Filthy F*ckers: The Complete Series Box Set

by Hildreth, Scott

  “Not one of mine,” he said flatly. “Can’t let you do that.”

  “Nope. One of those four bikers on the other side of the Peckerwoods.”

  He lifted his chin a peered down his nose at me. “What do you need from me?”

  “Need a jigger. And, I need two men to block for me.”

  He glanced beyond me. “Ought to be easy. Turner’s off-duty. The girl pulled a double. It’s her and Whitley.”

  I swallowed heavily.

  Shit.

  “The girl’s still here?”

  He nodded. “Behind you fifty yards.”

  I found the thought of killing Gravy in Madden’s presence unsettling. But. I had one opportunity to do what I needed to. If I didn’t get it done before I was recognized, the MC – and all my brethren – would perish.

  “I need three men between me and her. And a jigger keeping an eye on both guards.”

  “You gonna do him?”

  “Plannin’ on it.”

  He stroked his goatee. “What’s the beef?”

  “Him and those three he’s with gang raped a girl. He’s trying to cut a deal with the DA by snitching out my MC.”

  “Which fucking one?” he growled.

  “The leader. The one with the white beard.”

  He glanced toward the Savages and then met my gaze. “The short one? He’s a fucking snitch?”

  “And a rapist,” I said.

  His eyes thinned. “Got a shank?”

  “Two of ‘em.”

  “Shit,” he said, drawing the word along much longer than needed. His southern accent became apparent. “Give me one of those motherfuckers. I’m getting ready to do me a little ol’ life sentence. I’ll do it. Hell, I’ll enjoy it.” He chuckled. “What are they gonna do if they catch me? Lock me up?”

  For a fleeting moment, I considered it. My pride soon caught up with me. “Appreciate it, Tink. But, I can’t let you do that. I need to take care of this.”

  He glanced at the Savages. His eyes thinned to slits. Worried that he was going to give hint as to what we were planning, I cleared my throat.

  “Can you help me out?”

  “Killing a rapist?” He stroked his beard and then chuckled. “Sure can. What’s the plan?”

  I scanned the yard, and then looked at him. “Three men beside me, between me and the girl. I’m going to cut that prick’s throat, drop the shank at his feet, and try to get the second one in one of his brother’s pockets. They’ll find it when they search us.”

  “Not a bad plan.” He folded his arms over his chest and let out a breath. “Give me one of the shanks. I’ll have Deuce take it inside and put it under the red-headed fucker’s bunk. When they shake us down after you do that fucker, they’ll find it.”

  It aggravated me that I hadn’t thought of simply placing the second shank under someone’s bunk. I pulled the shank from my pocket and then casually reached toward Tink.

  “Here.”

  He took the shank and gave it to one of his men. After spending considerable time talking to them, he turned to face me.

  “The cameras are too far away to get much.” He shifted his eyes toward the building. “All of them are on that building wall. Problem is that him and his men are facing ‘em. I’ll get Little Matt to get the four of ‘em turned around. When he gets halfway to ‘em, you and me will walk the other direction. Four of the fellas will go between them and the cameras, and four will go between us and the girl. As long as you don’t take a swing at him, nobody’ll see nothing.”

  I gave him a confused look.

  His gaze met mine. “You cut a man’s throat before?”

  I shook my head. “Nope.”

  “Not tellin’ you how to run your business, but if you roll by and make a swipe at him, it’ll stand out like a turd in a fucking punch bowl when they look at the film.” He raised his clenched fist to his chin, holding his forearm tight against his chest. “Step up to him like you’re going to kiss the prick, hold your arm like this, and flick your wrist. Press hard and make it quick, so you’re not covered in blood.”

  He reached into his pocket and then offered his hand. It was a typical prison hand-off. I slapped my palm against his as if we were on the street.

  The ‘handshake’ transferred the piece of cloth he was holding to my hand. I slipped it into my pocket and gave him a look.

