Page 492 of Devil’s Disciples

His eyes were like that of a wolf. Looking into them, you realized what lied beneath couldn’t be trusted. Nevertheless, I gazed into them, considering how I wanted to respond.

“If we’re being honest,” I said, “I guess I’ve got something to admit as well.”

His brows raised.

“I don’t trust you, either,” I said flatly.

Saying it was a huge risk, but one I was willing to take. The smell of his cologne was grinding on my last nerve. My PTSD was setting in, and I was as irritable as a caged rattlesnake. Expressing distrust in a man who’d saved my life wasn’t something I was going to sit still for. If he didn’t like it, he could try to get to his gun before Goose put a bullet between his eyes.

He laughed a low but very genuine laugh. Apparently, he wasn’t accustomed to people being honest with him.

“You have balls of brass, Mister Rasmussen.”

He was either stupid, or he was trying to trip me up on my fictitious name.

“Steel,” I said with a smile. “And, my name’s Tiddlewood. He’s Rasmussen.”

He glanced at Crip. His gaze went cold. “He reminds me of a DEA agent.”

“You remind me of Ricky fucking Martin,” I said dryly. “But I bet you can’t sing a song to save your ass.”

Manos winced.

Alacrán laughed out loud.

Manos joined him, laughing like a mad man. Eventually, they caught their breath.

I cleared my throat. “Rex and I are business partners,” I explained. “The funding is his. The business venture is my idea. Either you do business with both of us, or we don’t do business.”

He shifted his attention to Crip. “How do you earn your money, Mister Rasmussen?”

“I rob banks,” Crip responded.

Alacrán leaned against the back of the couch and spread his arms over the top of the cushions. “Robbing banks is for amateurs and fools,” he said. “There’s no money in robbing banks.”

“I don’t walk in with a shotgun in my hand and a bandana covering my face,” Crip said, sizing Alacrán up as he spoke. “I go in at night, when they’re closed. Disable the alarm. Crack the safe. Clear out their reserve. Go home and drink a cold beer.” He raised his glass and grinned. “So, in short, I beg to argue your claim.”

Alacrán looked at me. My guess was that he wanted reassurance. Before I could think of something slick to say, he stood and extended his right hand, palm up.

“Give me your cell phones.”

“Don’t carry one,” I said.

His face contorted. “You don’t carry a phone?”

“Not on a deal like this.” I hiked my boot onto my knee. “If you do, you’re a damned fool.”

He looked at Manos, and then at me. “I’m a fool?”

“If you’ve got a cell phone in your pocket, I’m afraid you are.”

He glared at me like I’d called his mother a whore.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s registered to you, or a burner,” I explained. “The feds can trace it. They can pinpoint your location, determine your travel patterns, and zero in on you for a raid, all based on the location of that phone, which they can trace by satellite.”

His eyes thinned. “You seem to know much about the federal government, Mister Tiddlewood.”

“I spent ten years in Afghanistan, killing Taliban soldiers. The CIA would give us their exact location, and we’d put a bullet between their eyes while they were planning their next move over their cell phones.” I nodded toward Crip. “He saved my life one day when I was pinned down by a bunch of fuckers who weren’t carrying cell phones, and we’ve been friends ever since.”