Page 30 of A Handsome Devil

“Whatcha doing?” I asked, breathing down his neck.

Clicking the pen, Truman sat down, flipping over what I realized was an actual blank postcard. “Erin, google that reporter’s snail address,” he commanded. I leaned low with palms against the table as I watched him print:

Dear Jack Hoffman,

We are the Undisputed Truth Club, here to rob sleazy drug dealers ruining the lives of our citizens.

He didn’t have much room left after that, so he added:

And I am Truman Oakley.

“These are prestamped,” he informed me, fluttering the card in my face.

My eyes actually teared up with pride. Gunning snatched the card from Truman, reading it aloud. “Dude! You rock! This is perfect!”

“You bad!” agreed Denmark.

I cupped his skull in my hand, nearly scouring his head with my knuckles as though an adorable boy. He had that kind of hair. I nearly whispered, “I love you,” thanking God that I caught myself in time. Plus, a soft knock on the door sounded.

We all froze. Probably thinking the same thing. How did Jack Hoffman find us so fast?

No one jumped to answer, so the guy on the other side said, “Motel.”

Guessing I was the leader of the club, I strode to open it. A dull-looking guy who said sincerely,

“Hey. I want you to know, I think you’re the guys we saw on TV. I don’t want to have to call the cops on you. I think what you’re doing is great. Robbing the rich, right?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Only we’re not giving to the poor. We need it to live.”

“And to escape,” said Truman, right behind me.

Denmark added, “We don’t want you to call the cops either.”

“Hey,” said the guy again. “I feel obligated to, ‘cause pretty much everyone in this building knows who you are. One of them’ll do it first if I don’t. I want to give you major notice to get the fuck out of here.”

I sighed heavily. Being on the run had its drawbacks. “What gave us away?” I gestured. “We have a girl with us.”

The guy chortled. “Well. Your beard and moustache, for one. I remember your face from record stores.”

Record stores? Now I did feel old. “All right. We’ll get the fuck out of here. Did we pay you?”

“You don’t need to pay. I’m just glad to host you for a few hours. Too bad you have to leave.”

“Yeah,” I said. “We understand.”

The motel guy had a devilish look now. “You go, Western Will-o’the- Wisp!” Becoming glum, he advised, “If I was you, I’d get rid of that Honda.”

His shining face was gone, and we were all stuck looking at each other. Shit. Scumsucking shit. We all had one question on our mind, and Erin was the first to ask,

“Now what do we do? We can’t stay in any motels, that’s for sure. They’ll just notice us again.”

Gunning agreed. “We’re easy pickings.”

Truman said, “But we want to nab that dickwipe Les Moore.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah, everyone grumbled, not too convincingly. Some outlaw club we were! So I slapped both Denmark and Truman on the shoulders—loudly.

“We heard what the guy said. We need to lose that Honda. You ready for that, Truman?”