Filthy F*ckers: The Complete Series Box Set

by Hildreth, Scott

  “Why?”

  “We’re not taking my bike.” I motioned to Pee Bee’s bike. “We’re taking that.”

  “Why?”

  I shrugged. “It’ll be more comfortable for you. It’s got air ride suspension, a CD player, and a gel-filled passenger seat. Hell, it’s like riding a marshmallow down the highway.”

  “Not interested.” She slapped the palm of her hand against the side of my gas tank. “I wanna ride on this.”

  I narrowed my eyes and fought the urge to smile. “Why?”

  “Because this is a real bike,” she said.

  I exhaled, nodded, and walked back into the shop.

  I tossed Pee Bee his keys. “Here.”

  “Not taking it?”

  “She didn’t want to ride on it.”

  He looked disappointed. “Why?”

  “Said she wants to ride on a real bike.”

  “A real bike?”

  I nodded. “Yep.”

  “Tell that skinny little bitch to go fuck herself,” he said. “That is a real bike.”

  “Tell her yourself.”

  “I ain’t walkin’ all the way out there.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be seeing her again,” I said.

  And I truly believed it.

  Chapter Eleven

  Peyton

  I learned to surf long before anything else. I wasn’t quite a teenager at the time, and Phillip, my oldest brother, was seventeen. Preston was two years older than me, and two years younger than Phillip. With me being the youngest child – and the only girl – my father was slightly overprotective of me.

  He took another gulp of his coffee and glanced at his watch. “You’re too young.”

  “I’m almost thirteen.”

  “Like I said, you’re too young.”

  “Phil started when he was ten.”

  “Phil’s a boy. You’re a girl. There’s a difference.”

  “Is not.”

  “There is. And, I don’t have time to argue. I’m almost late.”

  “I’m going,” I said. “They’re going to teach me.”

  It was summer, and we were out of school. With my father working, we had the entire ten-week period to ourselves. Our adventures were only limited by our imaginations and our courage, which were two things I seemed to have an overabundance of.

  “They’re most certainly not,” he said. “Now I’ve got to go.”

  He leaned over and gave me a kiss. It was something he did every day before he left for work, but the level of affection didn’t extend to my brothers. I didn’t really think about it at the time, but as I got older, I came to believe he kissed me each day because I reminded him of mom.

  And he missed her. Dearly.

  She died when I was eight, the result of a multi-car pileup on the freeway. There were many cars that wrecked that day, but she was the only fatality. My father told me that she was far too beautiful of a woman to remain on earth, and that God recognized it and took her to heaven to be with the other angels.

  I believed him.

  It was difficult not to. My mother was a beautiful woman, and she was definitely an angel. Her skin resembled porcelain. Her hair was like silk, and her smile was infectious. She had a soft voice, her patience was never ending, and she always took the time to do whatever she must to keep us entertained.

  “Maybe just a few lessons?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I promise,” I said, extending my pinkie. “I won’t.”

  “You can’t make that promise,” he said.

  I extended my arm and offered him my pinkie. “I just did.”

  “A few lessons, that’s it.” He sighed and reached for my hand. As our pinkies interlocked, he grinned. “Don’t get hurt.”

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  I spent that entire summer surfing, and before school started, I was just as good as Phillip and Preston, which made neither of them very happy. Although most families took vacations in the summer, we took a different approach, vacationing during winter break.

  While Phillip and Preston chose to downhill ski, I, being the more adventurous, learned to snowboard. By the time I was sixteen, I was an avid snowboarder. At eighteen, I was driving to Utah and climbing up the face of mountains where no one else had ventured.

  People often asked if I had a death wish, or if I placed no value whatsoever on life. I always responded no, but never took time to explain.

  In reality, my adventures took me to a place far away, somewhere between the heavens above and the earth below. With everything I did, be it surfing, snowboarding, or rock climbing, my feet were never planted firmly on the earth, and the euphoria I felt was heavenly.

  Sometimes, so heaven-like, that I felt I could reach out and touch her hand.

  To this day, I miss her dearly.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nick

  I glanced around the shop, taking time to make eye contact with each of the men. As they returned my gaze – some seeming eager, while others appeared concerned – I remained stone-faced.

  “It’s no secret that the Savages run thirty deep while our membership is eighteen. I don’t say this for the sake of saying it. I say it because I believe it. Thirty deep or three hundred deep, it doesn’t matter. There’s not an MC on this earth that has more heart, soul, or guts than the Fuckers.”

  The shop erupted in fuck yeahs, grunts, and shouts. To boost morale, I gave the men a moment of celebration, then raised my hand and silenced the crowd. “It’s no secret that this has been coming for some time, and ever since they stole Bunk’s bike, they’ve been asking for it. Well, now they’ve decided it’s okay to ride right into our territory, and even come into one of our bars. If we don’t stand up now, ain’t one of us worth the patches we’re wearin’.”

  “What are we gonna do?” Stretch asked. “What’s the plan?”

  I nodded. “I’m getting’ to that. We’re not huntin’ ‘em down, but we’re giving no grace when it comes to territory. Not now. If one of ‘em is spotted on our turf, it’s on. Right then and fucking there.”

