Devil's Disciples MC (Box Set)

by Scott Hildreth

  I stared, wondering what in the hell I’d gotten myself into.

  The look on my face must have scared her. Her hand lowered a little. “I’m guessing you didn’t see the movie?”

  “What movie?”

  “Trolls? Justin Timberlake and Anna what’s-her-name. Kendrick, or whatever. Animated movies are a close second to old feature films.”

  I slapped my hand against hers. “No, I haven’t seen it.”

  “We’ll watch it together, sometime. Soon. You’ll do that with me. Wanna know why?”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because you love me,” she said. “And when two people are in love, they make sacrifices for each other.”

  “Is that how it works?” I asked.

  She nodded “Uh huh. I’m going to make one for you. A sacrifice.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Everyone deserves a second chance,” she said. “I’ll stomach Cash’s bad attitude until he accepts me. However long that takes.”

  155

  ALLY

  It had been two weeks since Goose and I declared our love for one another. Life was joyous at home. At the clubhouse, it was a different story.

  If there was one thing I learned to do throughout my career, it was act. So, I began to act like I enjoyed being in Cash’s company, even though it was obvious he didn’t enjoy being in mine.

  Hoping to bond with the overgrown child, I sat at the clubhouse’s snack-stained sectional instead of off to the side in a hard chair. The results were often frustrating, but almost always entertaining.

  For me, anyway.

  Positioned between Cash and Goose on the sofa, I listen to Baker as he instructed us on our next bank job.

  “Is there anything anyone feels like adding?” he asked.

  “I’ve got something,” I said.

  Baker nodded in my direction. “What’s that?”

  “If we continue with the cheerleader thing, there’ll be enough people that eventually report it that we’ll be known as the cheerleader bandits or some ridiculous shit. It isn’t the label that bothers me, it’s the cops looking for a cheerleader while they’re on patrol. After that first report of a cheerleader at a bank is given, the next time we pull up beside a cop and I’m wearing a cheerleader outfit, we’ll get got.”

  “What about waiters and waitresses,” Cash asked. “Or something like that? Act like we’re coming home from the bar?”

  Baker shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

  Cash slumped in his seat, obviously butt-hurt. “Why not?”

  “Because most waiters in this area wear black. I liked the cheerleader thing because anyone that pulled up alongside the car would recognize the driver as being a cheerleader. If they pulled up alongside a bunch of waiters wearing black, they’d think you’d just robbed a fucking bank.”

  I raised my index finger. “What about the guys wearing SDSU shirts while they’re on lookout, and when we’re done, they can take them off? We can paint their faces red and black. Underneath the shirts, they can have body paint?” I asked. “One guy with a red “S” painted on his chest, one has a black “D” another has a black “S”, and then a red “U”. I’ll paint my face half black, half red, and make my hair fire engine red? It’ll look like we just left a San Diego State University game?”

  “I like it,” Baker said. “Wearing the shirt while they’re on lookout will keep people from doing a double-take. In the car, they’ll stand out enough that people passing by will notice. Let’s plan on it.”

  “Just like that?” Cash huffed. “We’re painting red and black letters on our chests because she thinks it’s a good idea?”

  “It is a good idea,” Baker said.

  “I don’t like it,” Cash said.

  Baker shot him a glare. “Why not?”

  Cash sat up in his seat and shrugged. “Just don’t feel right. You don’t like red, remember?”

  “I’m the rabbit. There’s no red on me. I don’t give a shit.” Baker looked at the other three men. “Anyone else got a problem with it?”

  “Tell you what I got a problem with,” Reno said. “I got a problem with getting tossed in jail. I’ll paint myself pink if that’s what it takes to slip by the cops. Personally, I’m kind of pissed off we haven’t been doing shit like this all along. I’ll volunteer for the “D”.”

  “I’ll take an “S”,” Tito said.

  “I’ll take the other “S”,” Goose chimed.

  Baker gave Cash a nod. “Looks like you’ll be the “U”, Brother.”

  Cash grunted.

