Page 54 of Devil’s Disciples

“Thank fucking God,” Cash spouted. “I was sick and tired of this silent shit.”

Another rule of mine was that there was no talking until everyone was accounted for. It wasn’t uncommon for us to use a vehicle and a motorcycle while doing a job. En route to the clubhouse, the motorcycle acted as a rabbit – a lure to police – if it was necessary to get them away from the vehicle carrying the stolen cargo.

Until I was certain we were all safe, the laughing, story-telling, and discussions about who was going to do what with their share ground against my already worn nerves.

Now that Reno was leading the way, everyone was free to speak.

Discussions of the nervous tension, how much gold we’d managed to steal, and what we predicted we had in cash and jewelry followed. In an hour, we pulled along the alley that led to the clubhouse.

The windows from apartment 3A glowed above us as we turned into the parking garage’s entrance.

I checked my watch.

2:16

I wondered if she was alone, or if she’d simply fallen asleep while watching television. As the vehicle came to a stop in the designated stall, I further wondered why I cared.

I came up with nothing.

As we unloaded millions of dollars’ worth of stolen merchandise, the not knowing inched its way up the length of my spine until a migraine ensued.

20

Andy

Mister Greene’s advice swam around in my head like a shark seeking prey. After several hours of tossing and turning in bed, the possibility that I was interested in more from Baker than what was below his waist repeatedly came to mind.

I missed feeling him inside of me. The comfort that came along with the complete satisfaction of my sensual desires. The feeling of utter and blissful exhaustion that always followed the orgasms that shook me to my core. But. I simply couldn’t decide if there was more to it than that. The next time I saw him – if I saw him – I would deny his requests for sex. Only then would I know if I truly enjoyed sharing time with him.

Groggy and needing sleep, I rolled to my side and hoped I’d somehow manage to fall asleep. City and Color’s Lover Come Back played softly from the speaker in the living room, and I found irony in it as I mouthed the words into the darkness.

I’d always felt superstitious people were gullible and irrational. Nonetheless, I found the song’s timing troubling, and wondered if I should view it as some kind of message about having found the perfect latke.

Most of my life’s questions had been answered with a mouthful of food, so I meandered to the kitchen and flipped on the lights. Two bowls of cereal and one tub of yogurt, and an apple later, I was convinced there wasn’t an answer.

I shuffled to the bedroom at a complete loss as to what I should think about it all. On my way there, the music paused. At that instant, I heard a strange scraping sound from inside the kitchen cabinets.

I stopped in my tracks.

A prickling feeling ran up my neck.

I swallowed heavily and tip-toed to the kitchen. The unfamiliar sound returned from deep inside the lower cabinet, sending a chill along my spine when it happened. Quietly, I opened the island cupboard, removed a cast-iron skillet, and turned around.

A clank, followed by a dull thud came from the cabinet. I swallowed heavily, reached for the cupboard door, and hesitated.

Then, the sound came again.

I swallowed heavily, raised the skillet, and yanked the door open. “Aaaaaahhhhh!” I screamed, frantically.

Nothing.

After cleaning all the Tupperware, cutting boards, and baking sheets out of the cupboard and finding nothing, I was convinced lack of sleep was the culprit behind the things that go thump in the night.

During round two of my attempt to fall asleep, I recalled Stephen’s claim of hearing noises coming from the apartment, and wondered if his noises and my noises were related.

I fell asleep as I mulled over the possibilities.

21