  He nodded toward my hand. “Wipe that shank down with that handkerchief, then use it to hold it when you cut that son-of-a-snitchin’-bitch. Drop everything at his feet. We’ll keep walkin’ past. Cops will find that shank, and then they’ll find one in Red’s bunk. It’ll look like an inside job on their club’s part.”

  I let out a long breath.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  I swallowed nervously and gave a slight nod. “Let’s do it.”

  He made a clicking noise with his tongue. One of his men began walking in a loop around the crowd. When he was half the distance to the Savages, Tink turned away.

  “Let’s roll,” he whispered.

  Walking side by side as if we were old friends, we sauntered toward where we hoped the group of men would eventually be. As if choreographed, the Savages turned away from the cameras and faced the fence.

  Four of Tink’s men walked between the Savage’s backs and the cameras. Four more were between us and Officer Madden. Sandwiched Tink’s men and the Savages, we calmly walked past as if we were on a Sunday stroll.

  “Keep walking toward the girl when you’re done,” Tink whispered through his clenched teeth.

  Gravy’s eyes met mine as soon as we came into his vision. At that instant, he knew nothing. When the razor blades pressed against his throat, severing his carotid artery, he realized who I was.

  I could see the recognition in his eyes.

  I flicked my wrist just as Tink suggested. Blood didn’t spray everywhere like I’d written in the scenes of my books. At first glance, it seemed I’d done nothing but scratch him. Hoping my actions were enough to end his miserable life, I dropped the handkerchief and shank at his feet and continued walking.

  Out of my peripheral vision, I saw him reach for his throat.

  “What the fuck,” he said, his voice hoarse and weak.

  Blood cascaded over his fingers, and then ran down his arm.

  We walked toward Officer Madden. I gazed beyond her, choosing to focus on the fence, and not her. If Gravy died from his wounds, he wouldn’t be the first man I’d killed. The manner in which I did it, however, was much more personal than anything I’d done in the past. The brutality of my actions encompassed me, making my legs feel like rubber.

  My ears began to ring.

  “Turn around,” Tink said. “Act surprised.”

  I managed to do as he’d asked.

  Gravy was on the ground, motionless. The dirt around him was black, not red like I expected. Beside him, the Santa Ana winds caused the white handkerchief to dance atop the surface of the ground like a fluttering leaf.

  His chest heaved up and down as he struggled to stay alive. There was screaming, commotion, and then sirens. At some point, I was pushed to the ground by a guard.

  I locked eyes with Gravy. Lying twenty feet from him, I stared into his eyes, hoping that he could understand what it was that happened, and why. I decided he could and that he did. When he drew his last breath, it was as if he wanted to savor it. He took it in slowly, and then gasped one last time, all but choking on its sweetness.

  His eyes remained open, gazing at me blankly, but they were now void of any life. Satisfied that he got what he deserved – if not for what he was going to do to my family, for what he had already done to the girl – I turned my head to the side and closed my eyes.

  In groups of four, we were led to the cellblock. After being locked down for thirty minutes or so, our cells were searched.

  After putting up quite a fight, Red was led away by the goon squad, professing his innocence as they dragged him off. My guess was that they found the other
shank under his bunk. I felt no remorse for what happened to Gravy, or for what was sure to happen to Red.

  A numbness washed over me, leaving me incapable of doing much other than simply thinking about what had happened, and how I would handle my future if things went awry.

  I had no idea how long it would take them to view the surveillance footage, or to interview the ‘witnesses’. I knew if I was identified as the killer that my remaining days would be spent behind the walls of a Federal Penitentiary.

  It wasn’t what I wanted, but it was what I was willing to give to save my family from the evidence that sealed their fate.

  Chapter Two Hundred Twenty-Two

  Bobbi

  I stood in the corridor with Officer Turner, waiting to be taken in for an interview. With my eyes fixed on a piece of floor tile, I nervously rocked back and forth on the balls of my feet. The thought of someone dying while under my watch was devastating.