  “I’ll plan on bringing the body paint in here. We’ll do it right before we go. Be sure and shave those chests, fellas,” I said.

  “Anything else?” Baker asked.

  Other than the sound of Cash mumbling and indiscernible something, no one spoke.

  Baker studied the college football game schedule for a moment, and then looked up. “Let’s plan on this Friday.”

  We all stood. While Cash picked up the stray pieces of Chex Mix that he’d dropped in the couch, I noticed his wallet had fallen between the cushions of the couch.

  “Is that your wallet, Goose?” I asked.

  Goose reached for his back pocket and smirked at the same time. “Not mine.”

  I gestured toward the wallet. “Cash, is that yours?”

  He patted his hand against his pocket. His brow furrowed. He turned toward the couch. “I don’t understand what the fuck’s going on. This fucker keeps falling out of my pocket. I’ve never had this problem.”

  “Have you gained weight lately?” I asked.

  “What the fuck’s that got to do with anything?” he asked.

  “You could have a case of the high ass,” I said dryly.

  He looked at each of the guys. “What the fuck’s high ass?”

  “The top side of person’s butt gets big when they gain weight,” I explained. “They get that shelf thing going on. That added pooch just pokes your wallet right out of your pocket.”

  Cash looked at Tito. “You ever heard of high ass?”

  Tito was as sick of Cash’s shit as Goose and I were, and had admitted it on a few occasions.

  “Sure have,” Tito said. “It’s a condition one gets when they gain weight from a carb-rich diet. The top side of the Gluteus Medus and Gluteus Maximus muscles enlarge. Why?”

  Cash glanced over his shoulder and tried to get a glimpse of his butt. After spinning in a few circles no differently than a dog after his tail, he pointed his butt at Tito. “Does it look bigger than normal?”

  “Maybe a little. Have you been eating a lot of pasta?”

  “No more than normal,” Cash said.

  Tito shrugged. “Might want to lay off of it for a while.”

  Cash shoved his wallet deep into his pocket and shook his head. “It’s that fucking lasagna, I know it.”

  I craned my neck, looked at his butt, and whistled. “It’s something, that’s for sure.”

  156

  GOOSE

  Watching Ally work drew me to her more than any article of clothing or hairstyle ever could. I found it oddly attractive to watch her being so focused on something that a stick of dynamite exploding couldn’t take her mind from it.

  The look of satisfaction she wore after the dial finally clicked into place was payment enough for me. The money was nothing more than icing on the cake.

  She reached for the handle. As it began to spin, I clapped my hands together. “Six minutes, fifty seconds.”

  She grinned. “Getting better.”

  Her red and black body paint theme had Cash so pissed off he couldn’t see straight. I didn’t know if she suggested it because she thought it’d piss him off, or if she really believed the cheerleader thing could easily be overdone.

  When the handle came to a stop, Tito and I pulled against the door. It swung open, revealing what appeared to be several metal boxes stacked on the floor. One was set aside from the others, and it was
clearly marked “drawers” in black ink. The others appeared to have no markings.

  I stopped and stared. The boxes, roughly eighteen inches wide, three feet long, and six inches tall, looked like very large safe deposit boxes.

  “What the fuck are those?”

  Ally stepped past me. “Lockboxes.”

  Tito and I attempted to open them, only to find that they were, as Ally indicated, locked.

  I scanned the floor. “There’s twelve of these motherfuckers over here, and one over there.” I looked at Ally. “What do we do?”

  Tito hefted one to check the weight. “They’re about thirty, forty pounds apiece.”

  “Do we take ‘em, or just go?” I asked. “It’s going to be a clusterfuck loading them up. Fuck, there’s thirteen of ‘em. Who knows what’s in ‘em. Is it worth it?”

  “If they’re what I think they are,” Ally said. “We need to take them.”

  “What do you think they are?”

  “Someone’s planning on making a huge withdrawal tomorrow,” she said. “They’ve scheduled it in advance, and this is the pre-tallied withdrawal from the Federal reserve.”

