Filthy F*ckers: The Complete Series Box Set

by Hildreth, Scott

  She sat in her recliner with her eyes glued to the most recent episode of Lauren Lake’s Paternity Court. It was one of the many shows she insisted upon watching daily, and her doing so seemed to keep her mind occupied.

  I carried the tomato soup and grilled cheese into the living room and set it on the tray beside her. “Time for lunch.”

  “It seems like I just had breakfast.”

  “You eat lunch with Lauren,” I said.

  “I know that,” she snapped. “It seems like I just had breakfast. This day has just flown by.”

  It saddened me to see her in her current state. In so many ways she was still the mother that raised me, and in others, she was slowly becoming less and less like her former self.

  She glanced at the tray and then at the television. “Tomato?”

  “Tomato soup and grilled cheese.”

  With her eyes fixed on the show, she swiveled the tray over her lap. “My favorite.”

  During the week, she ate the same thing every day for lunch. Each day, she acted like it was a huge surprise. On the weekends, a woman stopped in to help out. Oddly enough, on those days, she was openminded enough to eat anything she was given.

  “That’s why I made it, ma. I know how much you like it.”

  “I haven’t seen your brothers for days,” she said. “I wonder what they’ve gotten themselves into?”

  My three brothers lived a few thousand miles away, and hadn’t seen her in years. Too busy was the standard response, but I don’t care anymore seemed to be closer to the truth.

  I was born when my mother was 42, and although I wasn’t a mistake, the pregnancy that preceded her menopause wasn’t planned, either. I often wondered if it was the difference in age that kept me close to home, or if it was the fact that I simply cared more than they did about the welfare of my family.

  In my eyes, nothing was more sacred than family. Be it my birth family or my MC brethren, my heart – and my life – was devoted to their safety and wellbeing. Most of them, anyway.

  As I wandered around the room, moving things back to where they belonged, I let out a sigh. “Hard saying.”

  She dipped the corner of the sandwich into the soup, held it in place, and stared at the television. Lauren asked the bailiff to produce the DNA tests for the two parties. As the bailiff turned away to retrieve the files, the show broke to a commercial.

  She lifted the sandwich and bit off the corner. “I think he’s the father.”

  I switched the couch cushions to their correct places, and then sat on the loveseat across from her. “We’ll find out in a minute.”

  “He’s got those eyes.” She wagged the index finger of her free hand toward the television. “Lying eyes.”

  “I wasn’t paying attention,” I said. “I’ll trust your opinion.”

  She turned her focus to her lunch. “Your father didn’t make it home last night. I thought his shift ended yesterday?”

  My father, a former pilot for American Airlines, had been dead for ten years. Some days it seemed she realized he was gone, and on others, she clearly didn’t.

  I gazed at the photo of him that sat on the mantle. “I’m not sure when his shift ends.”

  She took another bite of the sandwich. “Maybe it’s tonight.”

  The television switched from a commercial to the show. The judge studied the DNA evidence, lowered the folder, and peered over the top of it.

  “In the case of James versus Walters, the test by DNA Systems supports that you, Mister Walters, are the baby’s father.”

  “I knew it,” my mother said. “The eyes don’t lie.”

  “They sure don’t,” I said.

  She poked the remaining piece of the sandwich half into her mouth, chewed it, and wiped the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “When will you have time to clean the birds out of the yard?”

  My eyes moved to the window. “I’ll get them when I leave.”

  When I arrived, she insisted that there were dead blackbirds in her yard, but the lawn, as always, was spotless. The meticulous landscape was a tradition that began as a result of my father’s hard work, and was undoubtedly one of his life’s pleasures. I maintained the shrubbery, trees, and the lawn no differently than he had, primarily because I knew he’d appreciate it.

  She looked up from her bowl of soup. “When are you going to give love another try?”

  I flipped through the magazines that were sitting on the end table. “Leave it alone, ma.”

  She lowered her spoon and gave me a look. “You’re still riding that thing, and you’re not married. When a man becomes an adult, he finds a job and a woman, and then he gets married. It’s been that way since the beginning of time. You’re out of school and you’ve got a job. What’s the next step?”

  “Just like I said. Leave it alone, ma.”

  She set the spoon beside her bowl, crossed her arms, and let out a sigh. “I will not.”

  “I haven’t found anyone.”

  “Are you looking?”

  If fucking women qualified as looking, I would be on a full-fledged mission. But, it didn’t, and I wasn’t.

  I was the MC’s stray sheepdog, the silent protector who constantly kept the wolves away from the flock of sheep. I didn’t trust many men, and the only woman I trusted was sitting across from me. The thought of having a woman in my life on a permanent basis made my skin crawl.

  With her arms still crossed and her eyes fixed on me, she cleared her throat. “Percy. I asked you a question.”

  I looked up. “I’m nosing around.”

  “Nosing around?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “You need to go to church. The nice girls are in church,” she said. “If you’re nosing around, I’m sure it isn’t in the right places.”

  My single status wasn’t a result of where I looked, because I was always on the prowl. The reason I wasn’t in a relationship was because I chose not to be. The decision was a conscious one, and one that I was sure was necessary for me to continue living the life I chose to live.