  “If you whipped Whip’s ass, you know they’ll be comin’ for us,” Ryder said.

  “If I whipped his ass? If? There’s no if. I beat that motherfucker like he owed me money. And then I stomped his head in the dirt. Him and that little steroid eatin’ sidekick of his, Panda. And, you’re right. They’ll be comin’. So, here’s the best advice I can give each of you.”

  I raised my index finger in the air.

  “If you’re on your sled, you’re going to be wearing your colors. If you’re wearing your colors, you’ll be a target. We need to always be in pairs.” I pointed to Pee bee, and then to myself. “No exceptions. I realize there’s going to be little short runs where you’re alone, but what I’m talking about is being out on the road alone. Don’t do it.”

  “Closest patch is ten miles from where I stay,” Cholo said.

  “Meet halfway. A ten-mile run alone on the highway is asking for it. I know some of you don’t like doin’ it, but splittin’ lanes in this state is legal. If you get stuck in traffic, split lanes and get on down the highway.”

  I studied the men. Each of them stood in wait. Some for further instructions while others waited for reassurance that everything would be okay. A few probably hoped for an invitation to go bust someone’s head.

  “I know some of you are eager to bust heads, and there’s others who would just as soon have this thing end without any bloodshed. Well, I got news for you, fellas. This won’t come to an end without spillin’ some blood. Not now. The Savages have gone too far this time. And if there’s anyone thinking that what I did was wrong, go ahead and turn your patch in now. They came into our territory, walked into one of our bars, and pulled a knife on me. To tell the truth, if that reporter wouldn’t have been with me, we’d probably be burying those two pricks”

  “Where’s it end?” Ryder asked.

  “What do you m
ean?”

  “Will this be like the Hells Angels and the Outlaws? A never ending battle that lasts a lifetime? If you say no, tell us what’s going to stop it. What’s gotta happen to get this thing to end?”

  “Listen up, fellas,” I shouted. “Ryder asked how this thing’s gonna end? My answer isn’t what any of you want to hear, but it’s the best I’ve got. My answer’s this: I’ve got no fucking idea. If these pricks give us the respect we deserve, then I guess it’s over. If they don’t, it’ll continue until they do or they’re all dead.”

  The men fell silent.

  “Anyone take exception to what we’re doing?”

  Silence.

  “Anyone want out of this club? Now’s your chance. If you’re not willing to be part of this, I’m going to ask you to turn in your patch. I’d rather have you walk away now than not have my back or one of the fellas backs when the shit gets real. And, believe me, it’s gonna get real.”

  Silence.

  “Nobody?”

  “I’ve got somethin’,” Pee Bee said.

  “Listen up, fellas. Peeb’s got something to say.”

  Pee Bee raked his fingers through his hair, glanced around the group, and sighed. Although I was the president of the club, the men looked at him as a spokesperson, their protector, and someone who would never bullshit them about club business.

  “We might not follow society’s rules, and we sure as fuck don’t abide by society’s laws. But, we’ve got a strict morale code that we live by. Our own set of rules. Each and every rule we follow gets back to the same thing, respect. We don’t ride in San Bernardino County. Because we’re pussies? No. Because we respect the Devil’s Head MC. And we don’t go to the Five Corners in Escondido. Why? It’s a Hells Angels bar. We show respect to these clubs because we respect them. And, in return they give respect. What this is about, with the Savages, is respect. They don’t respect us, and they’re flexin’ their muscles.”

  He raised his fist and flexed his bicep. “It’s time we flex our muscles. We’ve got two of their patches in the safe. Far as I’m concerned, we ain’t done ‘till we got twenty-eight more. That’s all I got. I’m droppin’ my mic.”

  “Good point, Peeb.” I nodded. “He’s right, fellas. Respect. That’s all we’re asking for. And until they give it, we need to watch our backs.”

  Pee Bee’s eyes shot wide and he motioned toward the street. “Fuck. Cops.”

  I turned toward the open garage doors. Without lights or sirens, police cruisers pulled in one after the other. After the fourth, an unmarked Dodge Charger parked alongside the last cruiser. In unison, eight uniform officers – and who I suspected were two detectives – got out of their cars at the same time.

  The detective driving the unmarked charger stepped a few feet inside the shop and stopped. His partner and the remaining officers stood in position.

  “Nicholas Navarro. You can either surrender, or we’re coming in.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll give you fifteen seconds.”

  “Nobody do anything,” I whispered. “Don’t fucking move.”

  I took two steps forward, separating myself from the group of men. “I’m Nick Navarro. You placing me under arrest?”

  He nodded. “I sure am.”

  “What are the charges?”

  “You’ve got six seconds.”

  “What are the fucking charges?”

  “The disappearance of Bryan Whipple for starters. Time’s up.”

  I pulled off my kutte and handed it to Pee Bee. Having it confiscated by the police and used as a trophy during a news conference wasn’t going to happen. After handing him my cell phone and wallet, I gave my only instruction. “Get the reporter to come see me in jail if they don’t let me bond out.”

  “The girl?”