  “These twelve boxes are full of money?”

  She nodded. “Banks lock large sums of money in lockboxes all the time. Especially if it’s scheduled to go out.”

  I held out my arms. “Load me up, Tito. We’ll hustle these fuckers to the car.”

  “No. First scan them for GPS devices.” She looked at Tito. “You’ve got your gadgets, right?”

  “I do.”

  “Scan them with an RF scanner and whatever else you have. Make sure neither the boxes or the money has a tracker.”

  Tito scanned each box with something that looked like a walkie-talkie. He looked at each of us. “They’re clean. We’re good to go.”

  “There’s no way we can get all of these in one load.” She looked the boxes over. “Hauling them from here to the car will take forever.”

  I forced a sigh. “What do you suggest?”

  “We’ll stack them all inside the door, first. Get Cash and Reno to help you two carry them to the car. I’ll get the liftgate open and situate them in the back. Two trips, no more than two boxes each. More than that, and someone will drop one.”

  “She’s got a good point,” Tito said.

  Without further discussion, Ally carried one of the boxes to the door.

  She was right. Stacking them inside the door would make our trips to the car shorter, minimizing our exposure in the parking lot. Tito and I followed her, fumbling to carry two boxes each.

  “Grab the…last two,” Tito heaved, nearly out of breath. “I’ll send…Reno a text.”

  With an already elevated heartrate, the smallest of tasks became difficult. While under duress, walking across the street was as exhausting as a five-mile run on a normal day. Ally’s recommendation to take no more than two boxes each was spot-on.

  I retrieved the last two boxes and paused to catch my breath. In an instant, Reno knocked on the door.

  “Night vision off,” Ally said. “It’ll blind you when you open that door, if you don’t.”

  We removed our gear and secured it in our backpacks. I pushed the door open. Reno stuck his head through the crack.

  “Two boxes each,” I said. “We’ll have to make two trips. They’re awkward and heavy.”

  With her backpack over her shoulder, Ally ducked through the doorway. “I’ll get the liftgate. Get the place wiped down, Tito.”

  We each grabbed two of the boxes and followed Ally the 150-foot distance to the rear of the car. Cash and Reno stepped into the bank as soon as we exited.

  After loading my two boxes into the cargo area, I turned toward the bank. Much to my surprise, Cash was stumbling toward the car, carrying four of the boxes at once.

  He was nearly half the distance to the SUV. With each step, the top three boxes slid a little further to the side. Another wavering step. They began to teeter. He attempted to tilt the load to one side. The weight shifted. He adjusted. The boxes, stacked to just under his chin, tilted the other direction.

  In the time it was taking him to steady his load, he could have made two trips.

  “God damn it, Cash,” I said through my teeth. “Stay where you are.”

  “I…I got ‘em.” He stammered.

  He paused. The sudden stop caused the top three boxes to slide forward. Then, in slow-motion, three of the four boxes came crashing onto the pavement with a loud clank!

  Exhausted, Cash followed, landing in a heap on the surface of the asphalt. The boxes slid across the parking lot, coming to a stop twenty feet away.

  “Motherfucker!” I said under my breath.

  I rushed to his side and stacked two of the boxes on one another. As I knelt to pick them up, I glared at him. “You get those, I’ll get these.”

  I rushed them to the car, fuming with anger the entire way. I shoved the two boxes bedside the others. “Stupid fucker.”

  Standing at the edge of the liftgate, Ally looked up. “It sounded like a train wreck. What happened?”

  “Cash.” I shook my head. “Never mind.”

  Out of breath, Cash stepped to my side. I turned toward the bank. When I returned with two more boxes, Tito was on his way to get the last box.

  Cash and Reno were standing beside Ally gawking at the boxes. I shoved my two boxes on top of the others. “What the fuck were you thinking, you stupid fuck? She said ‘no more than two boxes.’ Not four.”

  “Not now,” Ally barked. “Load up. As soon as Tito gets here, we’re gone.”

  “I could have carried them,” He said. “But I slipped.”

