Making the Cut (5 page)

“Alright, listen up. This fucker, from what I could gather, weighs about three-fifty. And this ain’t some random assed guess, he actually weighs three fifty. So it ain’t gonna be easy to toss this motherfucker around once he’s dead. My problem is this. Frank said he had videos of this ChoMo son-of-a-bitch making those poor kids swallow his load. Hell, he was shootin’ cum on their faces and videoing the shit,” I paused and clenched my jaw.

“That motherfucker, I can take care of this on my own, Slice. Seriously, tell me where this motherfucker is,” Otis growled.

“No, God damn it. I know you don’t like this shit any more than I do, but that’s what I’m trying to get at, Otis. This prick is a tub of shit, and we’re gonna have to move his fat ass around after he’s dead.  The point I was gonna make is this,” I paused and considered what I had planned.

“I want to torture this prick. I want him to know why we got him, and realize what a fucking nuisance he was before we kill his big fat ass. The only place I can think of where we can do it is where the highway south of town turns and goes up toward Wichita. You know, where Highway 77 meets K-15. There’s a river west of 77, by the railroad tracks,” I stoppe
d
s
peaking and turned to face Otis as he nodded his head.

“Where we go shooting?” Otis asked.

“You got it. Now, here’s the deal. I want to make this fat piece of shit pay for what he did to these kids first then we’ll get rid of his ass. But to haul him off, we’re gonna have to cut him in pieces He’s too God damned fat to move in one chunk. And, just to be safe, we’ll need to cut the fat prick’s head and hands off. If we get rid of his head and hands, they won’t be able to prove who he is. I
f
igure we’ll bring ‘em back to town and pour ‘em into some concrete. We’ll toss his head and hands in the Winfield Lake. That place ain’t dried up in fifty years. And if we don’t weigh ‘em down, they’ll eventually float. We can toss his body, arms, and legs to Stacey’s hogs. They’ll eat the bones and all,” I stopped speaking and waited to see the reaction of the group.

“Why cut off his head and hands? Seems like we’re takin’ risks we don’t need to take, Slice,” Otis shrugged.

I realized chopping up a person made the crime of murder a little more personal, but it was an evil necessity. Eliminating the hands and teeth left little means of identifying a body, short of DNA. With no family, DNA matching would be difficult. Dental records and fingerprints were still the only methods of identifying a body, especially in a city Winfield’s size.

“Well Otis, if we get rid of his fingerprints and teeth, they won’t be able to identify this fat fucker. As much as I want to get rid of this prick, I ain’t really lookin’ to get caught, if you know what I mean. So, we cut off his head and hands, sneak ‘em back here, and put ‘em in a five gallon bucket. We fill the bucket with concrete, and it’ll sink to the bottom of the lake. That’ll end that.”

“Yeah, makes sense. I wasn’t following ya at first. Sounds good, Slice,” Otis nodded.

To me, this was something I simply needed to take care of. I had no ill feelings about ridding the earth of a child molester. It didn’t necessarily mean the other members would immediately sign on to cut a man into pieces and haul his body parts around the county to three or four respective places. Although I knew Otis wouldn’t mind, I needed to see the reaction of the other men. As I gazed across the table toward Tater and Toad, I was pleased by their reaction. 

“I got an old shitty old chain saw we can use to cut him up. We can toss it in the lake with his head and hands. And we can use my truck to haul his ass in,” Tater nodded.

“What color is the truck?” I asked.

“Brown, why?” Tater responded.

“Well, I wasn’t looking to try and sneak around in the dark if it was fucking white, Tater,” I chuckled.

“Yeah, it’s dark brown. It’d pass for black in the dark,” he grinned.

Tater had been with the club five or so years, and was a man who had spent a lifetime riding a motorcycle. As a younger man, he had done two short bits in prison for robbery and arson. Never quite conforming to what society expected of him, he had spent his life feeling like an outcast. After losing his wife to cancer at forty-five years old, he decided the only family he needed was the brotherhood of the MC. He was as devoted to the club as any man would ever be to his family, and often volunteered to do things others wouldn’t dream of.

