I elbow him hard in the ribs and when he pulls back I roll over to the other side of the bed.
“Lemme guess,” he says. “You’re angry again.”
“Of course I’m angry. You’re going through with your fucked up plan so tell me why I shouldn’t be angry.”
He opens his mouth to say something then closes it. After a second he tries again. “I…I got nothing.” He finally admits.
“Then I got no reason to stick around here.” I reply.
“Are you kidding?” He asks. “What about the last two hours? Did that mean nothing to you?”
“Yeah it was fucking hot!” I retort. “But that’s all it was, just a lot of fucking! What you want from me I can’t give it. I lost my family when I was fourteen and here you are murdering you only family you got left. How can I be okay with that?”
“Geeze Morgan, I thought we moved past this.”
“You thought because we fucked that we moved past? Wow, you are really naïve sometimes.”
“You know I have to do this.” He argues. “You just won’t admit it. Just because you lost your family doesn’t mean mine is worth keeping. But you’re forgetting a key piece of the puzzle here Morgan. I am protecting my family. My family is the Iron Disciples and I am trying to protect them. Why can’t you see that?”
“You two fighting won’t stop the war that’s coming and you know it. You ca-”
“Oh I know it will. You don’t know anything about biker code of conduct or you wouldn’t say that. But I’ve taken measures to assure that if Eddie winds winning and decides to go after us anyway. Just before we draw our weapons I’ll give him proof that I have taken fail safe steps to prevent any treachery on his part. I’m not an idiot Morgan and I’ve held the position of President in the most powerful outlaw biker club for a very long time. I know how it works, you don’t.”
I want to believe he is telling the truth here but I just can’t. I will never get past him killing his brother; never. That’s too bad because I really like him. In fact I have never felt this way about another man in all my life! And I am about to leave him because he can’t see things my way. How fucked up is that?
“Look Morgan. You got a decision to make here. You can’t stand with one leg in and one leg out. It’ll never work. You either jump in with both feet and accept the biker world or not. You’re either all in or all out. That’s the way it works. You’re going to have to trust me. So what’s it gonna be Morgan?”
I try to think back to my last boyfriend and I realize something. I always had one foot out the door and relationships don’t work that way, especially when you’re a biker’s old lady. Like Cade says, you’re either all in or you’ll be all out sooner or later. Question is, am I ready to be an all in old lady?
“If I’m gonna be an old lady there’s something you gotta do for me.”
“Name it.”
“Full disclosure. I’ll accept nothing less from you. You don’t and keep things from me then there will always be this wall between us and I can’t live with that. I have to know what I’m getting into. I want to know if my life is in danger and especially if your life is in danger as well. You come home wearing a bloody tee shirt I want to know why. If you just up and knifed some guy I want to know it. Don’t fucking leave me guessing Cade or I will be outta here.”
“You want the truth? You can’t handle…Just kidding.”
“What? What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Oh come on,” he says. “You can’t tell me you didn’t see that movie! You remember that scene with Jack Nicholson and Tom Cruise, right?” Then when he sees the blank look on my face. “Never mind. It was a pretty damn good movie though. But yeah, full disclosure, as you put it.”
“Full Disclosure? You’re really fucking serious about that?” I ask skeptically.
“Completely.”
And now I pounce. “The Filthy Few patch. You owe me a fucking explanation and it’s been a long time coming.”
He takes a deep breath and lets out a long sigh. “Alright, he says. Just remember, you asked for it.”
EIGHTEEN
Filthy Few
(Cade Tells His Story)
Fifteen years ago…
I walked into my clubhouse and sat down at the far end of the bar. At the opposite end is a prospect whose name I didn’t catch. He was not a big guy…maybe five ten and maybe one sixty. He had a curly mop of dirty blond hair on his head and a scruffy sparse beard. He didn’t look like your typical prospect.
“Gimme a beer prospect!” I bark with the correct amount of disdain and authority.
Like any good prospect he hustles to do my bidding. Being a newly patched member the act of bullying around our prospects is still a thrill. I was there once looking in from the outside, wearing a simple cut with the word prospect on the bottom rocker. I was the one taking the abuse not dishing it out.
“It’s fucking warm prospect! I slide the bottle down the counter top with enough vigor to cause it to tip over spilling the precious brew all over the counter and floor. That would of course mean he would be getting a mop and bucket to clean up after my mess.
“Get me another bitch, and if it ain’t colder than a witch’s tit I’m gonna stick it up that bony ass of yours and make you drink it dry.”
He doesn’t dare object or be anything less than enthusiastic about my abuse. You just have to keep your head down, do what you’re told and exhibit nothing but reckless loyalty to the club. You really have to love the LIFE or you’d never be able to stick it out for the year and a half to two year process that it takes to become a fully patched member.
It did have its perks though. Even one of our prospects commanded loyalty in the biker community. In fact our prospects were considered higher up in the biker food chain than patched members of some of the smaller to mid-sized clubs. I both loved and hated the twenty months it took for me to be patched in. So…I wasn’t a total dick to that guy.
“What’s your name prospect?” I finally ask him one day over a beer.
