BAKER

by Scott Hildreth

  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.”

  TWENTY-THREE - 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 man 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 th
an 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?”

  He nodded. “I have.”

  “Figured as much,” I said snidely.

  He pushed his hands into his front pockets. “I’ve been looking out of state at a few business ventures. One of the reasons I’m here, actually.”

  “You came for business advice?”

  “No,” he said. “I need a manager. In Arizona. I was wondering if you’d be interested.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “In what?”

  “Managing a sandwich shop.”

  I cocked my head to the side dramatically. “In Arizona?”

  “Flagstaff, to be exact.”

  I cocked it to the other side, just as dramatically. “I’d be working for you?”

  “Correct.”

  “Uhhm.” I shifted my eyes toward the ceiling. After feigned deep thought for a moment, I met his curious gaze. “No.”

  I turned around. Holly was still gawking at him. I cleared my throat and motioned toward the sideboard. “Make yourself useful, Holly. Grab the end of that. Let’s center it with the pictures.”

  Baker beat her to it, picking it up before she could pick her jaw up off the floor. As I lifted the other end, he continued his full-court press.

  “I’d pay you pretty competitively.”

  “I’m a California girl,” I said. “Arizona isn’t my jam.”

  “You were born in New York,” Holly said.

  I shot her an evil glare. “Go home.”

  Baker glanced over his shoulder. “I’m Baker, by the way.”

  “Holly,” she said, her voice giddy with excitement.

  “Do you two want to go get a room?” I asked. “I’m trying to get some work done. It’s tough with you two flirting.”

  “I’d pay you a hundred grand,” Baker said.

  “Holy crap!” Holly gasped.

  “Not interested.”

  “Your personality can’t be taught,” he said. “I could go one twenty.”

  I almost dropped the sideboard. “I don’t want to leave California.”

  “One thirty.”

  He had my interest, but there was no way I could leave my job with Mister Greene. Not before I proved to him that he’d made a good decision by giving me the job. And, having Baker as a boss would mean I’d have to stop fucking him.

  I was willing to do neither.

  I lowered my end of the sideboard to the floor. “Sorry, I can’t.”

  He set his end down. His face was covered with what seemed to be a combination of concern and pride. “You won’t even consider it?”

  “I can’t. I made a commitment to my boss to improve spending. Until I either succeed or fail, nothing will drag me away from here.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Nope.”

  He stroked his beard and looked me over. After satisfying himself, he scanned the room with his eyes.

  “Where’s your tape measure?”

  “Don’t have one.”

  “Concrete drill?”

  “Huh?”

  He nodded toward the pictures. “How’d you hang those?”

  “With those sticky things. Command Hooks, or whatever they’re called.”

  He tilted his head toward my artwork. “Those pictures will be on the floor before the sun sets.”

  I wasn’t an idiot, and I didn’t like being treated like one. “They’re designed for thirty pounds,” I said matter-of-factly. “I weighed the pictures. Twenty-four.”

  “Thirty pounds on a clean surface. A brick is basically compacted dirt. I’m surprised they’ve lasted this long.”

  “Oh.” I blushed heavily. I felt like a fool.

  “Give me five minutes,” he said. “I’ll be right back with some tools.”

  I wanted to object, but I didn’t. Seeing a man with power tools in his hand was a huge turn-on for me.

  “We’ll be here when you get back.” I looked at Holly. “At least I will be.”

  “I’ll be here,” Holly blurted. “Until we’re done.”

  Baker flashed a smile. “Be right back.”

  I assembled my best laser sharp glare and shot it at Holly.

  She gave me an innocent look. “What?”

  “Surprised you didn’t offer to show him your tits or something.”

  “He looks a lot better in person than he did from your window,” she said dreamily. “I love his hair.”

  “He’s. Off. Limits,” I said through my teeth.

  “You said you were just--”

  My face went hot as my temper flared. “Off limits. Off limits. He’s off. Fucking. Limits.”

  Her gaze dropped to my feet. “Ohhh Kaaay.”

  “I mean it,” I seethed.

  “Okay.”

  She fidgeted with my rolodex for a minute and then looked up. “Does he have any friends?”

