Page 387 of Devil’s Disciples

“We don’t have one of those,” Crip said with a laugh. “But we’ve got one that writes fucking romance novels. Isn’t that some crazy shit?”

“Holy shit,” I exclaimed. “Is he the guy that had the book turned into a movie?”

Crip nodded. “That’d be him.”

“And you guys are the club in the movie?”

“Loosely based on the truth,” Crip said, tossing the remnants of a foot into the kiln as he responded. “That’s what they called it. But, yeah. They’d be us.”

“That was a good fucking movie.”

“Enjoyed it myself,” Crip said.

I felt that I was in the midst of a celebrity. One that wasn’t opposed to chiseling body parts from concrete with one hand while drinking a bottle of beer with the other.

After adding the last body part into the oven, Crip cleaned up the concrete, dust included, and tossed everything into the oven. Leaning against the handle of the broom, he looked at Baker.

“Those may or may not turn to ash,” he said. “Depends on who you ask.”

“It will,” Tito said matter-of-factly.

Crip gave him a look. “It will what?”

“The concrete will turn to ash.”

“According to who?” Crip asked.

“Scientific fact,” Tito replied. “Concrete begins to break down at eight hundred degrees Celsius. At one thousand degrees Celsius, depending on the aggregate, it will turn to ash. There wasn’t any aggregate in the mix used, therefore this will turn to ash at between eight hundred and one thousand degrees.”

Crip glanced at Baker. “Jesus. Is this fucker for real?”

“He declined a scholarship to MIT,” Baker said. “Fucker’s a walking Google.”

“Well, Brainiac, that’s all fine and fuckin’ dandy.” Crip closed the lid to the kiln and padlocked it. “But I don’t know what temperature our little pressure cooker gets up to.”

“Roughly thirteen hundred degrees, Celsius,” Tito declared.

Crip cocked an eyebrow. “According to who?”

“The manufacturer’s label states it’s a cone 10,” Tito replied. “Cone 10 kilns operate at two thousand three-hundred-and forty-five-degrees Fahrenheit, which is roughly thirteen hundred degrees Celsius.”

Crip shifted his eyes to Baker. “Might get irritating listening to this fucker after a bit, but I can see where he’d come in handy for some shit, huh?”

Baker laughed. “He’s handy for some things, yeah.”

“Thanks, Baker,” Tito said with a laugh.

Tito’s heart was as soft as a teddy bear, but he had the temperament of a badger. His dry sense of humor and willingness to challenge Cash on any and everything made being in his presence entertaining.

“Are we done here?” Baker asked.

“Unless you want to stick around and watch him bake, I think we’re done,” Crip responded. He glanced through the doors of the clubhouse, toward the outside parking area. “Want to tell me why the three of you are rattling around in a cage on a sunny Sunday afternoon?”

“Cash and Reno took his truck to the IHOP off the 5,” Baker said. “We’re picking them up there.”

Crip cocked an eyebrow. “Want to tell me why the five of you are rattling around in a cage on a sunny Sunday afternoon?”

“We’re headed to a job,” Baker said. “It’s a five-hour drive.”