BAKER (Devil's Disciples Book 1)(65)

His cell phone was in the front yard of his El Cajon home, right beside the driveway. They’d find it wiped clean, and with a dead battery. Our resident Brainiac, Tito, had performed a deep search of the device, finding no indication that he’d talked to anyone about me, the club, or his investigation.

I was confident the mess had been cleaned up, but my life would forever be stained from the events of that day.

The sound of the bell echoed beneath the mall’s concrete canopy.

Ding, ding, ding. Ding, ding, ding. Ding, ding ding.

Wearing a surf shop hoodie, I walked toward the red Salvation Army donation bucket. When I passed, I stepped in front of the bell toting woman, blocking her view of my intended offering.

I pulled my hand for inside the hoodie’s pocket, and dropped four five-ounce gold coins into the red canister. As they hit the bottom with a clank, she looked up.

“God bless you,” she said with a smile. “And, Merry Christmas.”

I gave a nod and ducked through the door. After making the same donation at each of the mall’s entrances, I drove to another location, five miles away.

Each holiday deposit would provide the recipient with roughly thirty thousand dollars. It wasn’t much, but by the end of the night, I would rid myself of close to a million dollars in gold.

It was never from the club’s take. The donations always came from my personal funds. The club’s take was to shield the men from prosecution, pay attorneys fees, and give them something to retire on when that day arrived.

It was a holiday ritual of mine. One that I’d done soon following my arrival to Southern California. Each holiday season I spent an entire day casting the coins with a mold and stamp I’d purchased in Monterrey, at an antique shop.

My charity didn’t right my wrongs, nor did I expect it to. But it was the main reason I did what I did. Over time, things somehow got out of whack, and our means and methods changed. I’d get back on track, somehow. It was going to take time and considerable planning, but it could be done.

Until that day came, I’d live with the knowledge that the swath of my scythe was wide.





FORTY-THREE - Andy





My Gala Christmas Bash was a flop. I learned a good portion of the tenants left to see family for the holidays, and many others simply weren’t as festive as I was. In summary, Stephen and Michael came by, Mort and Mister Greene paid a visit, and Viktor from 1C brought a bottle of vodka and stared at my tits for half an hour.

It was scheduled to end at midnight, but I had my doubts I’d be able to make it until then without throwing in the towel. About the time I was going to call it a night, the door opened. Holly walked in with a bottle wine in one hand, and a bottle of champagne in the other.

“Becky finally called me back. She’s staying with the kids until whenever.” She raised the wine. “Do you have an opener?”

“I have everything. Well, everything except for people.” I handed her the opener. “Let’s get drunk.”

She set the champagne aside and then tore at the foil covering. “Amen, sista.”

She had ditched the plaid for the night, and was wearing red dress that fit her quite well. Her massive boobs boiled out of the low-cut top, leaving little to the imagination. Had Viktor stayed, it may have been an interesting night for her.

She poured a glass and handed it to me. “Four more days.”

“It’s been a weird year. It doesn’t seem like Christmas.”

“We can’t afford to go visit,” she said, pouring her a glass of wine as she spoke. “Maybe next year.”

“It ought to be a good one for the kids this year. I got the little fuckers some pretty good stuff.”

She shot me a glare. “They’re not little fuckers.”

“They are. But, it’s okay.”

“Where’s Baker?”

“He should have been here by now.” I sipped my wine. “I don’t know.”

“Christmas never seems like Christmas here. It’s never cold. I like the weather here, but I like the Christmases back home.”

I did, too, but I’d never admit it. California had become my home. The beaches, palm trees, and warm weather lured me there. During eleven months of the year, I was satisfied I’d made the right decision. December left me feeling void of the joy that seemed to come with the cold weather, snow, and homes that were littered with ridiculous amounts of multi-colored lights.

Knock, knock...knock.

I turned toward the door. “Come in, Baker.”

He pushed the door open and stood there, grinning. Wearing black skinny jeans, black Chucks, a bright red blazer, and a red felt pimp hat with white fuzzy trim, he looked ridiculously cute.

“Hi, Holly,” he said with a tip of his hat. “Merry almost Christmas.”

He faced me and rolled the brim of his hat through his fingers, and then flipped it onto his head. “My dear.”

I raised my wine glass. “I like your outfit.”

He looked at Holly. “Coming, or going?”

She gulped her wine. “Just got here.”

“How long had you planned to stay?”

“Depends on how drunk I get.” She reached for the wine. “My babysitter can stay until tomorrow. Why?”

He adjusted his hat, pulling the brim a little lower. “Care to accompany us?”