Toad also had roughly five years with the club. The only thing that kept him from joining earlier was his commitment to the Marine Corps, and the completion of his final tour. He had been around for years as a
Hang Around
, and we all believed as soon as he completed his military commitments, he’d become a Prospect. Having spent almost a decade in Iraq and Afghanistan, he was not new to killing or death. A younger man of roughly thirty years old, he was quiet and mostly kept to himself until asked to participate. Once asked, he was always committed; probably much more than most. Toad was as good of a man as would ever grace this earth. As he sat with his chin slightly resting against his clenched fist and staring at the table, I began to become slightly concerned about what his thoughts might be.

“You good, Toad?” I asked.

He slowly looked up from the table and raised his hands to the head of closely cropped Marine hair he kept maintained in a military perfect manner, “When I joined the Marines I took an oath, Slice.
Against all enemies, foreign and domestic
and it didn’t have an expiration date. So, killing this fat fucker?”

He stood from his chair and rubbed his hands against the thighs of his worn baggy jeans, “Little kids, Slice. The dude fucked with helpless little kids. He forced helpless seven year olds or however old they were to suck his dick while he made movies of it. Those kids? Yeah, they’ll be fucked up for life. They didn’t have a choice; this prick intervened with their path, he fucked with their life; he altered it. They say God works in mysterious ways? I suppose it all depends on how you wanna perceive it or whatever, but check this out;
God
didn’t fuck with those kids, the
devil
did. That fat prick is Lucifer himself. God is getting ready to administer his justice. The judgment day is
now
,” he pressed his index finger into the top of the table.

As he stared into my eyes, he continued, “He’ll pay for his fuckin’ sins when we show up. I got paid by Uncle Sam himself to kill Hajis. You know, I never stopped any of ‘em to ask ‘em what they believed in or if they’d actually done anything wrong. I just shot ‘em. This dude? I
know
what he did. So yeah, to answer your question, I’ll be fine, but I’ll say this…”

With his finger pounding into the top of the table as if he hoped to crush through it, Toad clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes, “Killing him isn’t punishment enough.”

Toad lifted his hand from the table and shook his head. As he began to pace back and forth, I decided to end the meeting. There was no real value in continuing to hash out details. Toad seemed to be more than ready, and I had no doubts about the other two men.

“Well, no sense in spending all night going over this. Tater, make sure the lights and turn signals work on the truck. Brake lights, running lights,
everything
. Make sure all the belts and hoses are in good shape, and it’s full of gas. I don’t want to break down five miles south of town with three hundred pounds of
ChoMo
in the bed. I figure we’ll go in the middle of the night, just bust into his place and Tase him. Then we’ll just carry his fat ass out and load him up in Tater’s truck. We’ll go over the rest of the details tomorrow. Is everyone good with doing this tomorrow night?” I asked.

The three men nodded their heads.

“I’m sayin’ it for the sake of sayin’, but you know the rules. No colors in
cages,
so leave your cuts at home, fellas.”

As Otis and Tater stood from their seats and walked toward Toad, I felt proud to call the three men my brothers. It wasn’t common to find men who would volunteer to do such things, but in a
1%er
Motorcycle Club it was basically second nature for the men to support the club at
any
cost. The brotherhood of the members was much more like having a family than having an
actual
family. It’s always tough for an outsider to understand, but these fellas were my family, my life, and my brothers. They were all I had, and damned sure all I needed. I’d give my life to save any one of my brothers, and I know they’d do the same for me.

That’s why an Outlaw Motorcycle Club doesn’t let men walk in, sign a sheet of paper, and join. The Prospect initiation period separates the men from the boys, and requires a one hundred percent vote. If the entire club doesn’t agree the Prospect is an acceptable member, he’s turned away. My life is in the hands of my brothers, and theirs is in mine. 