  I shook my head. “Coulda, woulda, shoulda. You’re a dip-shit.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Not. Now,” Ally insisted. “I’m not going to listen to it.”

  After Tito tossed in the last box, we removed our shirts and exposed our team spirit. Posing as San Diego State University football fans was a far cry from what I was used to, but I was willing to do whatever it took to evade capture.

  We took our positions in the car.

  “No arguing while I’m trying to drive,” Ally said. “I can’t think if you guys are arguing.”

  The Bank was in the perfect location. At the north side of San Diego, in Torrey Pines, it was mere feet off Carmel Mountain Road. All we had to do was drive a mile and a half, get on the 5, and head south. In fifteen minutes, we’d be in the clubhouse, counting money.

  We turned onto Carmel Mountain Road. Soon, Baker pulled in behind us.

  “I don’t know what’s in those boxes,” Reno said. “But there’s a lot of it, whatever it is.”

  Ally proceeded toward Ted Williams Freeway, which was our access to take the 5 southbound without sitting at traffic lights. Left turns while attempting to evade, according to Ally, were a no-no.

  Watching her drive was similar to seeing her manipulate the lock on a bank vault. Her eyes darted from the road ahead to the rearview mirror, then to each side view mirror.

  As if she was preprogrammed, Ally repeated the same process, over and over. Our heavy breathing was the only sound inside the vehicle. Seeming unaffected by it, she tapped her fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of an unknown song.

  “Fuck,” she whispered, her eyes locked on the rearview mirror. “Someone came in behind Baker.”

  “From where?” I asked.

  “Don’t turn around,” she demanded, her tone thick with authority. “Anyone. Eyes straight ahead. Until I say otherwise.”

  With her eyes fixed on the mirror, she began to push buttons on the steering wheel. In an almost robotic gesture, she blindly reached toward the console and pushed a button without so much as taking her eyes off the mirror.

  “What’s going—”

  “Quiet,” she snapped. “Nobody. Say. Anything.”

  Something was going on, and I had no idea what it was. She’d instructed each of us to stare straight ahead, yet her eyes were fixed o
n the mirror, which provided her a full view of whatever was behind us.

  “Come on, Baker. Come on,” she said beneath her breath. “Pick him up. Pick him up.”

  “Buckle up, boys,” she said. “Shit’s about to get—”

  The piercing sound of a siren caused me to nearly piss my pants. Red and blue lights illuminated the pitch-black sky.

  “—Real!” The car took off like it had been shot out of a cannon. “Reno!” She shouted. “Take the left window. Anything out that window I need to now about, tell me. Cash! Take the right. Keep your heads by the B pillars. Tito! Keep your head low. Goose! Recline your seat until your head is beside the B pillar. Keep your eyes on the road ahead. Anyone tries to come up on my right, let me know.”

  I had no idea what a B pillar was, but I reclined my seat and hoped like hell no one started shooting.

  “Everyone. When you can, get your weapons cocked and locked,” she said. “Make sure you’re on safety, and ready to go.”

  My throat went dry. I swallowed against it.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  As Ally took a sweeping right turn at the speed of sound, I reached for my Walther. The lights continued to flash behind us, eerily illuminated the interior of the SUV.

  Our entrance to the highway was a mile and a half ahead. We didn’t have much distance to lose the cop before we were going to have to slow down to get on the highway.

  My throat constricted so profoundly I could barely take a breath. Ally on the other hand, seemed calm, despite the fact that she was in a high-speed chase. The slight grin she wore led me to believe she was enjoying it.

  “We’re taking this entrance, fellas,” she said. “Hold on.”

  We were passing the on ramp to the 5, which was on our left. That particular entrance to the highway went north, not south. I glanced at the speedometer. We were going roughly 120 miles an hour and were steadily gaining speed.

  We were traveling three times the safe speed limit to take any ramp.

  “What entrance?!” I shouted.

  “This one!” Instead of slowing down for the corner, she punched the gas. The vehicle went into a four-wheel slide, gaining speed as it headed toward the ramp.