Devil's Disciples MC (Box Set)

by Scott Hildreth

  “What did you offer the conversation?”

  I let out a sigh. “Sidewalk sex.”

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Didn’t want to tell them about bedroom sex? Wasn’t good enough for you?”

  I paused, cocked my hip, and shot him an evil-eyed stare. “The bedroom sex is the best, but it’s between you and me. It’s none of their business.”

  “What’s the difference between bedroom sex and sidewalk sex, in the grand scheme of things?”

  I thought about it for a moment. “It’s kind of like giving something away, I guess. If something’s valuable to me, I don’t want to give it away. Telling a story is like giving something to someone. Giving them a part of your life. If something’s valuable to me—really valuable—I don’t want to share it.”

  “So, the bedroom sex is valuable stuff?”

  “Priceless,” I replied.

  He grinned. “I like you.”

  “I like you, too.”

  “C’mon.” He tilted his head toward his motorcycle. “Let’s go to this party and make some memories we can share, and a few that we can’t.”

  188

  RENO

  There was a DJ, a makeshift dance floor identified by a string of lights, a portable bar complete with bartenders, and a keg of beer at each corner of the roof.

  Goose’s home was on the beach in Mission Bay. His means of passing time was growing flowers, and his roof was his sanctuary. Gorgeously decorated with colorful species and varieties that I could in no way identify, the space looked like a botanical garden.

  A botanical garden filled with drunken bikers.

  I walked up behind Carma, who was gathered with the girls telling stories. I gestured toward a group of men who were gathered around a keg. “Come over here for a minute when you’re done, I want to introduce you to some of the other fellas.”

  She stutter-stepped away from the girls as if I was dragging her away against her will. Then, she waved like she’s never see them again. “I really like everyone,” she said. “I’m so glad they’re accepting me.”

  “You’re easy to like.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You are. You’re personable, kind, and clever. It’s easy to get someone to be one of those things, but not all three.”

  She smiled. “Thank you.”

  “These guys are known as being hard-core as hell,” I forewarned her. “But they’re not all that way. Just like any other group, some are good, and some, I’m sure, are bad. These fellas are good as gold.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Hells Angels.”

  She stopped in her tracks.

  “What?”

  She swallowed hard. “They come into the restaurant all the time. They’re drunk and rude, and they make a huge mess and leave a dollar in change for a tip.”

  I shook my head. “Not these guys. If it is them, tell me.”

  “Believe me, you’ll know. I cringe when they come in.”

  With some reluctance, she followed me to the keg at the far end of the roof. When we got to it, Bama turned around.

  He raised his hand to shoulder height and opened his palm. “How’s my favorite explosives expert?”

  “Doing well.” I slapped my hand against his and pulled him into me for a bro-hug. After a pat on the back, I released him. “Want to introduce you to someone.”

  He stroked his long gray beard and then wiped his palm on his jeans. He extended his hand. “Bama.”

  “I’m Carma,” she said with a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Slacker, Rebound, turn around,” he said. “This is Carma. She’s Reno’s…”

  “Ol’ Lady,” I said.

  “Ol’ Lady,” he repeated.

  Rebound, who could double for Pee Bee, turned around and grinned. “You get a good look at this fella before you agreed to be with him?”

  Carma gave him a look. “Excuse me?”

  He swiped his shoulder-length hair away from his face and extended his hand. “He’s uglier than hell. Just seems strange seeing someone as pretty as you with a turd like him.”

  I punched him in the arm hard enough to knock him off-balance. “Fuck you, Rebound.”

  He let out a low laugh and shook her hand. “Just kiddin’. He’s one hell of a good man. Pleasure to meet you.”

  She gave a nod. “Nice to meet you, too.”

  Slacker nudged rebound to the side and wiped his hand against his tattered jeans and then offered it. “Slacker,” he said. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  Slacker was a former Marine, tall, and built like Ghost was built—like a weight lifter. He, no differently than Crip and me, was disgusted with the government’s treatment of returning war vets. His decision to ride with the red and white was a result of that disgust.