  I had no idea what happened for sure, but I had my suspicions. After reading Tate’s book about Becker, I was reluctant to give any kind of opinion when questioned. According to the police officers in the book, opinions became facts when there was nothing else to rely on.

  “How long have you been here, Madden?” Turner asked.

  “Four months.” I looked up. “Four and a half, actually.”

  I guessed him to be around fifty years old. Still in great physical shape despite his age, he still resembled the Marine he once was. He ran his hands through his closely-cropped hair and then looked me over. “Why’d you take the job?”

  “I like helping people. Always wanted to be a cop, but I can’t meet the requirements.”

  “Helping people?” he chuckled. “Never heard that one before. At least not here.”

  Unlike Perry, Officer Turner was calm throughout his day to day activities. What little I saw of him led me to believe he enjoyed his job.

  “How about you?” I asked.

  “I retired from the military. I didn’t want to be a cop. I was sick and tired of being shot at. This was the next closest thing.”

  I forced a smile and gave a nod. “How long have you been here?”

  “Here? A year. A Federal Corrections Officer? Sixteen years.”

  “Oh. Wow.”

  “Care to listen to what I have to say about this?” he asked.

  I wanted to talk to someone about it, I knew that much. I let out a sigh. “I’d love to hear it.”

  “Do you know what Darin Wheatland was in for?”

  “Meth?”

  “He was in for meth charges. He was charged with rape. Him and the other three that were brought in with him dragged a bartender into the alley behind her bar and gang raped her. Then, they kidnapped her, took her to a shack in Arizona, and took turns raping her while they smoked meth. When the meth ran out, they left her to die. She wandered two miles through the desert, naked and barefoot. She stumbled onto highway 10, and was picked up by a family who was going home from their vacation in San Diego.”

  “Oh my God,” I gasped. “That’s awful. How do you know all of that?”

  “I ask around. There’s always what we’re told, and then there’s the truth. To get the truth, you need to talk to the arresting officer.” He shrugged. “They don’t mind.”

  “So he was here for rape, but no one knew it?”

  He chuckled. “That was going to be my point. It’s obvious someone knew it. He was cutting a deal with the DA to get the rape charges dropped. It’s no secret that the legal system has holes in it, but prison justice is blind to loopholes, legal restrictions, and limitations. Inside the walls, the men get no less than what they have coming to them.”

  “In your opinion, he deserved to die?”

  “There’s really only two forms of justice here. Being beaten damned near to death, and being killed. Considering the options, he got what he had coming.”

  “Did you see who did it? What happened?”

  He pursed his lips and shook his head. “I saw nothing. You?”

  “Between you and me? I saw some movement. There was a group of men that--”

  “You saw nothing,” he said.

  “Well. I didn’t see what happened, but I saw--”

  “If he cut a deal to get the charges dropped, the legal system would have failed. That poor bartender would have lived her life wondering if there was something that she did wrong that caused her to be raped. If it was the clothes she was wearing. The way she talked to them.” He pursed his lips and shook his head. He inhaled a long breath through his nose, and then looked at me as he let it out. “As far as Darin Wheatland is concerned? Justice has been served. You. Saw. Nothing.”

  The warden’s door opened. Officers Stallworth and Frank walked out.

  “Turner! Madden!” the warden barked. “Get in here.”

  We walked into the office.

  The warden was in his early sixties, bald, and wore a gray mustache that made him resemble a walrus. Dressed in navy slacks, a light blue shirt, and a navy jacket, he looked like a mustachioed used car salesman.

  He waved his hand toward two empty chairs that faced his desk. “Have a seat.”

  After I sat, he looked right at me. “Officer Madden. Other than having a man killed while on yard duty, how’s your evening been?”

  “Splendid, Sir.”

  He looked at Turner. “Yours?”

