Page 33 of Devil’s Disciples

I rested my arms on the edge of the desk and looked him in the eyes. “Five hundred dollars?”

“Due on the third of every month.”

“I’ll take it.”

“Damn, that was quick.” He chuckled. “What about that fella that was looking at it?”

“He was just looking for a place to stay for a while he does some remodeling. I’ve been living with my cousin and her evil twins. He lives next door. I need it worse than he does.”

He leaned against the back of his chair and scrunched his nose. “You talking about the biker that drives the Porsche?”

“Drives a Porsche? I uhhm. I don’t know.” I rubbed the back of my palm. “This guy has an eyeball tattooed on his hand.”

“That’s him. Don’t look like it, but he’s a pretty nice fella. Owns some car washes and a sandwich place over in El Cajon. Bunch of his buddies work for him. They drink beer all hours of the night, but they don’t bother nobody. He’s got a shit ton of motorcycles, though. Parks ‘em in the basement. They ride ‘em out of there six at a time. Look like they’re in a parade.”

“In a parade?”

“Sure do. They’re all evenly spaced and side by side when they ride. Same way, every time. Like they’re in a parade.”

“He drives a Porsche, too?”

“Yep. Silver one. Told me it’ll take off from a standstill so fast that it’ll make your eyeballs hurt. Offered to give me a ride, but it sits too low for me to get my fat ass in it. Gettin’ in wouldn’t be bad. Gettin’ out might be a trick, though.”

“You’re not fat,” I said.

He slid his flattened hands over his belly until they came to a stop where I assumed his belt was hidden. “Fatter’n I ought to be.”

“That’s a matter of opinion,” I said with a smile and a nod. “I think you look just fine.”

“Nice of you to say, but I’m still not gettin’ in that thing. You should get that fella to take you for a ride in it, though. Sounds like a bunch of cats fighting when he fires it up, but it’s faster’n a rocket full of monkeys.”

I smiled at the thought of monkeys being launched in a rocket. “I didn’t know he had one of those.”

“Well, he had it when they arrested Todd. Seen him that evening in it. After the cops got done asking questions.”

“Asking him questions, or asking you questions?”

“Asking me. Don’t know that they asked him anything. Probably could have, though.”

I was intrigued. “Why do you say that?”

“He knew Todd. Seen him ‘em arguing a few times. Wondered if that weirdo owed him money or something, but figured it wasn’t my business.”

I wondered if they were friends, business associates, or if they’d simply met in passing. I couldn’t see Baker dealing in drugs, but the possibility crossed my mind.

“You don’t think Baker deals drugs, do you?”

His eyes narrowed. “Who the hell is Baker?”

“He’s the guy with the tattoo on his hand.”

“Oh.” He shook his head slowly. “Hard saying, I suppose. Wouldn’t be my guess, he doesn’t seem like the type.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

The door swung open. I was surprised to see Baker standing there, and couldn’t help but wonder if he heard us talking about him.

Mort glanced over his shoulder and then stood. “Speak of the devil. Were your ears burnin’?”