BAKER (Devil's Disciples Book 1)(35)

Our camouflaged faces and black coveralls made us stand out like Ninjas in a Neman Marcus. Within seconds, the four of us were out of sight – huddled in the narrow corridor that led to the vault.

Goose looked at the vault’s steel door and then at Tito. “Go through it with the plasma cutter?”

Tito handed him a sledge hammer. “Plasma cutter will set off the sprinkler system. The flow sensors will activate an alarm at the fire station. We’ll go in through the block wall behind you.”

He removed another hammer from the long canvas bag, handed it to Ghost, and then checked his watch. “Seven minutes.”

I grabbed the last hammer and joined the other two in their effort to break through the eight-inch-thick concrete block wall. Like convicts on an Alabama chain gang, we took turns swinging the hammers into the exact same location on the wall.

After what seemed like an hour of pounding, we’d made no progress whatsoever.

“Six,” Tito barked over the commotion.

We swung the twenty-pound chunks of steel with such force that the floor beneath us shook each time they slammed into the wall. Just as Tito belched out the five-minute warning, a section of wall gave way.

Seeing it energized me. I swung the hammer into the weakened spot, moving it an inch upon impact. When I lifted the hammer, Ghost’s came crashing down, moving the section two inches. Then Goose’s slammed into it, sending large chunks of concrete flying into the adjoining room.

I swung the hammer a foot above the opening. A two-foot square of concrete disintegrated. After Ghost and Goose took a swing, a four-foot by three-foot void was staring back at us.

Tito looked at his watch. “Four and a half.” He gestured toward the opening. “Let me take a look.”

He got on his knees, looked inside the room with a flash light, and then stood. His eyes were as wide as saucers. “Jesus.”

“Jesus what?” I asked. “Are we clear?”

He nodded slowly. “There’s nothing in there.”

“There’s nothing in there?” I shouted. “What the fuck are you talking about? Nothing?”

“No motion sensors,” he said. “But there’s no way we’ll get everything out. That room’s tiny, and it’s packed. Fur coats, televisions, there’s even artwork.”

I motioned toward the opening. “Goose, Ghost, get in there. Goose hands to Ghost, Ghost through the opening to me, and I’ll give it to you, Tito. Get moving, fellas.”

After Tito handed them flashlights, Ghost and Goose disappeared through the hole.

I heard Ghost whistle through his teeth and then give his opinion. “Holy fuck.”

“Stop gawking and start passing shit out here,” I said through my teeth.

Goose’s head emerged through the opening. “Two small safes. Both steel. Need to torch holes in the top. We good?”

I looked at Tito. “You hear that?”

He exhaled slowly and then clenched his jaw. “Make it quick, fan the smoke, and keep your fingers crossed.”

I’d be damned we were going to take the risk for fur coats, televisions, and artwork. I looked at Tito and raised my eyebrows. “We gonna be alright?”

“The sprinkler heads are activated by temperature or smoke. Temperature won’t be a problem, so as long as the smoke doesn’t get to them, we’re good.”

I extended my arm. “Hand me the torch.”

Tito handed the portable torch to me, and then a pair of goggles. I pushed the equipment through the hole. “Brother Ghost, take off that shirt and fan that motherfucker like your life depends on it.”

“Roger that, Bake.”

Light from the flame flickered through the opening as the sound of the torch cutting steel hissed in the background. With my asshole puckered and my muscles tense, I waited for the fire sprinklers to engage, the cops to show up, or the fire department to come crashing through the front door.

“Three and fifty,” Tito said.

My bowels ached from the nervous tension. As I counted silently to calm myself, the sound of Goose’s voice broke the eerie silence.

“We’re in,” he shouted. “So far, we’re good.”

In a matter of seconds, three gold bars were placed at my feet. It was one and a half million dollars’ worth of gold. I picked up two of them and grinned to myself at their weight.

I refrained from expressing emotion as I handed them to Tito. “No more than eight bars to a bag.”

“Got it, Boss.”

I picked up the third. Before I handed it to Tito, the clank from three more being placed at my feet caught my attention. My heart began to race at the thought of making a three-million-dollar haul. I picked up one of the three and handed Tito the two bars.

Before I grabbed the remaining two, there was another clank. Then another. And, another.

I looked down.

Five bars were on the floor. My heart raced as I did the math in my head.

Jesus.

Four and a half million.

I knelt and peered into the dimly lit vault. “How many more bars?”

“Three,” Goose said. “And a hell of a lot of cash. And jewelry.”

“We’ve got two and thirty,” Tito said.

“Two and a half, fellas,” I shouted through the hole. “Let’s get to cracking.”