Page 24 of A Handsome Devil

The last thing I heard Alessio tell the kids was, “Tell them some stranger broke in and did that. Show them the room. Oh, and take that roll of cash I saw in his desk drawer.” There was no question of us taking that disgusting stiff with us and dumping it somewhere.

Gunning eagerly revved his engine out front. “Good show!” As Denmark flung a leg over his Harley’s seat, Gunning couldn’t resist adding, “Ride, Captain, ride! Upon that mystery ship!” But he couldn’t go anywhere without us leading the way.

I pulled into the street, Gunning and Denmark rumbling behind me. “You better toss that gun. The bullet’s stuck in the wall.”

Alessio shrugged. “I picked up the casing. They can’t trace this piece. Not to me, anyway.”

“You should toss it anyway. Your fingerprints.”

Alessio thought for a few seconds. “We need to get you one, too.”

I knew I was diving into a whole new world. A world of Alessio’s making.

And I wanted to be there when the shit went down.

CHAPTER 10

Alessio

The next time we made a heist, we ripped off a fentanyl dealer.

Neither Truman or Gunning wanted to use their debit cards to rent a hotel room. Can’t say as I blame them. And of course who carried a hundred dollars in cash anymore—aside from dealers?

Remembering the area of Modesto where Leonard Skinner used to score fentanyl, we rolled around the streets lined with tattered tents, overflowing shopping carts, and makeshift fire pits. Suddenly on a crusade, all four of us on the same high and low mission to screw the screwers. With no friends to contact, we were increasingly alone, steadily uniting with each other.

I saw Truman’s walls evaporate, his prudish insistence on steering everyone in the direction he imagined was right. His mind was expanding, allowing that sometimes going high was pointless, and going low more effective in the real world.

Still, I insisted Truman and Gunning stay blocks away when Denmark and I found our mark. At gunpoint, we peeled almost five hundred dollars from that sleazy idiot leaning against the bricks of a liquor store. We probably could have done it without the gun. On his person he had about a hundred fentanyl pills, no doubt with contaminants, maybe tranq, added for bulk. I grabbed the bottle to dispose of where no one would find it, the bottom of a dumpster.

On our way out, I bought some Jack Daniels. I tossed a few postcards onto the counter. I had a vague idea that Truman could send messages to his Club without giving away our location. Comfort Erin that we weren’t dead.

Far from it. When I got back to Truman’s car, I hummed with electricity. I pasted him with a sloppy kiss, rejuvenated to taste his smile beneath mine. “Let’s get a room in Turlock.”

He practically purred. “Yeah. It’s been a long day.”

That was it. We were an outlaw club.

Truman, the squarest looking guy with no piercings or ink, went into the No-Tell Motel lobby to get two rooms. Denmark would be a bad influence on Gunning, but it was just as true the other way around—Gunning might give Denmark strength, the nobility he exuded after surviving a year in a hole in the ground in Afghanistan. Denmark needed to remember how noble he was.

To be safe, I changed out Truman’s license plates after he went into our room. We’d have to score some other plates for the bikes. I was high on life, exuberant, prepped for a revenge journey. Truman was my companion in crime, close as brother leaning to brother.

In our room, he took items from the Wendy’s bag and placed them on the table. My cheeseburger was cold, but I’d had worse. Sharing this shitty food with Truman made it feel like a lavish spread.

And he grinned crookedly. I was so relieved he wasn’t angry with me for killing Leonard Skinner, I dared to take the Jack Daniels from the bag. I vowed to not kill Les Moore when we found him.

Truman even accepted a paper cup of the whiskey. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met,” he admitted, “and I’ve met a lot of characters.”

I knew that. But while it used to be a negative critique of me—never met anyone as whacky as you—now it made me feel understood, appreciated. I dared to say, “Too bad we couldn’t get rid of that body before sticking the kids with it.”

“I thought the same. But you got to admit, we were in a rush to get out of there.”

“Yeah.” I swallowed a bite of burger. “You must’ve dealt with a lot of bodies at your Club.”

Truman swallowed too. I found myself entranced with his Adam’s apple. “Yeah. But the coroner just takes them away. Like a hospital. Never a body that we caused ourselves.”

“But a lot that have no next of kin.”

“Right. A lot. They cremate them and put them in a pauper’s grave. Hey.” I don’t know how one thing led to another, but Truman said, “You must be tired from such a long day. Let me give you a massage. I’m good at that.”