  I nodded. “She works for the Union-Tribune. Name’s Peyton Price. She’ll be easy to find.”

  He folded the kutte over his forearm and nodded. “You got it, Crip.”

  I began walking toward the officers. After the third or fourth step, guns were drawn and commands were barked out as if I were a suicide bomber.

  “Do not come any closer! Place your hands behind your head! Interlock your fingers, and lower yourself to the floor!”

  Standing twenty feet from the officers, I locked eyes with big-mouthed detective. I slowly raised my hands, placed them behind my head, and interlocked my fingers.

  “Get down on the floor!”

  “I’m not getting on the floor.”

  “Get down on the floor!”

  “I’ve got seventeen fucking witnesses. I’m not resisting arrest. I’m surrendering.”

  “Get down on the floor!” he shouted. “I’m not telling you again!”

  No differently than the issues the MC was having with the Savages, I viewed the detective’s demand that get on the floor as disrespectful. If I were resisting arrest, committing a crime, or attempting to evade arrest, I would have no other choice.

  But I wasn’t.

  I was peacefully offering myself to them. His repeated commands were for no other reason than to feed his ego. I had little doubt that if it wasn’t for the seventeen witnesses standing behind me, I would have been shot.

  I shook my head. “I’m not telling you again. I’m surrendering without incident, detective.”

  He drew his weapon and pointed it at me. Nine others followed.

  Sorry, fellas.

  You’re trying to scare the wrong man.

  I’d been shot at far too many times to allow myself to become petrified by someone who was simply pointing a gun at me.

  With his weapon pointed at my chest, he nodded his head toward the floor. “Get on the floor, or I’ll shoot!”

  I coughed out a laugh. “You got any idea how many of those fellas behind me have cell phones?”

  His eyes thinned.

  “And idea how many know how to push the record button?” I asked.

  He exhaled heavily.

  “I’m surrendering.” I cleared my throat. “Now. Be a man, and come arrest me.”

  “Lower your weapons.” He holstered his weapon and removed his handcuffs. “Turn around. Slowly.”

  I nodded. “Sure thing, detective.”

  I turned around, locked eyes with Pee Bee, and winked. He shook his head and grinned.

  The detective frisked me, placed the cuffs on my wrists one at a time, and turned me to face the officers. “Nicholas Navarro, you are under arrest in association with the disappearance of Bryan Whipple. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you.”

  “I’m under arrest?”

  “You sure are.”

  “Under the protection afforded me by the Fifth Amendment of the US Constitution, I would like to exercise my right to remain silent. And, I refuse to subject myself to any questioning without having an attorney present,” I said.

  “So you’re a gang member and a legal expert?” he asked in a sarcastic tone.

  He was doing his best to goad me into a conversation, but it wasn’t going to work. There were only two people I was going to talk to.

  The club’s attorney, and Peyton Price.

  In that order.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Peyton

  I’d searched the house from one end to the other and couldn’t find my recorder. I remembered having it at the coffee shop and placing it in my purse before we left, but now it was nowhere to be found.

  Frustrated, I sat at my computer and began to type, using compiled notes from memory alone.

  Although racism is commonly practiced by many similar clubs, the FFMC harbors no such beliefs, nor limits their membership by anything other than opinion. Navarro isn’t a prejudiced man, and regardless of skin color, creed, or religious belief, if a man is capable of proving his worth to the club – an eighteen-month process – he may be voted in by a unanimou
s decision.

  Somewhat of a flirt – and by his own admission a man who doesn’t trust himself in the presence of women – Navarro’s charisma arrives minutes before he does. Be it his confident swagger, his perfectly sculpted cheek bones, or his million-dollar smile, resisting his allure is no easy task.

  His only means of transportation remains a vintage Harley-Davidson FLH, void of any options available in today’s competitive motorcycle manufacturing market. While others in the club may ride custom baggers fitted with stereos, fairings, and hard saddle bags, Navarro’s personal selection must be kick-started.

  I read what I had written and decided it was an acceptable place to start. Although I was initially eager to investigate and write the piece on Navarro’s club, now that I had an opportunity to spend time with him, doing so seemed strangely out-of-place.

  I highlighted everything and erased it.

  Finding Nick Navarro attractive and being attracted to him were totally different. Any reasonably sane woman would find him attractive, but being attracted to him – especially after taking time to get to know him – would be foolish, or so I thought.

  There was no real reason for me to be attracted to him.

  But I was.

  I felt my article not only needed to satisfy the expectations of my editor-in-chief, my readers, and myself, but Navarro as well. Leaving him out of the equation seemed irresponsible and insensitive.

  And I was neither.

  In a perfect world, I would have him sitting beside me while I wrote the article. Being certain to wear my glasses – and my shorts – I would tease him the entire time, leaving him no alternative other than to make sexual advances. Of course I would succumb to his wishes – all the while telling myself I was using him solely for my own personal satisfaction.

  I was beginning to wonder if I was lying to myself.

  As rough and impetuous as he was when it came to sex, I found his manner desirable in an almost infectious way. In his absence, I yearned for his forceful touch. In his presence, I anxiously waited for an opportunity to provoke him to exercise his lack of sexual control.