“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.”
AXTON
I’ve had a few occasions in my life where I ended up in a situation I wasn’t sure I would ever get myself out of. I’ve had yet other situations where I participated in something willfully I later wished I had the common sense to walk away from. Sometimes promising to do something and actually doing it when the time came were two very different things altogether. But, as any good man would agree, if I gave my word on something, you could count on me to follow through. Committing to place myself in a situation that later turned out to be a terrible idea made me feel as if sometimes I was all too eager to volunteer in the first place. Carefully selecting the events I wanted to participate in seemed to be at least a little more common now that I had a few years under my belt. As an old timer in the club, my participation in criminal acts was carefully chosen, and this particular event was proving to provide me great satisfaction.
“What did I do? I don’t understand what’s going on,” the fat fucker blubbered.
“You sick piece of shit. Shut the fuck up. Say one more God damned word, and I’ll cut off your fucking cock and feed it to you,” Toad shouted as he wedged himself between us.
Duct taped to the tree and exhausted from being Tased repeatedly during the ten mile trip to the river, the fat child molester cried and blubbered, but he didn’t speak. A second meeting with Frank provided me enough information to allow me to assure myself what we were doing was all for the right reasons.
I stepped between Toad and the molester, “Listen up. I’m going to ask you a question, and you’re going to answer me. You need to think really hard before you lie to me, tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about, or deny any involvement whatsoever. If you do any of those things, this is going to get really bloody really quick. If you understand me, a simple yes or no will be fucking fine. Do you understand me?”
He continued to cry and slobber, and finally blubbered an almost inaudible yes.
It was all I could do to make eye contact with him. The more I looked at him, the more I wanted to just get this over with and just kill him. But, I needed him to admit it first. I got about two feet from him and stared into his eyes. Tears ran down his face as I inhaled a slow breath.
“Alright. I need you to tell me the name of the little boy you molested who had bright red hair. It was pretty recent. All I need is the first name.”
“Why, was he related or something?” he cried.
“I’m…”
“I’m sorry…”
I pulled my knife, flicked it open, and shoved it into his stomach as far as I could. As I pulled it out, his eyes widened and he began to scream. I’d seen enough of my fat biker buddies stabbed that I knew a fat fucker like him wouldn’t see any real damage from a 3” deep puncture wound to his stomach. It was more to let him know I didn’t want to have a conversation with his fat ass. I simply wanted a name.
“I told you. I want a name, you fat bastard. The red-headed kid. What was his name? The next one will be in your eye,” I growled as I raised the knife to his face.
“Stick his fat ass again,” Toad hollered.
I raised my hand in the air, “Let him speak, Toad. Now, tell me the name.”
“Timmy, his name was,” he inhaled and attempted to look down at his bleeding stomach.
“Timmy.”
After some thought, I decided I needed a little more information from Frank, and he provided enough for me to confirm the man we were going to kill was who they believed him to be. Timothy was the name Frank reluctantly provided me. The ChoMo providing me confirmation was all I needed to hear. As much as I wanted to make him pay for his crimes, killing him would end my suffering of looking at him. The more I thought about what he had done to the little boys, the more I wanted to rid the earth of his existence.
“It’s him, ain’t it Slice? Fat fucker’s the one, ain’t he?” Toad asked as he stepped between us.
“I didn’t …” fatty began.
“Shut the fuck up, or I’ll stick you again,” I bellowed.
I wiped my knife on the fat man’s pants and folded it. I swa
llowed hard and nodded my head, “Yep, it’s him.”
“Let me do him, Slice. I need my patch. Come on. Killin’ this fat whale ain’t shit. Let me do it,” Toad begged.
“But…” fatty blubbered.
I flicked my knife open and stared at the fat bastard. As he began to cry and spit, I closed my eyes and shook my head, “Hand me the tape, Otis.”
Otis handed me the roll of duct tape we had used to secure him to the tree. I ripped off a twelve inch strip and pressed it over his mouth and stretched it to the sides of his fat face. After three more strips, he was muffled and as quiet as he was going to get.