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

As the three men spoke amongst themselves and filtered toward the door, I looked up at the membership board. Beside Pete’s name, a big black “X” was plastered under the
Ol’ Lady Allowed
slot. I smiled to myself, knowing my name would
never
have an “X” beside it, to do so would be to admit I was weak and incapable of surviving on my own. I damned sure didn’t nor would I ever need a woman to help me get through life. To me, being in a relationship with a woman was similar to having a rattlesnake for a pet. At first it may be entertaining and something cool to show off to your friends, but in the end you realize the danger associated with ownership. Eventually you must get rid of it, because if you play the odds, sooner or later you’ll be bit.

I flipped the light switch and pulled the door closed. Tomorrow night would be here soon enough, and I still needed to decide exactly what it was I wanted to do with this fat prick.

As I sauntered toward my bike, I chuckled at the thought of going home and watching
American Psycho
or a few episodes of
Dexter
to get ideas. I flipped the ignition on and pushed the start button and the V-Twin spun into a mellow roar. As the bike warmed up, I decided I didn’t need Cable T.V. shows or a movie to give me ideas. It was an eighty degree spring night, a nice relaxing ride home should clear my mind.

And, as I’ve always said,
if you free the mind, your ass will follow
.

Worrying about the welfare of their children was the last thing I wanted a parent to be concerned about. Not under the watch of the
Selected Sinners
. Not where
my
club was present. The children are our future, and protecting them from harm was something I felt obligated to do. A parent shouldn’t have to worry about their kid being safe from harm in small town USA, hell in any town for that matter. I had all the desire I needed to help make our city a safer place for the children to play, and I intended to do so.
Ridding this town of a child molester wouldn’t require a
plan
; it would be fueled by passion.

If I was nothing else, I was a passionate man about what it was I believed in.

AVERY

“Did you try any of these while we were in there?” Sloan asked as she shifted her body so she was standing sideways in front of the mirror.

She turned her head and glanced at the reflection of her perfectly curvaceous body. Her small waist, flat stomach, round butt, and overly large boobs made her look like a big black haired Barbie doll. I, on the other hand, looked like a boy with a nice ass and a pretty face.

“No, they’re stupid.
Skinny sweats
. What the fuck is a
skinny
sweat?” I laughed.

“Does my ass look fat in them?” she asked as she twisted her body back and forth.

“In
those
? Your ass looks like
your ass
. It’s like you painted it grey and put some little black speckeldy shit in the paint,” I sighed as I sat up on the bed.

“Does it look
fat
?” she asked as she slapped her hand against it and raised one eyebrow.

I stared at her ass as she looked at herself in the mirror. I wanted to look more like her. Her body was bangin’ ass hot. I glanced up at her face. Well, I’d take
some
parts of her body, but not those ratty assed eyebrows. She really needed to do something with those things. They looked like caterpillars.

“Sloan, you’re not fat. But those sweats look like shit. They’re too tight. You know how I like my sweats, I like ‘em loose, it makes me
feel
skinny. I can’t believe Victoria’s Secret is selling shit like that,” I shook my head at the sight of the sweats glued to her skin like
tights
.

She turned to face me, pressed her hands to her hips, and scowled, “So my ass looks fat in them?”

“Your ass isn’t fat.
Ever.
It looks like you’re naked. And grey. But if it’ll make you take those nasty fuckers off, yeah, your ass looks fat,” I chuckled.

”What about this bra? Does it
really
lift my boobs? Do they
look
big? Is it worth $60.00?” she asked as she pressed her arms against the sides of her boobs.

“
Look
big?” I shook my head and coughed as I began to laugh.

I was a little more than cheated while standing in line for boobs, but Sloan looked like she got whatever they failed to give me and a little more
just because
. She was not big or even
thick
as the guys liked to call girls. She was just tall. Tall with very large boobs and a nice round butt I secretly wished
I
had. Well, maybe not
all
of her butt, but half of it. If there was one area she had a
little
extra, it would be the perfectly rounded butt of hers.

“Well?” she asked as she continued to squeeze her boobs together with her upper arms.

God I wish I had boobs like those.

As they burst out the top of her new
Bombshell Add 2 Cups
bra, I couldn’t help myself, “You know, you really didn’t need to add two cup sizes, Sloan, I mean
seriously
. Your boobs were huge already. Now they’re
ridiculous
. Are you seriously going to wear that thing?”