  Carma shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

  “She’s got to leave early, for work,” I explained. “She’ll be back later, but I didn’t know if you’d still be here. Just wanted you to meet.”

  “We’ll be here until the fat lady sings,” Bama said, raising his glass of beer. “Rumor has it that this fella’s a hell of a cook.”

  “World class,” I said.

  “Really?” Carma asked.

  “You’ll find out pretty quick. He cooked two hogs, a dozen briskets, and a dozen chickens. Grilled octopus, too.”

  Bama shook his head. “I’m not eating tentacles.”

  “You ever tried it?” Carma asked. “It’s one of my mother’s specialties. She loves it.”

  Bama looked her up and down. “Can’t say I have, but I’m guessing by the way you’re looking at me that you must like it.”

  “If it’s cooked properly, it’s fantastic.”

  “I wouldn’t know a properly cooked octopus from a fucked up one,” he said. “Pardon my French.”

  “Fucked up ones taste pretty fucked up,” Carma said.

  Bama laughed and then patted my shoulder. “I like her.” He looked at Carma. “I like you.”

  She smiled. “I like you, too.”

  “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I try cooked octo-anything,” Bama said, directing his comment to Carma. “You can have all of it, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “You don’t know what you’re missing out on,” Carma teased.

  He chuckled. “Lived half a century without it, doubt I’ll change my mind.”

  “Well,” I said. “We won’t keep you. She’ll be back later tonight.”

  “I’ll save her a tentacle,” Bama said with a laugh. “I’m sure there’ll be a mad dash by all these folks to get some.”

  “You’d do that for me,” Carma said.

  Bama nodded. “Will do.”

  “Awwe, thanks.”

  After Slacker and Rebound expressed niceties, we meandered back to where the women were gathered.

  “Leave in half an hour?” I asked.

  Carma checked her watch. She forced a sigh. “I guess so.”

  I left her with the women and was headed across the roof to where the Devil’s Disciples and Filthy Fuckers were gathered. Just before reaching the group, my phone buzzed.

  Until I met Carma, when my phone rang, I knew who it was without looking.

  My mother.

  When it rang now, it was one of three people. My mother, Carma, or Manos.

  I looked at Carma. She was talking to Kimberly.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket and looked at the screen.

  It wasn’t my mother.

  Fuck.

  I stepped away from everyone and answered the phone. “How’s it hanging Amigo?’

  “Come geet your chit out from beneath my carport,” Manos said, giggling as he spoke. “I need the room for my nuevo scooter.”

  “When do you want this to happen?”

  “Needs to be tonight,” he replied. “Or someone might take it. See you in an hour.”

  He hung up.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  There was no indicati
on that we needed to meet. No warning. No preparation. I didn’t have five million fucking dollars ready to go, either.

  Baker was going to be pissed off, I knew that much.

  Crip would be, too.

  I glanced at Carma. She was laughing so hard she could barely catch her breath. I wasn’t about to tell her what was happening. Having her worry about Angel being in the country wasn’t something I wanted to put her through.

  I faced the group, drew a breath, and walked to Baker’s side. “Manos just called. I need to be there in an hour.” I looked at Crip. “You need to call the cop and tell him the same thing. Manos place, one hour.”

  “Fine fucking time to do this deal, huh?” Crip complained. “That cocksucker. Did you tell him we had a party to attend?”

  “Didn’t get a chance,” I replied. “Just like always, the fucker hung up. He probably does this just to make sure we’re not cops.”

  “What about the money?” Baker asked.

  “I’ll be needing it,” I said. “Five million.”

  “But we’ll get it back?”

  “Yeah. As soon as the cops get him, we’ll get it back. We talked about this, Baker. Don’t be a bitch about it. I don’t like it, either.”

  “I was just asking, asshole.”