A skull and crossbones patch on the lower right hand side of a member’s cut indicated he had killed for the club. Otis and I had patches to confirm our participation in such situations. Tater didn’t, and at his age, asking him to do something like kill a man wasn’t necessarily a good thing. I turned toward Otis and Tater. Otis shrugged as Tater quietly stood holding the lantern.
Otis swallowed hard and raised his hands to his face, “Let him get his patch, Slice. Hell, killin’ fuckers is all he’s done for the last ten years. But I’m done looking at this fucker, really.”
Otis rubbed his temples with the palms of his hands. He was as ready for this to end as I was. I turned toward Toad and nodded my head. As I folded my knife closed, Toad pulled a long straight bladed knife from a sheath on his belt.
“God damn, Toad,” I said through my teeth as he raised the large blade in front of his chest.
“Gunshot would be too risky out here in the dark. Someone might hear it,” he nodded.
As the fat man began to cry and grunt through the tape, Toad stepped between the blubbering molester and me.
“Shut the fuck up and listen to me,” Toad demanded.
The fat prick attempted to stop crying. Between the molester’s sobbing and blowing snot out his nose, Toad spoke clearly and as if he’d actually prepared a speech for the occasion.
“Now listen. This world is full of all types of men. Good ones, not so good ones, and bad ones. I believe, and I may be wrong, that I’m one of the good ones. I ain’t never hurt a man without having a damned good reason. Never. I killed some fuckers in the war, and I’d do it all over if they’d let me. So, my opinion’s this, and you ain’t gonna agree for damned sure, but I’ll tell you anyway,” Toad paused and calmly glanced at each of us before turning to face the fat man again.
“God controls the good on this earth, and Satan controls the bad. In men, sometimes there’s a fight between God and the Devil to see who gets control. Sometimes good men do bad things. And sometimes bad men do good things. But what you did? That’s not Satan stepping into a man’s life and causing him to do something wrong. No sir, it’s not. You can’t be fixed. That’s my justification for what I plan to do to you. You can’t be healed. I Googled the shit, and I know. You’re four times more likely to hurt a kid again than any other criminal is to recommit any other crime. So, what I’m gonna do to you, it’ll make sure you don’t do what you did to those little boys to anyone else. And I’m gonna guess if I gave Timmy’s mom this knife, she’d do a lot more to you than I’m goin’ to.”
Toad reached down, grabbed the man’s hand in his, and as he held it, sliced his wrist. After releasing his hand, he sliced the man’s other wrist the same way. After dropping his hand, he reached between the man’s legs with the knife. With a deep grunt and a tug of the blade, he sliced through the man’s pants and deeply into each of his thighs. Quickly, his pant legs began to discolor from the blood he lost.
“Damn, Toad. I thought you’d cut his throat,” Otis said under his breath.
“Read it on the internet. The article said it’d take up to thirty minutes from cuttin’ the wrists alone. Said maybe he’d last 5 minutes if I cut the femoral in the thighs. I’ve seen Marines die from having a femoral artery cut, even with a tourniquet. Thought this would give him a few minutes to think about what he’d done,” Toad said as he leaned over and wiped the blade on the man’s shirt.
Toad was right. If a parent had seen the videos the man had taken while he abused their children, and later been handed the knife, the killing would have been far more brutal. As difficult as it was to allow myself to believe what I watched was real, it was not something I would ever wish a parent to participate in.
Without speaking, we stood and watched the man slowly die. I’d seen several stabbings, and been involved in several shootings where men had died. I had never, however, calmly stood and watched a man die. I’m thoroughly convinced each time I see a man die it takes a little piece of my own soul, bringing me that much closer to death. It must be the price we are required to pay for witnessing the final deterioration of one of God’s greatest creations; mankind.
As I crossed my arms and blankly stared until he finally went completely limp, I thought of all the children and what he’d done to them. I silently wondered if God was watching as we kidnapped the man, or as Toad cut him. And, as the man bled until his last breath escaped him, I wondered if God witnessed the entire event; and if so, why he didn’t intervene.
As he peacefully drew his last shallow breath, I came to a conclusion. God did witness it. And he, not unlike me, had no place in his heart for a man who sexually molested helpless children.
And, God was using the Selected Sinners to do what he wasn’t able to do.
