respond.
“I can tell you this much,” I continued. “I’m done. Done, as in done. I won’t do another job. Period.”
“Goose and Ally said the same thing. Reno feels the same way, but he hasn’t come out and said it. You know how he is.” He scratched his beard with the tips of his fingers. “He’ll do whatever the club does.”
“Cash is an idiot,” I said, pushing myself away from the desk. “Why don’t you just tell him—”
“I have.” He stood and walked to the window behind his desk. He peered toward the street, below. “We decided long ago that any changes to the club require a one hundred percent vote. If we don’t have it, changes can’t be made.”
“If we all refuse to do a job, Cash can’t do it on his own.”
He faced me. “He can’t do what we’ve been doing on his own, no. He can, however, commit whatever crimes he wants to, and we’ll all be liable for it. This tattoo on our back means we’ll be convicted right along with him.”
Any conventional motorcycle club would be able to disband. The members would remove their kuttes, turn them in to the president, and then be able to claim they weren’t a part of the MC.
Our MC decided to have our club’s colors tattooed across our backs. Denying membership wasn’t an option.
I began to pace the floor. “If that crazy prick starts knocking off banks to support whatever habits he has, I’m going to choke him out.”
Baker faced me. A worried look was plastered on his face. “I don’t have an answer for this one, Tito. I really don’t.”
“You’ve talked to him?” I asked. “I mean, sat down and talked to him?”
“I have.” He raked his fingers through his hair and gave me a serious look. “I hate to ask, but maybe you should do the same.”
“Me?” I stopped in my tracks. “Why me?”
“You two bicker like an old married couple,” he said. “But he respects you. He always has.”
I let out a sigh of frustration. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”
Baker wrung his hands together nervously. “We need to get him on board. Then, we need to spend the rest of our lives praying that the coin shop heist never gets solved. There’s no statute of limitations on murder.”
“No, there’s not,” I said in agreement. “And, if we’re convicted of capital murder, we get the death penalty. It’ll be a miracle if we make it through this.”
My phone buzzed. Expecting a fault from one of the carwashes, I pulled it from my pocket and checked the text message.
This is Ted Gottschalk. Have time for a cup of coffee?
I immediately responded.
Sounds great. When and where?
After agreeing to meet at Marcie’s, I looked up. “That was Reggie’s dad. We’re going to meet for a cup of coffee.”
“When you get done, let’s finish this discussion,” he said. “We need to figure out a time and place to talk to Cash.”
“Probably be best if it’s not something he perceives as an intervention,” I said. “I’ll just talk to him one on one.”
“Good luck.” He smirked. “Because you’re going to need it.”
* * *
I was half finished with my first cup of coffee when Ted showed up. Dressed in a pair of slacks, a dress shirt, and a sport coat, he looked like a professional football player preparing for a press conference.
He sat across from me in the booth and nodded toward my cup. “How’s the coffee?”
“Surprisingly good.”
He mouthed the words a cup of coffee? to the waitress. “Coffee’s always good here.”
“I’ll remember that.”
In a flash, the waitress delivered his coffee, black. “Good morning, Ted.”
“Morning, Kate.”
She checked my cup of coffee, realized it was full, and smiled. “I’ll check on you in a bit.”
I smiled in return. “Thank you.”
“I come here nearly every day,” he said. “It’s a good place to unwind and think.”
I glanced around the establishment. The décor was old school Americana, and reminded me of Abby’s Place, a diner owned by a former Marine friend of the motorcycle club. “I like places like this.”
“They’re few and far between,” he said.
I faced him. “So, how’s everything going?”
“I’ve shared a little bit about retirement with you, and with Reggie.” He cupped his massive hands around his coffee cup and peered into it. “I’ve told myself I can’t do it until I get this group of hooligans that I’ve been chasing for the past fifteen years. I’ve said for the past few years that after I had them behind bars that I’d turn in my shield, and my gun.” He met my gaze. “Well, it looks like that day is right around the corner.”
“That’s good,” I said. “Is buying a fishing boat your next move?”