  I looked at Crip. “You’ll probably need to call your cop buddy now and set everything up with him. I’ll take Carma to work, drop her off, and meet you at Manos’ place. Between now and when you head that direction,” I looked at Baker. “You’ll need to get the money from Baker.”

  “To make this deal go without a hitch,” Crip said. “We’re going to have to load up the dope and haul it out of there. I can’t get 500 kilos on my bike.”

  “Take the Beamer,” Goose said. “Haul the money in it, and load the dope in it, too. It’s got tinted windows at least. Back seat folds down, too.”

  “Still got a throw-away tag?”

  “Probably have a few that have been turned in as stolen,” he said. “But they can’t be traced to us, if that’s your concern.”

  “That’s my only concern.”

  “Great,” Crip said. “A red eight hundred horsepower BMW SUV sitting on twenty-two-inch race wheels with stolen plates and five hundred kilos of cocaine in the back. Getting through this night without going to jail will be a trick in itself, won’t it?”

  He was right.

  The entire thing was a recipe for disaster.

  189

  CARMA

  Riding to work on the back of Reno’s motorcycle made me feel invincible. I loved riding on it anyway, but riding to work was a different story, altogether. I like the thought of Marta seeing me pull into the parking lot on it.

  I got off, took off my helmet, and handed it to Reno. Grateful for the gorgeous day, the good company, and the great riding, I gave Reno a kiss and took a step back.

  “See you at ten?”

  “We had a club emergency come up,” he said. “I don’t think ten will be a problem, but if it becomes one, I’ll send you a text. I may need to pick you up a few minutes later, from your house.”

  I mentally cringed at the thought of him picking me up at home. My mother detested motorcycles. She felt they were unsafe. Nevertheless, sooner or later, it had to happen. I forced myself to smile. “Okay, just let me know.”

  I struggled to open the saddlebag and get my clothes but couldn’t figure out the latch.

  “Here,” he said, unlocking the bag with a flick of his thumb. “Let me get that, they’re tricky.”

  “You’ll have to show me, sometime.”

  He smiled. “I will.”

  His smile wasn’t normal. It seemed a bit off.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked.

  “Everything will be just fine.”

  The last time he said that, everything was fine. I trusted this time would be no different. I kissed him again. “See you at ten.”

  A typical Saturday night followed. Sporadic periods of being busy were mixed with lulls of an empty dining area. With me anxious to get back to the party and see my new friends, the night seemed to drag on forever.

  Then, it was finally over. After Luiz left, I checked my phone.

  I had no messages from Reno. I told myself he was on his motorcycle and couldn’t text me. At ten after ten, I began to pace the floor nervously.

  For the next few minutes, I stood at the window and peered toward the highway, hoping each headlight that I saw was his. After a dozen headlights that weren’t, I was frustrated to the point of giving up.

  Disappointed, I decided to walk home.

  In the dark.

  Alone.

  190

  RENO

  Alacrán insisted that the money be counted before we proceeded with anything. While Crip and I waited for him to declare that we were golden, Manos paced the floor nervously.

  “You alright?” I asked. “You seem nervous as fuck.”

  “Hoping jer mahney is okay, Amigo.”

  “I told you there’s five million there,” I insisted. “The fact that he’s back there with those two goons counting it pisses me off, to be honest. I’m not going to weigh the product. Do you know why?”

  He stopped pacing and looked at me. “Porqué, Amigo?”

  “Because I trust you.”

  He started pacing again. “Gracias, Amigo.”

  “But you don’t trust me,” I complained, chasing him with my eyes as he went from one edge of the room to the other. “This is a one-sided affair.”

  “I trust jew, Amigo.” He paused and then shrugged. “Angel? Maybe no. I’m sorry, Meester Wood. Maybe next time things will be deef-rent.”

  I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was after eight o’ clock. Pissed beyond words, and worried that I was going to be late to pick up Carma, I looked at Manos and let out an exaggerated sigh.