Because God is forgiving.
And the Sinners are not.
AVERY
Saturday nights at the bar were a pain in the ass. Although I made more in tips during the night than I made the entire rest of the work week combined, at the time I’m working the shift, I always felt like I wanted to quit my job and become a librarian. Today had been a little more busy than usual. A local poker run ended, and bikers filtered in and out all afternoon starting about four o’clock. As Sloan and her 2 added cups worked the dining area, I tried to keep everyone happy from behind the bar.
“I’ll take another Budweiser,” the man at the end of the bar said as he raised his hand.
I reached into the cooler and pulled out a bottle of Bud. I grabbed my opener, popped off the lid, and held it in my hand as I handed him the bottle. After he grinned and accepted the beer, I turned toward the trash can, which was roughly fifteen feet away, and tossed the lid in the air. As the lid hit the back side of the can and fell inside, I pumped my fist in victory.
“Nice shot,” Budweiser bottle said from behind me.
“I know, right?” I said over my shoulder.
I grabbed my bar rag and began to wipe the bar as I scanned the dining area for Sloan. She stood talking to a table of three college aged guys who were all focused on her tits as she spoke. One of them had ears the size of the palm of my hand. I rolled my eyes and grinned at the three guys as they slobbered on themselves.
Add the Bud to his tab, Avery.
I shook my head and turned to the register. As I added the Budweiser bottle to the man at the end of the bar’s tab, I wondered how many drinks I forgot over the course of a busy night. I’d like to think I remembered them all, but it seemed I always wondered how many I just might forget, totally. It wasn’t my liquor, and it wasn’t any money out of my pocket, but I wanted to do my job and do it well. Still staring at the register in deep thought, Sloan’s heavy whispering brought me back to reality.
“Did you see the three guys sitting at number eight?”
I turned around and faced Sloan, who was leaning over between two men who were sitting at the bar. Her boobs were smashed all over the place.
“Yeah, I saw ‘em. I’m gonna guess they didn’t see you, though,” I chuckled as I stepped toward the bar.
She was bent over completely, now resting her chin on the bar. Although I couldn’t see them, I was sure her boobs were spread all over the bar. Surprised the men on either side of her weren’t staring at the sides of her tits, I rolled my eyes and leaned closer to her.
She glanced over her shoulder toward the high top where they
were seated. After a long pause of filling her eyes with their disgusting stares, she turned my direction, “Huh? What are you talking about? I talked to them for like ten minutes. The one with the blue tee shirt is hot.”
“No, actually he’s not. He looks like he’s getting ready to fly somewhere with those huge assed ears. And when I looked over there, you were talking and they were staring at your tits; all three of them,” I said quietly.
“Whatever. I like this shirt though,” she said as she stood up.
She was wearing a Southwestern College tee shirt, and she had cut a slice in the front of it about ten inches long; from the center of the neck opening to the center of her boobs. Her new bra was working overtime to shove her boobs out the top of the oversized opening she had created.
“Yeah, looks great. Looks like your new BF liked it too,” I said as I tossed my head toward the big eared weirdo.
After a single finger salute, she rolled her eyes, and turned away. I loved Sloan, but I envied her a little nonetheless. And, within all of the envy, I despised her at times. She was all too eager to allow a guy to hit on her, pick her up, use her, and break another small piece of her heart. She acted like it was all a part of her plan each time a guy used her, but I knew better. No one wants to feel as if they’re being used, and Sloan was no exception. Her frequent excuse of I just wanted some dick, I got what I wanted was sheer bullshit.
As she walked into the dining area and made her rounds, I stared at her butt and wished it was mine. I turned toward the register and checked to make sure I added the Budweiser before Sloan walked up. As I swiped the screens and got to his tab, I smiled at the fact I had added it. Maybe I never forgot anything. Hell, who knows.
“So, you ever date the customers?” a voice from behind me asked.
I turned around to face Heineken bottle. I smiled as I pushed the bar rag into the corner of my jeans pocket.
“No, I’m taken. And I’m gay. She’s my girlfriend,” I nodded into the open dining area.
Making The Cut (Selective Sinners MC #1) Page 5