“Daniel, but most brothers call me Speck.”
“Speck? There must be a story behind that.”
“Not really. Until I get my patch I am about as important as that speck on the wall.” He says pointing to a dark speck on a nearby wall.
I laugh. It was a typical biker name for a prospect. Many prospects keep their nickname even after they get patched while some prefer to go back to their regular name. Our Sargent at Arms kept his nickname. Of course his prospect name was cool as hell. Who would not be wanted to be called Shadow? I on the other hand will kill anyone who calls me anything but Cade. I hated my prospect nickname. I’m guessing Speck will go back to being Daniel if he eventually gets his patch.
Over the next six months I really got to know Speck well. He was a great guy even for a prospect. He had a knack for throwing knives and story goes he saved a brother’s life one night at a bar by throwing a knife into the throat of a rival biker who pulled a gun on the brother. He really was a badass but didn’t have a giant ego to go with it. I actually liked Speck.
I had been a patched member for about 8 months when my club loyalty was tested to its limit. The inner circle of brothers left one night on a very hush hush weapons run to a new client. Because the client was new there was the greatest risk of being set up or that we were unknowingly delivering guns to the ATF or the FBI. As it turns out they were walking into a set up by folks from the ATF (Alcohol Tobacco, and Firearms). The resulting trap landed seven brothers in jail for fourteen months.
It took us awhile but we finally found the person who set us up; Speck! I was blown away. I really like the dude and was looking forward to his being patched in next month. The brothers approached me with an assignment. I was led into the inner sanctum where the remaining brothers who made up the council had gathered around. In the middle of the table was what appeared to be an eight by ten photo turned upside down, and on that photo was the coveted Filthy Few patch.
; “Cade,” our club’s Treasurer, began. “It’s time for you to earn your Filthy Few patch and demonstrate your loyalty to your club.”
Right away I knew what was being asked of me. I was being ordered to kill someone; probably someone from a rival club like the Outkasts.
“Have a look at the photo. When you take care of the problem you can come back in here and pick up your Filthy Few patch.”
I felt so proud at the time, as well as more than a little scared but I was not about to let the brothers know anything about my inner turmoil. Being conflicted or asking questions is not something that belongs in the brotherhood. You trusted that the president always acted for the best interests of the club. This kill I was about to do was in the best interests of the club and I would be protecting my brothers. Of course I want to protect my family. It’s just…I had never killed a man before and I had no idea how difficult it might prove to be. I was sure I could do it though; until I turned over the photo and saw who I was being tasked to kill.
The man I was going to have to kill was none other than Speck! I swear I was shaking like a leaf when I sat back down at the table with the photo in my hand. In fact I had to put both hands under the table so they wouldn’t see them shaking. I couldn’t believe Speck was the rat. From day one I’d had it drummed into my head about being loyal to your brothers and the club and how being a rat was the worst thing in the world. Rats are the lowest of the low and deserved to die. So a part of me felt the rage that other brothers were feeling and another part of me began to mourn for Speck who would have been my brother officially next month. I couldn’t fucking believe it. I was told to come up with a plan and present it to the brothers the next evening so I went back home and got drunk. It’s the only thing I could do. I just could not plan to kill a brother; at least not yet anyway.
The next day, hung over and feeling like shit I begin to steel myself for what I was about to do. I decided to make it simple. We had just fixed a bike and needed to take it for a test drive. I would be riding the bike we had supposedly just fixed and he would go along to give me a ride home if the bike we fixed gave out on me. I was given a Glock 17 with the serial numbers filed off and a silencer attached. I was told after I took care of the rat problem that I could keep the gun. I always wanted to carry a gun and to be a real badass, but not like this. I guess everything has its price.
The next morning we jumped on the bikes and I took the lead and he rode beside me. We drove around town a bit then I jumped on the highway until it took us out of Alameda County. We took the first exit off the highway in Colusa County, and then took another winding road towards the coast. The whole time he kept right beside me flashing a smile whenever I happened to look his way. Under normal circumstances I would have really enjoyed the ride. But it had to end and putting it off wasn’t gonna make it any easier. After a bit I pretended to have an issue with the bike and pulled off on a dirt road and behind a copse of trees to look at it in the shade.
I killed the engine and took off my helmet. Unfortunately I over did it by pulling into a place that couldn’t be seen by the main road and he became suspicious of me. I hated seeing the doubt in his eyes as I casually talked about some fake problem the bike was having. The whole time I’m trying to get into a position where he’s not looking at me so I can draw my gun and shoot. I had no delusions about my own marksmanship. If it came to a shootout I would probably be on the losing side. I need to surprise him.
After way too long of maneuvering and bullshitting he stepped back from me and drew a gun from his waistband. I had no idea he was carrying. Now he had me at gunpoint and mine wasn’t even drawn. How the hell was I gonna get out of that mess alive? I decided to just freak out. Anything to throw him off guard and give me the chance to draw my own gun. I acted terrified to see a gun pointed at me and pretended to literally pee my pants. Turns out I did such a good job that he felt sorry for me and for jumping to conclusions and pulling the gun on me. We talked it out and he put his gun back in his waistband.
