Page 129 of Tito

Tito

Gathered in the Devil’s Disciples clubhouse for what would likely be our last meeting, we discussed Reggie’s father and the development of our newfound fate. The night’s nourishment was a few pizzas and a case of sparkling water.

Cash folded a piece of pizza in half, lifted it to his mouth, and paused. “If you’ll stop talking, I’ll answer you.”

“I’m done talking,” Goose said. “Quit stuffing your face and answer me.”

“I got a text from a number I didn’t recognize, and it said, meet me at the 5th Ave 7-Eleven at six am.” Cash ate half the slice of pizza in one bite. After swallowing it, he continued. “I sent a text back that said, who the fuck is this?” He finished the slice of pizza, wiped his mouth on a napkin, and reached for another slice. “Boom. This text comes back, and it says, this is Detective Gottschalk. I fire another one back that says, how the fuck did you get my number?” He folded the slice in half and raised it to his mouth. “Fucker shoots me a text back and says, watch your tone with me, asshole, or you’ll be serving life in prison. I knew because it said, “or” you’ll be serving life in prison that he wanted to discuss options.”

“So, you went?” Goose asked.

Cash looked at him like he was crazy. “Fuck yeah, I did. He waited right up until the day the axe was supposed to fall. Let me stew in the thought that I was a cooked goose. Just to teach me a lesson. So, we met, and he tells me everything. He knew about the good stuff we did. Like killing the cartel boss, getting rid of that piece of shit dope dealer neighbor we used to have, Preston, and the dope guy up north that we robbed. He knew the bad stuff, too. The job in Indio, the job up by Torrey Pines, the one in Ramona. Fucker knew where we grew up, my grades in school, even my mom’s name. Kind of freaked me the fuck out.”

“He met with Watson more than once,” I offered. “He told me that last night. He said Watson was instrumental in letting him make the decision to let you—and us—go. Watson convinced him we were doing more good than harm.”

“Watson ain’t the only one he met with,” Cash said. “Crazy prick drove up to Crip’s place. Parked his car right in the Filthy Fucker’s clubhouse. Told Crip he had two options. One, get Peyton to give written testimony about the Savages raping her, or he’d prosecute him and Pee Bee for killing that guy a couple of years back. Peyton signed the statement that let ‘em get the search warrant for the Savage’s club house.”

“So, what did he say when you met at 7-Eleven?” Goose asked. “You never said.”

“Well, he made me promise not to mention anything to you guys until after the news aired. I was supposed to act like I was still under agreement with him to turn myself in. And, he made me promise not to so much as jaywalk for the rest of my life. Said if I did, he’d make sure I spent a considerable amount of time behind bars. Also said that as far as he was concerned, we weren’t bad people, we just made a bad decision. He said the Savages were a group of low-life fucktards. Told me he knew about them raping women and cooking meth for years, but he needed Peyton’s testimony to arrest them.”

“How’d he find out about Peyton?” Reno asked. “About them raping her?”

“Crip told Watson and Watson told Gottschalk,” Cash replied.

“SoCal’s a small place,” Reno said, shaking his head. “Hard do believe Crip’s Ol’ Lady ends up getting connected to Gottschalk.”

“Six degrees of separation,” I said. “Anyone can be tied to anyone else on the planet through no more than five intermediaries.”

Baker chuckled. “How about one intermediary?”

“Speaking of one intermediary, listen to this,” I said. “I almost forgot. Gottschalk knew my neighbor’s son, Braxton. Ends up Braxton helps the cops out all the time. He does the shit that they’d be prosecuted for doing. He plants evidence, steals surveillance tapes, moves dead bodies, manipulates crime scenes. All kinds of shit. Gottschalk used him to plant the pistol and a few coins they recovered from the explosion. On the morning of the arrest, Braxton snuck in the clubhouse and planted that stuff on the Savages. I was blown away when Gottschalk told me about Braxton. I’m surprised he walks on both sides of the sidewalk.”

“What do you mean?” Reno asked. “Both sides of the sidewalk?”

“He helps criminals and helps cops. Both sides of the law. He’s like a whore.” I laughed. “Whoever pays him gets to utilize his services.”

Goose coughed out a laugh. “I bet that fucker has some stories to tell.”

I raised my brows in wonder of all that Braxton may have been exposed to in his day-to-day activities. “I bet you’re right.”

“I’m glad this shit is over,” Cash said. “What a fucking relief.”

“I can’t believe we’ve reached the end,” Baker said. He glanced around the clubhouse. “It’s sad to think about but I need to sell this building. We’ll get a new start in a new place. As friends.”

“I’m all for a new start as friends,” Ally said. “I’m not doing so much as getting a speeding ticket from here on out. This scared the shit out of me.”

“You’re not the only one,” I admitted. “I haven’t slept for a month.”

Reno grabbed a piece of pizza and glanced around the clubhouse. “You’re selling this place?”

“Too many memories here,” Baker replied.

“Some good, some bad,” Goose said. “I was sitting right here when I found out Ghost died.”

I had only good memories of my times in the clubhouse. The countless meals Goose prepared, the numerous late-night parties, and sleeping there for five weeks—on the couch—while my home was being remodeled.

“I’ve got good memories of this place,” I admitted.