  “Stop pacing the goddamned floor! You’re driving me nuts,” I complained. I glanced toward the corridor that Alacrán had disappeared into. “What the fuck is he doing back there?”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets. “The macheen is slow, Meester Wood. It takes time.”

  “I could have counted that shit by hand,” I insisted. “This is bullshit.”

  At eight forty-five, Alacrán emerged from the rear of the house no differently than he left, expressionless. When he got within speaking distance, he pulled his hand from his pocket and extended it. Pinched between his fingers were a few hundred-dollar bills.

  “You were two hundred dollars rich, Mister Tiddlewood.”

  I took the money from his grasp. “Better to be heavy than light.”

  He crossed his arms. “I have a question, Mister Tiddlewood.”

  I crossed mine. “I’ll try to have an answer.”

  “Do you realize since you met El Pollo, I haven’t seen him?” He turned up both palms and gave a half-assed shrug. “No one has seen him?”

  My butthole puckered just a little. I tried my best to seem unaffected by his revelation. “You can add me to that fucking list, because I haven’t seen that lying bastard, either. It’s the entire reason I’m here, Mister Ramirez. He made promises he didn’t keep. Those unkept promises brought me here.”

  His gaze narrowed a little. “What do you think happened to him?”

  I didn’t like where the conversation was headed. “Do you want me to guess?”

  He gave a slight nod. “Entertain me.”

  “Entertain you?” I asked. “I could give you my best card trick if Bobby has a deck of cards. I left mine at home.”

  He didn’t so much as crack a smile. “Guess, Mister Tiddlewood.”

  Fifty kilos at fifteen grand each would be seven hundred and fifty grand—if we had purchased the cocaine from El Pollo at a reasonable rate. Considering the size of the shipment, fifteen grand a kilo seemed reasonable.

  “My guess is this.” I raised my index finger. “He took the seven hundred and fifty grand I gave him and disappeared.”

  Maintaining
his stern look, he continued. “When you met to make the previous purchase, where did you meet?”

  My interrogation and negotiating training in the military taught me when dealing with men like Alacrán, it was always best to tell the closest thing to the truth as possible. Considering that El Pollo was scheduled to meet someone at the restaurant, I decided to tell the truth and hope the line of questioning stopped.

  “At a restaurant. In the parking lot.”

  His look softened. “Did you eat there?”

  My vision narrowed, leaving him as the only object in my line of sight. I wished I had my gun, and further wished Crip had his. “I did,” I responded. “The enchilada dinner and a taco. Why?”

  “I was just wondering if you were inside with him,” he responded. “Our mutual friend was supposed to bring me something from the restaurant, but he never returned.”

  My skin began to crawl.

  “He didn’t eat with me, no. There’s plenty of good Mexican joints close,” I said, trying to keep from losing my composure. “After we’re done here, I can take you for dinner, if you like. Whatever he’s bringing you is damned sure cold and rotten by now.”

  “It wasn’t food I hoped for.” He uncrossed his arms and pushed his hands into his pockets. He nodded toward the door. “Hopefully tonight will be more rewarding. Shall we get you loaded, so you can go on with your night?”

  His remark could have been taken many ways. I wanted to put a bullet in his head and end any possibility of him harming Carma ever again.

  I glanced at the clock.

  It was ten past nine.

  He knew where Carma worked. I couldn’t allow him to leave before she got off work. I couldn’t take the risk. He very well may have been planning on stopping by there before he went back to Mexico. For that matter, he could have men waiting there for her to leave, no differently than he did with El Pollo.

  I had to at least keep him past ten o’ clock. Even then, I feared it wouldn’t be enough. I needed to do whatever I must to keep her safe without dying myself.

  My mind began to race. Although I’d promised to text Carma, I left my phone with Goose, knowing Alacrán may attempt to search us again. Crip brought a burner phone hidden in the car. We intended to use it to communicate with the cop, who was waiting patiently two blocks away. I had no idea what Carma’s number was, I’d done nothing more than have her program her information into my phone.