Page 68 of Devil’s Disciples

“Okay.”

He took a step toward me, paused, and took another. Then, he hugged me. He smelled magnificent. I enjoyed having him hold me, and he must have liked it too, because he held me for some time.

“Amos Lee,” he breathed against my neck. “I’ve always liked that song.”

The Wind, by Amos Lee had been playing from the living room’s speaker as he held me. I was surprised he recognized the artist, but was pleased that he did. Music was one more thing we seemed to have in common.

“It’s part of this playlist,” I said.

He released me and took a step back. After taking every inch of me in, he smiled. “I like your playlist.”

I took a step back and crossed my arms. In dramatic fashion, I dragged my eyes up and down his well-dressed frame. Then, I looked him dead in the eyes. “I like your playlist, too.”

27

Baker

Cash flopped into the chair across from me and scratched the sides of his head with his fingertips. After making himself look like a young dark-haired version of Albert Einstein, he leaned onto the edge of my desk. “What’d you make of that bullshit in that article?”

He was referencing a newspaper article about the jewelry store robbery in Rainbow. According to the story, an undisclosed amount of jewelry and gemstones were taken in the heist. There was no mention whatsoever of the cash or gold.

“They report the information they’re given.”

He straightened his posture and gave me a confused look. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“When a drug dealer gets busted,” I explained. “The cops display everything that’s seized on a bunch of folding tables. They have a news conference and show the guns, cars, cash and who knows what else. They’ll make it sound better than reality. Last night at just after midnight, a Mister Hector Agriaza was apprehended in his home. Ten million in cash, five million in blow, and a three-million-dollar car collection were seized. You can look at the fruits of their seizure on display. With a deal like this, they simply report what Pat told them was taken.”

“So, you think Pat failed to mention the gold and cash?”

“I know he failed to mention it. He couldn’t claim it, because he doesn’t report it on his taxes. If he reported it, the IRS would say, wait a fucking minute, asshole. You had how much money in cash and gold? You sure as fuck didn’t report it as income.”

“Makes sense, I guess.” He glanced over each shoulder and then leaned toward me. “So, when are you thinking you’ll have a total?”

“As soon as you turds get done with all that jewelry.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m ready to say fuck it and toss that shit. Just be done with it. It’s not easy getting all that shit torn apart.”

“It’s worth way too much to toss.”

The four-hundred-ounce gold bars we’d taken had a spot value of over six million dollars. It took the six of us an entire day to sort, categorize, and count the cash, which amounted to over two million. The jewelry was being broken down, separating the gemstones from the gold. The gold would then be melted, making identification of the jewelry impossible.

The gemstones, including diamonds, would be tossed into the ocean. Certified gemstones, contrary to what was depicted in movies, could be traced as easily as a fingerprint.

After the club took its cut of forty percent, each man would be awarded roughly eight hundred thousand dollars. No one would get a cent, however, until the take from the job was totaled, right down to the penny.

He clapped his hands. “I’m wanting to get to that million mark.”

“You’re there,” I said. “And then some.”

“No. I mean in reality. Right now, it’s in theory, or whatever.”

“Has the club ever fucked you out of anything?”

He coughed out a laugh and pushed himself up from his seated position. He folded his arms over his chest and gave me a shitty look. “Yeah.”

I stood and gave him an equally shitty look. “When?”

“The fifty-three thousand dollars you took from me when I accidentally shot at that bitch you’re keeping an eye on.”