Making The Cut (Selective Sinners MC #1)

by S. D. Hildreth

  Pete stared up at the bylaws and drew a slow breath. After a momentary study of the board, he pulled against his beard and began to read.

  “Ol' Ladies. One, don't fuck around with another member’s Ol' Lady. Two, Ol’ Lady Property Of patches will be voted on by all eligible members of the club. One hundred percent vote or she doesn’t wear it. Sidenote: as Property Of patches are optional, be sure before you touch some chick who isn’t wearing a patch. Three, members are responsible for their Ol' Lady. Four, members may have more than one Ol ' Lady. Five, member must state who his Ol' Lady is. Six, no, your Ol’ Lady isn’t allowed in the meetings. Seven, club business is club business. Do not discuss club business with Ol’ Ladies. Eight,” he paused and exhaled.

  After inhaling a short breath, he ran his fingers though the twelve inches of scruffy beard dangling over his chest and read the last rule, “Eight, Ol' Ladies are allowed unescorted at the clubhouse only by prior arrangement by their Ol’ Man. Arrangement can only be made by placing an “X” beside your name on the board. No exceptions.”

  “Damn fine job, Pete. Now, let me ask you something. You see your name on the membership board behind me?” I asked.

  “Yep,” Pete grunted.

  I didn’t bother to turn around and look. I knew we wouldn’t be having this conversation if he had an “X” by his name.

  “Is there an “X” by your name, Pete?” I asked sarcastically.

  Seeming somewhat aggravated, Pete rubbed his bald head with the palms of his hands, “No, Slice, there sure as fuck ain’t.”

  “So, was Otis out of line when he escorted your Ol’ Lady off the premises?” I asked as I flexed my biceps again.

  “Slice, it wasn’t that he escorted her off, it was how he did it. He took her by the arm to the gate, and when she bitched, he told her to get the fuck off the property or he’d kick her ass,” Pete complained.

  I uncrossed my arms and raised my right hand to my chin, “Well, Pete. If you didn’t put a fucking “X” by your name, Otis was of the opinion you didn’t want your Ol’ Lady in here. Otis’ job is to protect the members of this here club, and protect us he damned sure does. Keepin’ some nosy assed Ol’ Lady out of this clubhouse is the Sergeant at Arm’s fucking job, and Otis is the Sergeant at Arm’s. If you don’t want her here, Otis doesn’t want her here. And, if Otis doesn’t want her here, and she won’t leave, I’d expect Otis to knock her fucking teeth out if he needed to; to protect the club and all. Now, let me have a look up on the board, and see if you want your Ol’ Lady here.”

  I turned slowly toward the board behind me which listed all of the officers and full patched members. Pete’s name, as he had stated, did not have an “X” beside it in the Ol’ Lady Allowed column. I stared at the board and shrugged, “Nope, Pete. It says up on the board you don’t want her in here.”

  I turned toward Otis and smiled, “Good lookin’ out, Otis. Next time she gets mouthy, if Pete hasn’t put an “X” on the board by his name, bust out a tooth or two. Maybe she’ll get the hint.”

  I leaned over and placed my hands on the edge of the table, “Any old business?”

  Silence.

  “Otis, Tater, and Toad stick around. Other than that, meeting adjourned,” I barked as I tapped the gavel on the sound block.

  After the room cleared out, the four of us sat down at the table. The remaining members either went into the shop, hung around drinking beer in the parking lot, or rode off to who knows where. As the three members sat and stared at the walls, I interrupted the silence with the morbid truth about what we were facing.

  “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 stopped speaking 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 figure 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.

  To
ad 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.

  ”Wha
t 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.