  “Just shy of splendid.”

  “Outstanding. One splendid, and one damned near so.” He glanced at each of us. “What happened out there? I’ve got a dead man with a severed carotid artery, two jailhouse shanks, and a blood stain the size of my wife’s Buick in the center of my yard. But, so far, no one saw a thing.”

  He fixed his eyes on mine. “Did you see anything?”

  The only thing I’d seen was Tate and the leader of the AB’s, Tinkle, walking toward Wheatland’s group immediately prior to his collapse. Telling the warden about it would undoubtedly leave Tate Reynolds to suffer the same fate as Becker Wallace.

  I straightened my posture and looked him in the eyes. “No, Sir.”

  “Nothing at all?”

  “No, Sir.”

  His eyebrows raised. “Anything stand out as being odd? Did one of the inmates rush toward him prior to his untimely departure?”

  “No, Sir. Not that I saw.”

  He shifted his eyes to Turner. “Anything?”

  “I was standing post four,” Turner said flatly. “As a group of inmates walked past the non-affiliated whites, I saw the red-haired inmate reach for Wheatland’s neck, and then he walked away. Wheatland collapsed immediately following.”

  He stood and shook his head lightly as if distraught by the situation. “I ran to the center of the yard. After dissolving the crowd and securing the inmates, I took Wheatland’s pulse. At that point, he was deceased.”

  “The red-headed inmate.” The warden shuffled some paperwork on his desk. “Would that be Haney? Richard Haney?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Turner said. “It was Haney.”

  “They found an identical shank in his cell. Were you aware of that?”

  “I was not.”

  “Well, they did.” He clapped his hands together. “Looks like we’ve got our man. My logic is that he made two of them, and if this didn’t work, he’d try again tomorrow.”

  “Have you reviewed the surveillance video?” Turner asked.

  “I have not. It’s being converted to a readable file as we speak. Based on what you saw, I suspect we’ll charge Haney with murder. That is, if the video produces nothing more.” The warden stood. “You’re dismissed.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  We walked into the hallway and turned the corner. Halfway to the observation station, Turner broke the silence.

  “The other two will stand trial for that rape. After this, the DA won’t cut a deal with either of them.”

  “What happened today, everything, this is the way it’s supposed to happen? I
need to get used to this?”

  “It’s impossible to change what happened to that girl. Bringing the men to justice is all the system can offer. Justice was served.”

  I continued walking without commenting any further. It was going to take time for me to process everything. Reading about the acts of vigilantes was much different than witnessing them.

  Turner was right about one thing, and that much was certain.

  Justice was served.

  Chapter Two Hundred Twenty-Three

  Tate

  I’d spent the entire night pacing the cell and exercising. A man never knows how he’ll process something as sensitive as murder until it happens. Oddly, my decision to kill Gravy didn’t haunt me through the course of the night. My concern was not knowing how Officer Madden was doing. The thought of my actions causing her grief was more disturbing than the act itself.

  The sound of the cell door’s food slots being opened warned me of her approach. Concerned with my future, but more worried about her welfare, I stood in the center of the cell and waited.

  “Reynolds, it’s time for…” Her eyes met mine. “Oh, I didn’t see you. It’s time for breakfast.”

  “How’s my favorite prison guard today?”

  She laughed. “Considering who I work with, that’s not much of a compliment.” She pushed the tray through bean hole. “I’m doing well. Just a little tired, how are you?”

  “I think I might be tired as well.”

  “Surprised me that you weren’t exercising,” she said. “I think this is the first time I caught you slacking.”

  “I finished about an hour ago.” I reached for the tray. “My internal clock must be off. I had a tough time sleeping.”

  “Because of what happened?”

  It wasn’t because of what happened. I hoped she could find a way to view Gravy’s death as being part of the atrocities of being a prison guard and nothing more.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Not really.”

  “What, then?”

  “I was just worried about you, I guess.”