Page 397 of Devil’s Disciples

“Fifteen minutes. Give, or take.”

“Holy shit,” he said.

I grinned a guilty smile. “I’ve got a gift.”

“I’d fucking say so,” he said. “That’s impressive.”

“Thank you.”

“What was in it?” he asked.

Showing him would fill him with the same elation I felt when opening it. “How about I just show you? After we’re done talking?”

“That’ll work.”

He turned to face the beach. He rubbed his head with his palms. Frantically. After a moment, he glanced over his right shoulder. “How’d you find out about this guy?”

I knew it would come down to that. This is where things got sticky. Porter told me about the job in confidence. Because he trusted me. I had no idea that he was planning the heist with a group. He hadn’t mentioned being part of a group, club, or crew. After his death, I looked at the job as available.

Furthermore, he hadn’t told me about everything. He mentioned the city, what the man did for a living, and the size of his home. It required a considerable amount of work and research on my part to find him.

Telling Goose how I learned of the job would go against the very code that I’d just sworn to uphold.

“I can’t say,” I said. “The certain someone who told me was one of us. A thief. If I divulge that information, it will go against the very code that I just swore to uphold.”

His lips pursed. He looked away and then met my gaze. “Did that certain someone tell you about it in the diner?”

I considered his question for a moment and found no harm in answering it. “He did.”

He nodded. “You were of the opinion it was a solo project?”

“I was.”

His gaze fell to his feet. “Fair enough.”

“Are you mad?”

He looked up. “Mad?” No. I’m not mad. I’m frustrated about last night. Fucking cops nearly got us. Chased us for a mile on the twisting roads out of that neighborhood. Cash can’t drive to save his fucking ass, and we damned near hit a tree. Luckily, the cop hit the tree that we missed. If it wasn’t for that, I’d be calling the diner and having that George fella write me a note on the board to have you come bail me out of jail.”

“None of you guys are good drivers?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Ghost was. We’re good riders, not good drivers. We do small jobs on our bikes. Big ones, we take an SUV.”

“What kind of SUV?”

“BMW,” he said.

“X5M?” I asked.

“Sounds right. Fuck, I don’t know. Why?”

“Just wondering. If you want to go fast in an SUV, that’s a great choice. About as fast as it gets. Five hundred sixty-seven horsepower.”

He looked me over. “You know quite a bit about cars, huh?”

I shrugged. “Compared to most, I suppose.”

“What?” he laughed a dry laugh. “Was your dad a mechanic, too?”