Page 428 of Devil’s Disciples

She tossed Cash the wallet without responding. As she strolled in my direction, she pulled a business card from her back pocket and handed it to Baker. “This is the cop doing the investigation. That might come in handy at some point.”

“You actually talked to the cops?” I asked. “Are you crazy?”

“I couldn’t help it,” she said. “The asshole came up to me and started asking questions. I told him I saw a black SUV being chased by the cops, and I wondered what was going on. Told him I was headed to Del Mar Heights when I saw it happen. Said when I was on my way back, I saw all the lights, and thought I’d see what was going on.”

Baker looked at the business card. “Did you give them a description of the criminals?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I told ‘em it was a bunch of pasty-faced high school kids.”

Baker chuckled and patted her on the back. “I appreciate everything. We’d have been fucked if the cops found that wallet.”

“Agree with you on that one, Boss. And, no, I didn’t tell them shit. I said I couldn’t see anything other than the black SUV. I took his card and said if I thought of anything, I’d let him know. Before you ask, I didn’t give him my name, and I backed out of there, so he couldn’t get my plate number.”

“You don’t have a front plate on your car?” Baker asked.

“I’ve got Connecticut plates. My car’s exempt from having two. It’s an antique with no place to put it.”

“Good work,” Baker said.

Cash looked through his wallet. Upon satisfying himself that everything was there, he shoved it deep into his front pocket. “I’m not carrying this fucker in my back pocket anymore. I can tell you that.”

“You ever carry it to a job again, and I’ll see to it that you’re scratching your unemployed ass,” Baker warned.

Ally kissed me in passing. She looked at the boxes. “Holy crap. What have you fuckers been doing?”

“They’re impossible to drill,” Cash said. “We can’t cut ‘em with the plasma, or we’ll torch the money. Gotta drill ‘em. We’ve only got one drill bit that’ll work, so we’re taking turns.”

“Pull ‘em,” she said. “With a slide hammer.”

Cash gave her a puzzled look. “A what?”

“Slide hammer.” She glanced in Baker’s direction. “You’ve got a slide hammer, don’t you?”

Baker shrugged. “I don’t have any idea.”

She looked at me. “Did Ghost build the Shelby in the garage downstairs?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Is his tool box still down there?”

“It’s the big red one,” I said.

“Key?”

“It’s unlocked.”

She got on the elevator and returned in a few minutes with a slide hammer. She situated the twelve boxes so the locks were all facing her. Five minutes later, she was done.

She tossed the last lock onto the table. “That, gentlemen, is how a locksmith pulls a lock.”

“I’m still waiting for one of these to have a bomb in it.” Baker’s eyes darted between the boxes. “Something’s going to happen, I know it. Red getaway car. Thirteen boxes. Dropped wallet. That’s not the end of it, I’m sure.”

Ally shielded her eyes with her hand, jokingly protecting herself from the potential bomb blast Baker spoke of. She flipped the lids of the boxes open.

“There,” she said. “I’m not superstitious.”

The five of us stared at the boxes in disbelief.