BAKER (Devil's Disciples Book 1)(52)

I felt like I was sitting across the table from Doctor Phil. I wasn’t prepared to give his advice as much consideration as I wanted to, so I simply agreed with him. Kind of.

“I suppose we’ll see in time,” I said.

He stood. “I suppose we will.”

I walked into the living room. In complete contrast to Andy’s contemporarily furnished home, mine was decorated with an eclectic mix of old world meets modern society. A grandfather clock from the nineteenth century told the time. Music was often listened to on a forty-year-old turntable I’d purchased while on a trip to England.

My furniture was gathered one piece at a time, and none of it was bought new. Some was from the 1950’s, some from the 60’s, and a few pieces were modern. Quality and price didn’t always go hand in hand, and I made my selections based on a quality and a piece’s unique nature, regardless of price.

I walked to the buffet that was centered along the far wall. As I admired the craftmanship of the fifty-year-old piece, I noticed a chip of wood beneath it. Puzzled by where it might have come from, I bent down and studied it. When I stood, I hit the back of my head on the edge of the buffet.

Frustrated, I dragged my finger along the edge that nearly knocked me senseless. A piece of wire tucked neatly beneath the ornate wood came loose as my fingertip hit it. As it dangled into view, the hair on my neck stood on end.

I stood, faced the kitchen, and snapped my fingers.

Goose turned around.

I raised my index finger to my lips and then motioned for him to come to me. Without speaking, he obliged.

I knelt and pointed to the wire. At the tip was a what appeared to be a small microphone. The quality of the device led me to believe whoever had planted it wasn’t a private detective or an amateur of any sort.

It appeared the government’s finest were attempting to listen in on my life.

Goose inspected the listening device, crawled under the buffet, and removed it. Silently, we walked to the bathroom and flushed it down the toilet.

Not knowing if the home was fitted with more devices, we went to the elevator, down to the parking garage, and into the alley. As he nervously smoked a cigarette, we discussed what we’d found.

“You sure it wasn’t her?” he asked.

The possibility had crossed my mind, but only long enough for me to rule it out. “Positive,” I said.

“How positive?”

I glared at him.

“Just asking.” He took a drag, and then blew a ribbon of smoke into the air. “Wonder how long they’ve been listening.”

“Hard saying. Be a boring job listening to that recording. We don’t ever discuss anything in there.”

“What about the clubhouse? Your office?”

The thought anyone listening to the conversations in either of those locations made me cringe with fear. After a moment’s consideration, I looked at him with wonder in my eyes.

“Seems that they’ve had arrested us long ago if they were listening to our meetings.”

He took another drag, and then went wide-eyed. He coughed out the smoke, and gave me a bug-eyed look. “How’s the building set up? Who owns it? On paper?”

“My LLC owns the building. I lease the second floor from the LLC. City has it set up weird. Each floor is a different address.”

“But you lease the second floor in your name?”

I nodded. “Graham Baker.”

“They’ve got to get a search warrant to plant that shit.” He tossed his cigarette aside. “If they planted it on the up and up. Bet they got a warrant for the place in your name. The LLC is the deed holder to the building, and you’re the person who leases the second floor from the LLC?”

His logic was beginning to make sense. I hadn’t initially set up the LLC to offer me the protection it was offering me, but I was glad I’d done what I did when it came to ownership.

“Yeah,” I said. “But, on paper, I don’t own the LLC.”

“Who does?”

“My mom’s sister.”

“Karen? The gal who raised you?”

I nodded.

“Thank fucking God,” he said. “I feel better about everything now.”

He may have felt better, but I had a mind full of questions that I was afraid no one could answer.

I glanced at my watch and immediately began to laugh hysterically.

“What?” he asked.

I shook my head in sheer disbelief. “What day of the month is it?”

“Thirteenth,” he said. “Why?”

I didn’t bother responding.





THIRTY-THREE - Andy





Baker invited me over to listen to music and hang out. Spending the evening with him changed my Sunday from blah to something I was sure to cherish. Nervous about what the future held, but pleased at the growth we were both making, I sat cross-legged on the floor with my eyes closed and listened to the cleanliness of the music.

When the record stopped, I opened my eyes. “I’ve never enjoyed listening to the Rolling Stones until now. Holy crap. Listening to them on vinyl is awesome.” I opened my eyes.

Sitting on the floor in front of the turntable, he looked cute barefoot and in jeans. His head was bobbing ever so slightly, and his eyes remained closed. “Exile is a great album on vinyl. It’s got to be one of my all-time favorites.”