Page 485 of Devil’s Disciples

“Just keep everyone at ease,” Crip said. “And, they’re swans, not geese.”

“Don’t matter what they are.” Pee Bee released his hair and gave Crip a look. “I ain’t makin’ ‘em.”

“Just do what you do,” Crip said. “Tell them stories and help them lose track of time. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

Pee Bee shoved his hands into his pockets and gazed at the toes of his boots. After a moment of thought, he looked up. “Feel like I should be a part of this.”

“You are,” Crip said. “A big part of it. If we left those women with that nit-wit that’s in there, they’d be beside themselves. You’ll help the time pass with ease.”

“I’ll tell ‘em about Meathead and that chuck of pork,” Pee Bee said with a laugh. “They’ll like that.”

“Yeah. Tell ‘em about that.” Crip slapped him on the shoulder. “They’ll love it.”

Pee Bee gave Goose a serious look. “I’m trusting you on this.”

Goose returned a sharp nod. “I won’t let you down.”

At three hundred yards, it wouldn’t take much to change the bullet’s trajectory. An inaccurate calculation on distance, elevation, temperature, or wind speed would be the difference between living and dying.

I’d skirted death enough that I felt I was on borrowed time.

Of all the things that troubled me about the impromptu meeting with the most notorious drug lord in existence, the possibility of not returning to give Carma a ride back to the restaurant bothered me the most.

It’s strange what our mind attaches itself to in times of trouble.

Crip looked at his watch. “He’s expecting us now. We need to get.”

“Be back in a second,” I said.

Crip gave me a stern look. “Where you going?”

“Need to piss,” I lied.

“Nervous jitters.” Crip chucked. “Navy SEALs don’t get ‘em.”

“Well.” I shrugged and turned toward the door. “We lowly Army Rangers do.”

179

Carma

The men went into the garage to look at Pee Bee’s motorcycle. I was in the kitchen, talking and drinking a margarita.

The women weren’t at all what I expected. Television, movies, and my exposure to biker women in the restaurant led me to believe that they’d be rough-looking, foul-talking vixens dressed in tight jeans, sleeveless tee shirts, and leather high-heeled boots fitted with metal studs and tassels.

Crip’s girlfriend Peyton was tomboyish, very cute, and a reporter for the San Diego Tribune. Cash’s wife, Kimberly, was tall, drop-dead gorgeous, owned a nursery, and was very well-spoken. Tegan, Pee Bee’s wife, was an energetic brunette who devoted her life to nursing. Ally was adorable, with an air of confidence that preceded her. She was Goose’s fiancé, and a real firecracker.

Ally asked Peyton if she had a deck of cards, and promised if she did, that she’d show me a trick. I sipped my margarita while I waited and scanned the group. I could see myself being friends with all of them.

When Peyton returned, Ally took the deck of cards and thanked her. After removing them from the box, she fanned the cards apart, face down.

She extended the deck toward me. “Pick one.”

Everyone was watching eagerly. I reached for the cards and paused. “Any of them?”

She nodded toward the deck. “Any one you want.”

Nervously, I pulled out a card and cupped it in my hands. I took a quick look, being careful not to let Ally see it. “Now what?”