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Chapter Two
Nick
Pee Bee was the club’s Sergeant-At-Arms. The enforcer. The position didn’t require him to be organized, and maybe that was a good thing, because it seemed he often fell short in that respect. Based on his lack of planning alone, I often wondered why both of us weren’t doing time in prison.
Serioustime.
“What do you mean, you hope he’s not home?”
It was midnight, and being dressed in black helped conceal us from the view of potential late night onlookers, but at six foot eight and 260 pounds, hiding Pee Bee entirely was like trying to cover up a circus elephant with a fucking cocktail napkin.
He turned to face me and shot me a confused stare. “It means I hope he’s not home, Crip.”
Positioned fifty feet behind the home we were planning on breaking into, I glared back at him. “After we crawled through a dozen back yards, waded through a fuckin’ river in the storm sewer, then hiked three fuckin’ miles you’re not sure if this prick’s gone?”
He pulled his backpack over his shoulders, removed a wire coat hanger, and shrugged. “Supposed to be at a wedding.”
“Supposed to be?”
He nodded an unconvincing nod. “That’s what I was told.”
My service as a Navy SEAL made our late night theft of two motorcycles simplistic in comparison to some of the missions I had been involved with. It did very little, however, to assure me that we weren’t going to be caught. “I hope your source was good.”
He straightened the wire into a four-foot-long hook. After a quick inspection of his break-in tool, he shoved a wooden wedge into his pocket and then shouldered the backpack. “Yeah, me too.”
Still positioned deep in the back yard, I watched the home for several long seconds. All of the windows were dark, and there were no flickering lights, which led me to believe no one was home watching television.
With slight reluctance, I decided to proceed. “Ready?”
He nodded. “Yep.”
I pointed toward the corner of the house. “We’ll go around the left side of the house, and I’ll stay beside the garage until you’re inside. After the door’s up, I’ll hop in there with ya. As soon as I do, pull the fucker closed until we get ‘em unlocked.”
He straightened the wire a little more, then held it at arm’s length for an inspection. “Got it.”
Breaking into a garage was easy. It took a coat hanger, someone with a steady hand, and less than ten seconds. The two motorcycles we were taking would be just as simple, requiring nothing more than a Bic pen to steal them.
After having a brother’s bike stolen from a bar one Saturday night, stealing the president of Satan’s Savages bikes in retribution was a risk I was willing to take. The president of most motorcycle clubs would demand that a prospect commit the theft as an initiation to the club.
But I wasn’t a typical president.
I’d never ask my brothers to do anything I wasn’t willing to do myself.
After cautiously walking around the front of the house, I stood watch while Pee Bee worked his magic. Five seconds later, and he quietly opened the garage door. After I ducked inside, he pulled the door down behind me.
The garage was empty short of the two motorcycles that were parked inside. “The Super Glide’s unlocked,” he said after reaching for the key switch.
I turned the key switch of the Softail. I wasn’t as lucky. “This one’s locked.”
I reached in my pocket, pulled out a Bic pen, and pushed the barrel of the pen into the round key opening. After a few seconds, the lock turned freely. “Good to go,” I said. “Open the door. We’ll take Oceanside back toward the freeway and meet at the shop.”
He grabbed the handle of the garage door. “Sounds good.”
I raised my leg over the seat, sat down, and started rolling the motorcycle toward the closed garage door. The sight of the door leading into the house swinging open made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
Someone shouted from just inside the house. “What in the fuck!?”
It wasn’t the Savage’s president, Whip, but the guy could have easily passed for his brother. I kept my eyes locked on him while trying to get off the bike, and soon decided it must have been Whip’s brother.