She turned her head my direction and gave me the stink eye, “Yeah, I was going to wear it Saturday night.”

Perfect.

I sat up in the bed and tossed my legs over the side, “Perfect, another night of me waiting in the car while you bang some dude in the parking lot.”

“I don’t bang dudes in the parking lot. I wish you’d quit freaking saying that,” she said as she twisted her hips in front of the mirror.

“Well,
whatever
. Come on, get dressed. Let’s go out and do something,” I sighed.

“What do you want to do?” she asked as she lowered her arms and released her boobs.

Sloan and I, although best friends, differed in our desires for leisure activities. When we were out of school or off work, she liked to do nothing. I, on the other hand, preferred to stay busy doing
anything
. Anything but
nothing
. Winfield wasn’t much of a town, but there was always
something
we could do.

“Well, it’s not
that
late, let’s go to Hot Shotz,” I shrugged.

“That bar is stupid. You know I hate going there. It’s Wednesday, we should just hang out, we’ve got school tomorrow,” she complained.

The thought of staying home wasn’t very appealing. It was five o’clock and early spring. The weather was a gorgeous 75 degrees, and I didn’t want to be confined in my 600 square foot apartment any more than I had to be. When I stayed home, I felt as if I was invisible. Other than Sloan, there was really no form of human contact for me. In the last year, since I expressed my intent of staying in Kansas and moving to Wichita, my parents had all but stopped talking to me.

My mother was nothing short of impossible at times. It was as if she felt a useful means of punishment was telling me she was disappointed in me. As a young girl, her disappointments caused me to strive to improve. After a lifetime of her expressed disappointments, I learned she would always be disappointed in me. Or at least she
indicated
she was, whether it was true or not I would never know. No differently than
the boy who cried wolf
, her complaints began to have less and less validity each time I heard them. I learned to roll my eyes each time she sent me a text message stating she was disappointed.

I often wondered if her continued expression of disappointment was what provoked me to be as competitive as I was. If possibly it caused me to be the way I was about men. In recent years, I had begun to believe my mother’s hatred toward every decision I made which didn’t include coming back to Ohio and being an active participant in
her
Baptist church formed me into the challenge seeking woman I had become.

My major in Criminal Justice was another thing she seemed to always take exception to. When I chose the career path, she said maybe I would
grow up
and change my mind. For my first year in college, she often asked what credits were transferrable to other majors. The same eye roll and
I don’t know mother
followed each time. Now almost complete with my major, she took time to tell me each time we spoke that she was disappointed in my choice, and asked what I expected to do for a career.

I really had no idea what I wanted to do for a career, but my original belief of being a law enforcement officer soon vanished. After a few years of studies, I realized I wasn’t as interested in the law enforcement side of things as I was the criminal or the criminal activity. Criminals fascinated me. Attempting to figure out the intricacies of their thoughts and how or why they did the things they did was beyond any other form of entertainment I could find.

I walked behind Sloan and looked into the mirror, “Let’s go to the park and just relax before it gets dark. We can get some sun.”

“
Bum
park? Yeah, you don’t want sun. You’ll want to talk to the bums hanging out there. I think that’s gross the way you’re always asking them questions. They’re gross. No, not interested,” she hissed.

“They’re fun to talk to, I feel sorry for them,” I responded.

She turned to face me and wrinkled her nose, “They’re gross. One day one of them is going to knock you down and rob you or something. I swear, the way you talk to those people, it’s nasty.”

“She twisted sideways and stared into the mirror as she raised her hand to her stomach, “Let’s go eat pizza.”

“Sounds good. It’s better than sitting here.”

“I’m going to wear this and see if anyone notices,” Sloan said as she reached down to pick up her flats.

I rolled my eyes at the thought of her boobs being bigger than normal. As I glanced in the mirror at my B-cup, I silently wondered if my lack of boobs was one of the reasons I wasn’t more successful at picking up Mr. Nelson. 

“You ready?’ she asked.

No, I need a boob job.

I glanced in her direction and turned to face the mirror. After inhaling a deep breath and exhaling a very audible sigh, I responded.

“I guess I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”