  A life where I could silently lurk in the shadows, provide assistance as I felt was necessary, and measure my means of success by the lack of problems that existed in my life.

  All concerns in my life were nipped in the bud, and never lasted much longer than it took me to identify them. Adding a woman to the mix would undoubtedly guarantee problems would linger like a dark cloud over my very existence.

  If I thought for one minute that a woman existed who would put up with my way of living, never complain about my involvement with the club, satisfy my sexual desires, and be trustworthy, I’d be a fool not to accept her into my life.

  But. No such woman existed, and I was sure of it.

  “I’ll have a look next time I go to church,” I said.

  “Thank you.”

  It wasn’t a lie. I hadn’t been to church in twelve years, and had no plans on attending service anytime soon. If I did, I’d peruse the congregation for a mate, and provide my mother with the outcome.

  I stood. “I better get to work.”

  “Still working at the pier?”

  “Yeah, ma. Still at the pier.”

  I hadn’t worked at the pier since I was eighteen. I bought and sold collectible baseball cards for a living.

  Confused about some things, and still sharply recalling others, there seemed to be no clear rule as to what caused the mix-ups. Not knowing where her mind might take her saddened me.

  She turned toward the window, gazed out into the yard, and then looked at me. “Don’t forget to pick up those dead birds.”

  “I’ll get ‘em on the way out, ma.”

  She lifted her chin. “Give your mother a kiss.”

  “I love you, ma.” I kissed her cheek. “Eat the other half of your sandwich before the cheese gets hard.”

  “I’m going to tear it up and put it in my soup.”

  “Sounds good.” I straightened my posture and looked her over. “I’ll stop back in to
night.”

  She waved a dismissive hand toward me. “You don’t have to drive all the way up here from Oceanside. If you want to, I won’t argue, though.”

  “I’ll see you tonight.”

  “When you see your brothers, remind them what a trouble it was for me to give birth to them. Maybe you’ll guilt them into coming to see me.”

  “I’ll let them know,” I said.

  I turned toward the door. I knew regardless of what I said to them, they probably wouldn’t return unless it was for her funeral.

  And my hope was that day was a long, long way down life’s road.

  Chapter One Hundred Sixty-Three

  Joey

  I got out of the shower, dried off, and then rubbed lotion along the length of my right leg. After grabbing the bottle of Bio Oil from the vanity, I spread the substance on my left leg from mid-calf up to where my scarring stopped – at the bottom of my butt cheek.

  I gazed in the mirror. The skin covering my leg appeared thin and almost translucent in some places, and a discolored milky pink in others. The front of my thigh was smooth and without many irregularities – other than the fact it was covered with skin that looked like mesh. On each side of my leg, for the entire length, there were unsightly places where the lesser scarred skin didn’t merge so well with the edges of the large skin graft.

  It seemed the only person who could stand to look at it was me. Even after more than a decade, I found it difficult to accept what I was left with was as good as it could be.

  I didn’t wallow in self-guilt or sorrow. I realized I was far more fortunate than many other burn victims, and that my degree of being flawed was minimalistic when compared to losing a limb.

  Knowing this didn’t prevent me from wishing things were different.

  Most days I was comfortable with who I was. Like anyone, though, it would be very comforting to have others accept me.

  I had yet to encounter anyone who was able to do so. Most who saw my leg perceived it as grotesque. I wasn’t invited to pool parties or to the beach, nor did I attend any functions that required me to wear a dress.

  The women, at least initially, were sympathetic and kind. Behind my back, they talked about me as if I were carrying a terrible disease.

  The men, on the other hand, were much different. In school, when a boy asked me on a date, I hoped things would be different. It was almost as if they’d asked me out to simply see if the damage was as bad as they had been led to believe.

  By the end of school, I felt like a circus attraction, and that the few dates I had gone on were merely requested to allow the boy to see if he could stand the sight of my damaged flesh.

  Starting my sophomore year, I made myself as unattractive as possible in my appearance. It all but eliminated being approached by the opposite sex. The pain I felt when they eventually rejected me vanished.

  I pulled on my panties, and then my jeans. At that moment, standing shirtless in front of the mirror, I was normal. If I could somehow eliminate my unsightly leg, I felt everything about my life that I didn’t like – except for my stepfather – would vanish along with it.

  I knew, however, the only thing that could make it go away was to cover it up. Sooner or later, however, it had to be uncovered. Nothing can stay covered up forever.

  While I dried my hair, the sound of his motorcycle’s exhaust shook the bathroom’s windows. I turned off the drier, ran to the bedroom window, and pushed the blinds to the side. Sitting in the driveway with a smirk on his face, he twisted the throttle a few times before shutting off the magnificent machine.

  Be it that he was marking his territory, reminding everyone that he was a rebel, or that he simply enjoyed hearing his machine’s unique voice, it was something he did each time he returned from a ride. I guessed it was similar to flipping the neighborhood the middle finger.

  Hiding behind the shelter of the window coverings, I waited for him to walk inside. He pulled off his helmet, scratched his flattened hair with the tips of his fingers, and lifted his leg over the seat. As he walked toward the porch, his right hip pivoted mechanically with each step.

