Page 188 of Devil’s Disciples

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Baker asked.

I tossed the stud finder to Baker.

“Watch this.” I thrust my fist into the sheetrock. Instead of plowing through it completely, it penetrated the sheetrock and stopped. Again, and again, I punched, until I could grasp the loosened piece.

I pulled it away from the wall, leaving a six-inch irregular shaped opening in the wall. Immediately behind it was a sheet of cellophane.

I glanced over my shoulder and grinned.

“What is it?” Baker asked.

“It’s my new house on the beach,” I said with a smile.

I pulled my knife from my pocket and excitedly slit the cellophane. After pulling it open and peering inside, I pumped my fist in the air.

“Hundred-dollar bills, mothafuckas!” I shouted. “The wall’s full of ‘em.”

Baker hopped onto the bed and began frantically pulling sheetrock off the wall. Behind each section, cellophane-wrapped money looked back at him.

“Fuck,” he said. “This is going to be huge.”

He looked at me. “Good thinking, Cash.”

“I had to make up for a bad month,” I said.

Baker chuckled and slapped his hand against my shoulder. “This ought to do it.”

Like men possessed, two of us swung sledgehammers while the other two ripped sheetrock from the walls. An hour later, we had so much money removed from the walls that I questioned how much of it could fit in Ghost’s SUV.

The room looked like a demolition crew of a home makeover show had gone nuts in it. Bare wall studs stood where the bed’s headboard once was, and the floor was littered with chunks of sheetrock. The entire room was covered in a film of white dust.

I kicked the stack of money. “How much do you think this is?”

“Four point five cubic feet per million,” Tito said. “For hundred-dollar bills.”

I waved my hands over the mound of money. “How many cubic feet is this?”

He shrugged. “Sixty. Maybe eighty.”

Baker looked at Tito. “Twenty million?”

Tito nodded and then studied the massive pile of money. “Back of the SUV will hold thirty-five cubic feet. We’re either going to have to leave some of it or steal one of his vehicles.”

“We’re not stealing a car,” Baker said. “That’s a guarantee of getting caught.”

“I’ll steal one of ‘em,” I said.

“No, you won’t,” Baker said. “We’ll either load it up, or we’ll make two trips.”

“It’s six hours round trip,” I reminded him. “It’ll be morning before we can get back here.”

Baker looked at the money, and then shook his head. “Fuck.”

“Wrap it in a blanket, and put it on top,” Tito said. “Like one of those Thule cargo boxes.”

“Good idea,” Baker said.

“We’ll look like we’re haulin’ coke,” I said with a laugh. “Cop sees a blanket-wrapped package on top, sealed up nice with duct tape, and we’re getting got for sure.”