Page 516 of Devil’s Disciples

“I’ll save her a tentacle,” Bama said with a laugh. “I’m sure there’ll be a mad dash by all these folks to get some.”

“You’d do that for me,” Carma said.

Bama nodded. “Will do.”

“Awwe, thanks.”

After Slacker and Rebound expressed niceties, we meandered back to where the women were gathered.

“Leave in half an hour?” I asked.

Carma checked her watch. She forced a sigh. “I guess so.”

I left her with the women and was headed across the roof to where the Devil’s Disciples and Filthy Fuckers were gathered. Just before reaching the group, my phone buzzed.

Until I met Carma, when my phone rang, I knew who it was without looking.

My mother.

When it rang now, it was one of three people. My mother, Carma, or Manos.

I looked at Carma. She was talking to Kimberly.

I pulled my phone from my pocket and looked at the screen.

It wasn’t my mother.

Fuck.

I stepped away from everyone and answered the phone. “How’s it hanging Amigo?’

“Come geet your chit out from beneath my carport,” Manos said, giggling as he spoke. “I need the room for my nuevo scooter.”

“When do you want this to happen?”

“Needs to be tonight,” he replied. “Or someone might take it. See you in an hour.”

He hung up.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

There was no indication that we needed to meet. No warning. No preparation. I didn’t have five million fucking dollars ready to go, either.

Baker was going to be pissed off, I knew that much.

Crip would be, too.

I glanced at Carma. She was laughing so hard she could barely catch her breath. I wasn’t about to tell her what was happening. Having her worry about Angel being in the country wasn’t something I wanted to put her through.

I faced the group, drew a breath, and walked to Baker’s side. “Manos just called. I need to be there in an hour.” I looked at Crip. “You need to call the cop and tell him the same thing. Manos place, one hour.”

“Fine fucking time to do this deal, huh?” Crip complained. “That cocksucker. Did you tell him we had a party to attend?”

“Didn’t get a chance,” I replied. “Just like always, the fucker hung up. He probably does this just to make sure we’re not cops.”

“What about the money?” Baker asked.

“I’ll be needing it,” I said. “Five million.”