  Fascinated by his bravado gait, I watched as he sauntered all the way to the porch. After he disappeared through the doorway, I let out a sigh, released the blinds, and walked to the bathroom.

  To the unknowing, I could easily be perceived as being a creep or the weird neighbor girl who was stricken with an odd obsession. Neither would be accurate, though. What drew me to him was equal parts admiration and fascination, friendship, and nothing more.

  He was the epitome of a free spirit, and I admired that about him. I wished I could be as carefree, as simple, and as content with life as he was.

  But I wasn’t.

  Very few people were.

  His unique outlook on life that drew me to him. Okay, that’s not totally true. His handsome looks sucked me in like an industrial vacuum.

  I knew being with him – or anyone for that matter – was wishful thinking, but setting my sights high kept me striving to better myself.

  And, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with a common girl believing that one day she just might become a princess.

  Chapter One Hundred Sixty-Four

  P-Nut

  As I was a long-time member of the Filthy Fucker Motorcycle Club, one might expect that I would be close to all the members of the club. The truth of the matter was this: although I viewed each of them as brothers – and would do anything to protect any of them from harm – I was close to very few of them.

  Smokey stood as one exception to the rule. He was a member of the MC, as good of a man as life would ever offer, and I viewed him as much more than a friend. Over the years, he’d become one of my life’s necessities, and often kept my wandering mind on the right track.

  As he and I prepared for the beginning of yet another typical Filthy Fucker weekend, we stood in my driveway and admired the most recent modification to my beloved Harley.

  “Looks good as fuck,” he said. “Funny what a few inches can do.”

  I shifted my eyes from the bike to him. “Few inches one way or another can change everything. Just ask a guy with a four-inch cock. Few inches the wrong direction would put an end to it all.”

  He chuckled. “Well, a few inches fixed this motherfucker, that’s for sure. Having that fender down on that rear tire will make it handle better, too.”

  I nodded. “Feels more stable in the corners, that’s for sure.”

  “When did you do it?”

  “Couple days ago.”

  “Have any problems getting the old one off?”

  “Funny you ask. Fucked with it for 45 minutes and was about to give up. God damn bolt was stuck, even after I loosened it. Luckily, Smudge came over and helped me. She had to sit on the fucker to relieve the pressure on the shock.”

  “Haven’t seen her in a while.” He shifted his eyes toward her house. “How old is she now?”

  I had no idea how old she was. I knew at some point she had graduated high school, because I heard she was working at the Harley dealer during the day. I shrugged. “Fuck, I don’t know. She didn’t have to be a specific age to sit on the fucking thing. She was going to get a cup of coffee, and I called her over. Shit, she probably knows more about fixing Harleys than you do.”

  “She’s working at the dealer in San Marcos now.”

  “That’s what I heard.”

  “I was in there the other day, getting new risers. Jesus, she’s--” He raised his eyebrows. “Different.”

  I took a drag off my cigarette and held the smoke deep in my lungs. “Different than what?”

  “Different than she used to be.”

  “How so?”

  “You haven’t been in there and seen her yet?”

  “Why the fuck would I go in there and see her, when all I’ve got to do is look next door?”

  “She looks…” He inhaled a shallow breath, exhaled, and then looked at me. “She doesn’t wear that frumpy shit she al
ways wears in the dealer. She wears one of those black Harley shirts, and it hugs her like a second skin. She’s uhhm. She’s built like a brick shithouse.”

  I wrinkled my nose and stared. “Smudge?”

  He raised both eyebrows. “When Pee Bee and I went in a couple weeks ago, fuck, I didn’t even recognize her. Hell, seeing her around here, I always figured she was lesbian or something.”

  I found it funny he’d mentioned it. I had given it some thought, but doubted anyone else would do so. My mind often wandered, and it seemed I considered things most other men didn’t. I wasn’t a paranoid man, but I typically considered all possibilities before making decisions about anything.

  I took another drag off my cigarette, and then snuffed it with the toe of my boot. “I’ve wondered if she was. The hoodies, the baggy-assed jeans, and hell, she’s never got a guy with her.”

  “Bet she is,” he said.

  “Might be.”

  “Ever seen her on a date?”

  I shook my head. “Nope.”

  “Bet she is, and she’s afraid to tell her dad.”

  “She’s got big soft titties. So, if she is, her girlfriend’s in for a fucking treat.”

  His brow wrinkled and he shot me a glare. “You played with her tits?”

  “No, I didn’t play with her fucking tits,” I snarled. “We took the sled for a ride when we were done, and she smashed the big fuckers against my back. Then, when we got back, she gave me a hug. It was fucking weird. I had to turn around real quick to keep my cock from banging against her thigh. Surprised the shit outta me. Fucking cock went stiff from the little neighbor girl.”

  “If you grind your cock on her thigh.” He coughed out a laugh. “Her dad’ll come over here and snap your fucking neck.”

  “I wasn’t grinding my cock on her. And, her dad ain’t about to do shit. I’d wad that prick up in a ball and toss his big ass in the street. It’s her stepdad, anyway.”