I felt like a total shithead though because the second he turned to look at my bike I pulled my own gun on him this time. I’ll never forget the look of surprise when he saw the barrel of the gun in his face. I was shaking so bad I could hardly even point the damn thing at him.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I don-”
I didn’t get to finish my sentence. He charged me knocking the gun out of my hands and sending it flying into the weeds. I fell flat on my ass. He ended up straddling me so I couldn’t even twist around to try and find the gun. Then he draws this long-ass fucking knife from his belt and that’s when I saw his gun had fallen from his pants and was lying right beside his knee. He could have killed me right there but he hesitated with the knife raised ready to plunge it into my unprotected chest.
Instead he asked. “Why?”
I grabbed the gun that was lying beside his knee, pointed it towards his chest, and just pulled the trigger. The impact of the bullets actually knocked him off me and he fell over in the grass. I must have shot the guy five times because he was a real mess. I started to get up but I couldn’t. I just doubled over and started puking. I couldn’t believe I just kill…no, murdered a guy; a friend really. It’s true, I really did like Daniel and I couldn’t wait for him to get patched. We would have had fun times riding together. But instead I had killed my friend in cold blood.
I wiped his gun clean and retrieved my own gun and rode back to the clubhouse. I don’t know what they did to the motorcycle I abandoned back there or the body. All I cared was my part was done. I didn’t go back to the clubhouse for almost a week and when I did my Filthy Few patch was still sitting there on the table in the inner sanctum right where they left it. I took my patch and sewed it on with a needle and thread. It must have taken me an hour or longer just to sew the damn thing on. I kept thinking about killing Speck and then my hands would get to shaking so badly I couldn’t hold the fucking needle. After that people looked at me differently and I knew it was because of the patch. I also looked at me differently too. I killed a man. That should count for something; but what I am still trying to figure out.
In my clubs eyes I had passed the ultimate test of loyalty and they definitely looked at me with a different light. Maybe they looked at me as a killer but I certainly didn’t feel like one. Not that I had any idea what a killer felt like. I was just me, and I had killed a man; end of story.”
He finally stops talking and I don’t know what to say. After a minute he continues.
“I will never know if he really was a rat. I wasn’t part of the inner sanctum, the officers, so I wasn’t privy to the information that supposedly damned him. But thanks to that day I am no good at relationships. Most brothers feel close to their fellow patched members, but not me. I think I got this thing in the back of my head that’s always telling me to back off because that person who may become my friend; I may have to kill him one day. So to spare myself what I went through after killing Daniel I refuse to get close to my brothers. That is also what makes me the perfect leader. I have no trouble at all making the hard choices that the leader of an outlaw MC has to make sometimes.
They fucked me up that day Morgan, when they made me kill my friend. It’s also why I’m no good at relationships with women either. I got this thing in the back of my head that tempers my emotions. It won’t let me get to close just in case I have to kill the girl I am involved with.”
Now I am a little worried. Does he think he’ll have to kill me one day? I gotta ask him.
“So…what about me? Are getting ready in case you have to kill me?”
“No…no one can order a kill but the president and I would never order a hit on you.”
“But in the back of your mind are you wondering what if I snitched on the club for a crime I saw or something?”
“I couldn’t hurt you Morgan. It would be like cutting my own heart out. I have let myself get too close to you to think objectively.”
That seems good. He can�
��t kill me.
“Are you sorry that you let your guard down around me?” I ask.
He waits for a minute before finally replying. “Sometimes yes.”
“What, you afraid you might have to off me or something?”
“Of course not.” He says to me, but I can see the doubt in his eyes.
“You’re afraid I might say something to the cops and your brothers will kill me.”
He shakes his head. “No…it’s just…I don’t know what it is really.”
“Look at me Cade! I’m all in; both feet. I will never give you or your brothers a reason to off me…or even doubt me. I’m your old lady Cade. You can trust me. But remember this shit goes both ways. I want you; all of you. That means you tell me everything. I want no secrets between us. Don’t try to protect me. I’m strong and don’t need you fucking protecting me or anything like that. I’m a big girl.”
“That you are Morgan…that you are.”
“And I have a solution for you so you don’t have to kill your brother.”
“I’m listening.”
“I think you should take a page out of history books and not kill Eddie, but neutralize him instead.”
“What do you mean?”
“During the crusades armies would capture a king and his children and hold them hostage for good behavior from the enemy’s armies and its citizens. All you gotta do is capture your brother and maybe a couple key officers and hold them hostage. Tell the Outkasts that you’ll kill your brother unless they unless they cooperate.”
“What? You’re kidding me right? What the fuck am I supposed to do with a hostage? Just keep him around forever just to ensure his club’s good behavior? If they feel that there’s no way of getting him back safely they’ll just vote in a new president and any missing officers and it’ll be business as usual except for a war fuelled by revenge. You don’t know what you’re talking about Morgan. This isn’t the crusades. What worked then isn’t going to work now.”
The Filthy Few (Iron Disciples MC) Page 16
