Page 417 of Devil’s Disciples

I glanced at her hand and then met her blue-eyed gaze. “You want a high five?”

She grinned. “A little slappy to make Ally happy?”

I stared, wondering what in the hell I’d gotten myself into.

The look on my face must have scared her. Her hand lowered a little. “I’m guessing you didn’t see the movie?”

“What movie?”

“Trolls? Justin Timberlake and Anna what’s-her-name. Kendrick, or whatever. Animated movies are a close second to old feature films.”

I slapped my hand against hers. “No, I haven’t seen it.”

“We’ll watch it together, sometime. Soon. You’ll do that with me. Wanna know why?”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because you love me,” she said. “And when two people are in love, they make sacrifices for each other.”

“Is that how it works?” I asked.

She nodded “Uh huh. I’m going to make one for you. A sacrifice.”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Everyone deserves a second chance,” she said. “I’ll stomach Cash’s bad attitude until he accepts me. However long that takes.”

155

Ally

It had been two weeks since Goose and I declared our love for one another. Life was joyous at home. At the clubhouse, it was a different story.

If there was one thing I learned to do throughout my career, it was act. So, I began to act like I enjoyed being in Cash’s company, even though it was obvious he didn’t enjoy being in mine.

Hoping to bond with the overgrown child, I sat at the clubhouse’s snack-stained sectional instead of off to the side in a hard chair. The results were often frustrating, but almost always entertaining.

For me, anyway.

Positioned between Cash and Goose on the sofa, I listen to Baker as he instructed us on our next bank job.

“Is there anything anyone feels like adding?” he asked.

“I’ve got something,” I said.

Baker nodded in my direction. “What’s that?”

“If we continue with the cheerleader thing, there’ll be enough people that eventually report it that we’ll be known as the cheerleader bandits or some ridiculous shit. It isn’t the label that bothers me, it’s the cops looking for a cheerleader while they’re on patrol. After that first report of a cheerleader at a bank is given, the next time we pull up beside a cop and I’m wearing a cheerleader outfit, we’ll get got.”

“What about waiters and waitresses,” Cash asked. “Or something like that? Act like we’re coming home from the bar?”

Baker shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

Cash slumped in his seat, obviously butt-hurt. “Why not?”

“Because most waiters in this area wear black. I liked the cheerleader thing because anyone that pulled up alongside the car would recognize the driver as being a cheerleader. If they pulled up alongside a bunch of waiters wearing black, they’d think you’d just robbed a fucking bank.”

I raised my index finger. “What about the guys wearing SDSU shirts while they’re on lookout, and when we’re done, they can take them off? We can paint their faces red and black. Underneath the shirts, they can have body paint?” I asked. “One guy with a red “S” painted on his chest, one has a black “D” another has a black “S”, and then a red “U”. I’ll paint my face half black, half red, and make my hair fire engine red? It’ll look like we just left a San Diego State University game?”