He shook his head. “That’ll be down the road, after they’re convicted at a jury trial.”
“It’s got to feel good to finally catch them though. Reggie said they’ve been a thorn in your side for years.”
“Bittersweet,” he said with a nod. “That’s how I’d describe it.”
If he’d been chasing the gang in question for a decade, I could see that it would be bittersweet to catch them. An end to a decade-long chase, leaving him with nothing to do afterward.
“I can see that,” I said.
He held my gaze. “I’m going to cut the chase.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve got reason to believe the gang in question tried to knock off a gold dealer in Ramona a few weeks ago,” he said flatly. “Before their escape, they blew the electric plant to hell. They used military C-4 as the explosive, which is part of their modus operandi.”
My face flushed. I tried to remain calm and emotionless but doubted that I’d accomplished either. I slid my hands under the table and clenched my fists to keep them from shaking.
“It was a clear diversion tactic,” he continued. “They needed to get what little law enforcement was available to go to the other end of town while they escaped. Then, they blew the gold dealer’s building into toothpick-sized pieces. When we sifted through the ashes, we found microscopic bits and pieces of two dead police officers. As you can imagine, with an explosion like that, it’s been a fucking nightmare to get any clues. Luck must be on my side, because last week I got something. Then, the day before yesterday, I two more somethings.”
If he had me dead to rights on murder, he wouldn’t be sitting across from me, talking. I’d be in handcuffs. Nevertheless, my days in the free world were numbered. My future with Reggie dissolved before my eyes, leaving me contemplating running to another country under an assumed name with a fake passport.
I already knew Reggie’s position regarding thieves. There was no way she’d continue any kind of a life with me once she found out what I’d been involved in, regardless of how I spun the story in my favor.
I swallowed heavily. “That’s good,” I said. “Three clues in a week.”
Holding my gaze, he rested his massive forearms against the edge of the table and leaned forward. “Check cashing place next door had a security system in the parking lot. Sadly, it was pointed in the wrong direction and it wasn’t infrared. We got nothing but a bunch of really shitty footage. After enhancing it, we got a clear video of a bunch of feet shuffling around. We did, however, get a blur of one of the men’s tattoos as he bent down to pick up a penny.”
We were wearing long-sleeved shirts and g
loves. I had no idea how he saw any tattoos, unless the men he saw weren’t us. My racing heart slowed its pace at the thought of him pursuing the wrong men.
“You see,” he said. “Up until now, I’ve been chasing nothing but a hunch. I’ve been building a case file based on this gang’s MO. My bulletin board has been filled with dates, times, places, and theories, but no identities. I’ve been chasing a group based on their patterns and what few clues they leave behind. For instance, they always hit places out of San Diego, typically in small towns with inadequate police forces. There’s almost always explosives involved, and they’re typically in and out without anyone getting hurt. That is, until now. Now, two cops are dead. One upside is that I’ve got a face at the top of my bulletin board.”
Clinging to a sliver of hope, I raised my brows in wonder. “A face?”
“Yes,” he responded. “The tattoo in the video was unique. An eyeball on the back of his hand. Didn’t take long to trace that to a man here in San Diego. His name is Graham Baker.” He leaned away from the table and crossed his arms. “Do you know him?”
37
Reggie
Lunchtime and after work traffic into the store were always steady, but mid-afternoons were never a busy time. Consequently, Mel came typically came by on her rotating day off. It was her way of curing boredom. Gathered around the island in the center of the store where the cash registers were located, we were discussing the incident.
“It was funny,” Raymond said. “Until it wasn’t.”
“When did it go downhill?” Mel asked.
“When I admitted to telling Taddeo what really happened.”
“Why didn’t you keep your mouth shut and just ride it out?”
“Because he can’t keep a secret,” I interjected. “At all. He didn’t keep mine, and he didn’t keep Tito’s. He’ a blabbermouth.”
Raymond gave me a flippant look. “Could you be any more juvenile?” He looked at Mel. “I’m not a blabbermouth. I just like making people happy. Telling people secrets always makes them feel special.” He glanced in my direction. “Unless your name is Reggie.”
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