  I gave her a look. “Does he have any friends that would want to fuck you is the question.”

  “That was rude.”

  “I’m mad at you right now,” I snapped back.

  “Why?”

  “Really? You were drooling.”

  “He’s cute.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry. Off limits. He’s yours.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “He’s mine.”

  As the words came out of my mouth, it dawned on me what I’d said. It was a false claim. Baker wasn’t mine. Not at all.

  Nor was I his.

  I feared I wanted all of that to change.

  TWENTY-FOUR - Baker

  Andy’s insistence that she stay in California only left me with one option: telling the club the truth. Telling the complete truth about how things happened with Andy seemed impossible. For me to say it, I had to believe it. Believing I allowed lust to lure me into fucking her still made no sense to me.

  While gathered in the clubhouse in a heated discussion about what we planned to do, the air between Cash and I thickened with tension.

  “There’s a big difference between killing a bitch on the street and murdering someone in a third-floor apartment next door.” I looked at each of the men. “People get away with random killings all the time. No one gets away with murder.”

  “As a matter of California law,” Tito said. “They’re both murder.”

  “You know what I mean,” I snapped back.

  I surveyed the group. Four of the men were in deep thought, seated at the couch. Cash, on the other hand, was pacing the floor nervously.

  “I vote we kill the bitch,” he hissed.

  “You’ve made yourself clear,” I said over my shoulder. “But, everyone has a voice.”

  Reno stood and began pacing the opposite side of the room. “Out of the blue, this bitch shows up. Just so happens she gets a job next door. Just so happens she’s from Indio, and she gets this job in San Diego. Just so happens our clubhouse is one brick wall away from her office. Just so happens she moves in one brick wall away from your crib. Too many coincidences if you ask me.”

  I alternated glances between Goose, Tito, and Ghost. “Anyone else have an opinion?”

  “Knock her out with a chloroform rag, put her in a wetsuit, and take her out to sea with a surfboard tethered to her leg,” Reno said before any of them could respond. “Sharks will eat most of her. It’ll look like a surfing accident.”

  “Trihalomethanes will show in the toxicology report,�
�� Tito said. “The cause of death would be drowning, at least initially. They’d determine she was unconscious from inhalation of trihalomethanes, though. They’d view it as murder for sure.”

  “Trihalo-what?” Reno asked.

  “Trihalomethanes. Chloroform is a trihalomethane. If she breathes enough of it to become unconscious, she’ll have it in her bloodstream.”

  “Got a better idea?” Reno asked.

  “I trust Baker,” Tito said. “He’s never led us astray.”

  “He’s thinking with his dick,” Cash snarled. “Not his brain.”

  I stood. “I’m only going to say this one more fucking time.” I glared at each of the men. “I saw a cute bitch out my window. I followed her next door. I fucked her in her office. She moved into Preston’s old place. I fucked her in there. Then, I stopped fucking her. A week later, Cash brings it to my attention that the girl I’ve been fucking is the girl from the bank. Her hair isn’t brown anymore, and it isn’t curly. It’s straight, and it’s blonde. I didn’t recognize her. What happened between us was nothing but sex.”

  Cash stopped pacing and locked eyes with me. “Died her hair and changed her look. Sounds like she’s working undercover.”

  “Believe me,” I said. “I’ve looked this thing over from all angles. The management company put out a request to fill the position that was vacated when Preston was arrested. She’d been unemployed for six months, lost her house and her car, and moved from Indio to San Diego to live with her cousin. She applied for the job. She was hired. She rides a fucking bicycle to work. It’s coincidental.”

  “She can’t recognize us,” Tito said. “We had masks. To think she knows who we are is paranoia.”

  “I’m not paranoid,” Cash spouted. “That bitch told me she was going to make sure I fried for robbing her. She’s here to make good on her word.”

  Ghost crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not looking to get life on the RICO act for an organized murder. I could do a dime on a bank robbery, though. Wouldn’t even be forty when I got out.”

  He’d made a valid point. If a member of a motorcycle club killed a potential witness to a crime, they’d get life in federal prison. Being convicted of the bank robbery would bring a prison sentence of between five and ten years.