Page 361 of Devil’s Disciples

“Okay,” Baker sighed. “Crematory.” He glanced from man to man. “Anyone?”

“Can’t the ashes be checked for DNA?” Cash asked.

Tito shook his head. “The eighteen-hundred degree temperature destroys any DNA evidence.”

“That sounds like our best bet,” I said. “What about building an oven?”

“Our welder is no longer with us, Goose,” Baker said. “We don’t have anyone that can fabricate steel.”

Remembering that Ghost was gone wasn’t an easy thing to do. I hadn’t gone two or three days without seeing him since the day I met him in elementary school. The five of us had truly been inseparable. His absence was something I needed to continually remind myself of.

I glanced at my watch. It was damned near five o’clock. I had somewhere I needed to be at six. Being late wasn’t an option.

“The longer we bump our gums on this deal, the greater our odds are of getting caught,” I said. “Let’s make a goddamned decision. All we’ve done so far is waste precious time.”

“What’s it matter?” Baker asked. “We’ve got all night.”

“You might. I don’t. I’ve got something in the works.”

His eyes narrowed. “What?”

It was damned near as important as disposing of the dead body, but it was none of his business.

“I’ll let you know as it gets closer to fruition,” I lied.

“I’ve got one guy up north I can go talk to,” Baker said. “Might be able to do some good on a crematory.”

“Up north as in San Clemente, or up north as in Seattle?” I asked. “It needs to be a visit that’s done in person, not on a phone. If you’re riding to fucking Seattle, we’ll still be dicking around with this in a month.”

“Up north as in Oceanside,” he replied. “There’s a club up there that had a similar issue a while back. I’ll go talk their president.”

“Outside the club? Fuck that.” I raised a brow. “How do we know he can he be trusted?”

“He’s a former Navy SEAL, and he hates the government. I wouldn’t be talking to him if he couldn’t be trusted.”

Cash looked at Baker. “Crip?”

Baker nodded.

I alternated glances between Cash and Baker. “Who the fuck’s Crip?”

“President of the Filthy Fuckers MC,” Baker said.

I chuckled. “That doesn’t mean shit to me. Sounds like a rag-tag bunch of turds.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you met ‘em,” Baker said. “Brother Reno introduced me to him.”

“Well lah-tee-dah,” I said mockingly. “I say we reach a decision in our next meeting or before.”

“Motion?” Baker asked.

I rolled my eyes. “I make a motion we reach a decision by this time next week, if not sooner. I make another motion we declare this meeting dead.”

“Second,” Tito said. “This is making me nervous.”

“If no one’s opposed,” Baker said. “We’ll reach a decision on or before next Wednesday’s meeting.”

Baker pounded his fist against the coffee table. “This meeting’s adjourned.”