Page 374 of Devil’s Disciples

Crip shook my hand. “Crip.”

“Goose,” I said keeping it simple between us.

Crip gave a nod as he shook Cash’s hand. “We met once before.”

He seemed to be a no-nonsense fellow, which I respected. He had yet to crack a smile—or to show any emotion, for that matter. Based solely on his appearance, I suspected he only had one outward emotion.

Anger.

“Asking for a friend,” Baker said with a sly grin. “Heard there was club down south that needed to get rid of some DNA. Don’t know that there’s any truth to it or not, but hearing the rumor got us to arguing on what would be a sure-fire way to get rid of DNA, if someone ever had to. Cash thought acid would do it, but another member of our club argued. Reno here thought cremation would do it, and I think we all agreed it would work. What are your thoughts on the matter?”

With one boot heel propped against the building and one on the ground, Crip nonchalantly lowered his sunglasses and gave Pee Bee a look. Then, he shifted his gaze to meet Baker’s. He chuckled.

“We’re all brothers, here. Makes no sense to beat around the bush. What the fuck can I help you with, Baker?”

“Is it safe to talk here?” Baker asked.

Crip took a shallow drink from his bottle of beer. “Wouldn’t have asked you explain yourself if it wasn’t. This ain’t my first rodeo, Baker. Shit like what you’re alluding to is a common occurrence around here. Pee Bee likes to fire pottery from time to time, so we bought him a big fuckin’ custom kiln. As fate would have it, that motherfucker burns so hot it’ll turn anything to ashes.” He spat on the ground at his feet and then looked up. His mouth was twisted into a shitty smirk. “Fucking MS-13 are thick around here. At least they used to be. We’re gettin’ ‘em off the streets one by fucking one, though.”

“What temperature does your kiln burn at?” Baker asked.

Crip laughed. “How in the fuck would I know? I’m not an art instructor or a professor of fuckin’ pottery. You’re more than welcome to poke a thermometer in it if that’s what makes you fuckin’ happy. All I know is it’s hot enough to turn everything to ashes.”

“Everything?” Baker asked.

Crip took another drink. He nodded. “Everything.”

“You gotta chunk ‘em up, though. At least cut their legs off at the knees,” Pee Bee chimed. “The kiln’s only five foot tall.”

“He’s already ‘chunked up’.” Baker said. He met Crip’s stone-faced stare. “Sounds good to me.”

Crip glanced over his shoulder, studied our bikes, and then looked at Baker. “I’m guessing you didn’t bring the cop’s body with you?”

Baker turned ghost white. He swallowed so hard I could hear it. “Never said he was a cop.”

Crip spat on the ground between them. “Didn’t have to.”

Baker glared.

Crip had a good fifty pounds on Baker, all of which was muscle. Although Cash was as mean as a snake, I couldn’t see us fighting our way out of there. With guns, maybe. Hell, Pee Bee was big enough to take on all four of us by himself.

Prepared to claim Crip’s “cop” comment was nothing but an educated guess, I tried to get Baker’s attention.

Nothing worked.

With Baker now in a stare-down with the tattooed president of the Filthy Fuckers MC, the tension became so thick I could taste it. After a silent—and very tense—moment, Crip finished his beer.

He took off his sunglasses and sized Baker up. He forced a sigh. “I’ve got a cop that tells me things. Rumor has it that a club down your way offed a retired cop. He was working on the sly for the SD sheriff’s office, which is where my cop buddy works. According to him, this cop came up missing some time ago. They found his cell phone in his driveway. Two things they didn’t find was his wallet and his badge. Those two pieces of missing info led them to believe, just for a while, that he might be alive somewhere. They’ve since decided that’s probably not the case.” He arched an eyebrow. “Sound familiar?”

Baker nodded. “Really familiar.”

Crip gave a crisp nod. “Don’t know if you have the wallet or the badge, but if you do, you might want to toss them in that oven, right along with him.”

Baker looked at Cash.

Cash shrugged. “Got ‘em.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I fumed. “What if Crip wouldn’t have said anything? It’s shit like that that’ll get us hemmed up, you dip-shit.”