Page 63 of Devil’s Disciples

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Baker

Goose was the club’s chef, comedian, and weapons expert. Reno may have known everything about explosives, but Goose forgot more about guns than any of us would ever know. He was also the only member of the club with any relationship experience. Tall, lean, and extremely neat, he wore his hair close-cropped. He could pass for being one of the cities many Marines, but his dislike for the government prevented him from following that career path.

He lived in what was once a suburb of San Diego. On paper, La Mesa was a town of 50,000. In reality, the city had grown around it, leaving no indication of borders. It was one of few areas in the city where a man could afford to own a home. The one thousand square foot ranch homes in the area brought between six hundred thousand and a million dollars, depending on condition.

His home stood out as being the best manicured one on the entire block. In a yard suited for one palm tree, he had three. Low lying shrubs and other forms of vegetation filled the yard, giving it a colorful curb appeal unlike anything else for miles.

I parked my bike in his drive and sauntered up the stone walk. As I stepped onto the porch, his front door opened.

“Don’t tell me you were in the neighborhood.”

“Came by to talk,” I said. “Got a minute?”

“Got another fifty years if things go the way I’ve got ‘em planned.” He gestured toward the side of the house. “Take the gate to the back deck.”

I maneuvered through the forest of trees, to the gate leading to the back yard. When I reached for the handle, he pulled it open. He handed me a bottle of beer. “It’s hotter than fuck. Here.”

“Thanks.”

He turned toward the back porch. “What’s on your mind?”

His back yard was somewhat of a SoCal sanctuary. In a region where it never rained, the yards of most homes were decorated with rock and stone. Goose had somehow managed to convert his back yard to a thriving display of plant life suitable for the dry weather.

The smell of honeysuckle tickled my nose as I followed him to the covered deck.

He gestured to one of the four empty chairs that surrounded a small glass table. “Have a seat.”

I glanced around the yard. “Looks nice back here. What’s with the pile of wood?”

“Building an elevated platform.”

I took a drink of beer. “For what?”

“Because I don’t have one.”

I took another drink and then looked him over.

“Girl from the bank got ya troubled, huh?”

I pursed my lips and shook my head in denial. “Not so much, no.”

“What, then?”

I had no relationship experience whatsoever. All I’d ever done was fuck women. No live-ins. No girlfriends. No emotions. My choice of being an outlaw at an early age prevented me from trusting that a woman could ever be a part of my life. I’d succeeded at breaking the law for twenty years by doing two things: being single, and surrounding myself with men I could trust.

I needed advice on how to act like I liked someone.

“I was wondering how to make it look like I want to be around her without letting her know I’m really not serious.”

A confused look covered his face. “What?”

“I don’t want her to know that I’m not interested. So, I want to do shit that makes it seem like I want to be around her. You’re the only one with relationship experience, so here I am.”

He chuckled. “This is a bachelor pad in case you didn’t notice. I failed at my relationship, remember?”

“You married a chick with three kids,” I said. “Anyone would have failed at that.”