Filthy F*ckers: The Complete Series Box Set

by Hildreth, Scott

  Packed in bubble wrap to protect it from damage, it would be used to tie him to the killing and lock him away in a psychological evaluation center for the rest of his life.

  Or.

  A pocket knife with a single bloody thumbprint on the handle. The FBI database promptly linked it to Nate John Patrick Wadsworth, a child pornography kingpin who, as with all child molesters, had two middle names and a penchant for kidnapping unwary children and making films of them dancing in their underwear.

  My mind reeled at the possibilities.

  I picked it up and shook it again.

  Nothing.

  If it were wrapped in bubble wrap, it could be anything.

  A tooth. A single tooth left behind by mistake after stripping the teeth from a victim that was burned in an incinerator and sprinkled into the Pacific Ocean.

  NCIC’s DNA database would link the tooth to none other than Guido Marchello, a mob hit-man who was on the lamb, hiding in San Diego from the infamous New York Gambino mob boss after giving testimony regarding the mob’s money laundering routines.

  While I considered shaking the box one last time, the sight of an approaching car caused me to shift my attention to the driveway.

  The garage door opened.

  Marc’s car pulled inside.

  I ran across the living room, through the glass doors, and tossed my towel onto the deck. After all but diving onto the lounge chair, I did my best to look relaxed.

  In a few minutes, the doors slid open. “I see the package made it.”

  I faked a yawn, and turned to face him. “Oh. Yeah.”

  “I appreciate you hanging out and receiving it for me.”

  “No problem.” I tilted my head to the side. “Is your name March?”

  He smiled. “It is.”

  “I like that.”

  “I don’t care for it as much as my parents do. I’ve always shortened it.”

  I sat up and stretched my arms over my head. “I won’t call you it, then. Just in my head.”

  “Good day for this.”

  “For what?”

  He brushed his hand over his short hair, and then scanned the horizon. “Relaxing in the sun. I’ll get the box put up and join you in a minute.”

  “I didn’t know where to put it, so I just put it by the door.”

  He turned toward the door. “I’m going to lock it in the safe.”

  My eyes went wide. “You’ve got a safe?”

  “I sure do.” He glanced over his shoulder. “A big one.”

  As much as I wanted to view at him as humble, kind, and helpful, he suddenly became sexy again.

  “I’ll just wait for you right here, detective.”

  He gave me a look, shook his head, and sighed. “I’ll be right back.”

  When the doors opened. I nonchalantly turned toward the sound.

  Dressed in board shorts, and flip-flops, March Watson stepped through the doors and onto the deck. I mentally gawked at the sight of him. It was the first time I’d seen him without a shirt, and I hoped it wouldn’t be the last.

  His chiseled physique defined athletic perfection.

  Instead of staring, making a comment, or allowing me to torture myself with sexual thoughts, I simply rolled to my side and stared out at the beach.

  It wasn’t easy. In fact, it was hard as hell. But, it was necessary. If I continued to look at him, I’d make a complete fool of myself. Drooling wasn’t becoming, even for me.

  My nostrils flared as a faint hint of his cologne wafted in front of me.

  “Thanks for trusting me with the box,” I said over my shoulder.

  “Thanks for giving me reason to.”

  Convinced I was right where I belonged, I closed my eyes and inhaled a slow breath.

  Please, Lord, don’t let this ever end.

  Chapter Two Hundred Sixty

  Marc – Day twenty-three

  As I approached the building, I saw the president of the Filthy Fuckers MC standing outside the clubhouse with his 6’-8” Sergeant-at-Arms at his side. On the other side of the door, one of the club’s newer members stood with a long-time member who I suspected had kidnapped an ATF agent that had infiltrated the club.

  The agent was a shit-hat who had set up one of their members for a crime that he didn’t commit, and was later released by his captor. Although he never admitted to being captured, tortured, or mistreated, I believed otherwise. In support of my theory, the charges against the member of the club were later dropped by the ATF.

  As much as I wanted the label the club a group of misfits and miscreants, they were far from it. The president, Nick Navarro, aka Crip, was in his early forties, and a former Navy SEAL. The Sergeant-at-Arms, Bradley Carson, aka Pee Bee, was a former college football star, and the other two men accompanying them were a construction company owner, and a baseball card collector.

  Navarro ran a tight ship, no differently than if he were still in the military. His men obeyed his orders, like it or not. If they didn’t, they had to deal with his wrath. One thing that I admired about all the men was that they did not mistreat women. Their Ol’ Ladies were placed on pedestals, and there they remained. Off-limits, and out of reach of anyone who meant them harm.

  As a whole – or individually – the club’s men caused no harm to society. Unlike many outlaw motorcycle clubs, they didn’t sell drugs or commit crimes, nor did they fuck with anyone who wasn’t fucking with them.

  They were, however, very protective of the portion of Southern California they liked to call their turf. That protective nature was exactly why I chose to deface their building. They seemed to have a way of collecting information on the street that I was simply unable to find out.

  I pulled into the lot behind them and honked my horn. The baseball card collector, a skittish man who hated authority, jumped three feet in the air and spun around.

  “It’s a fucking cop,” he said through his teeth.

  I leaned out the window and looked at Navarro. “Hell, I had no idea you fellas were moving out of town. What? Did you decide to sell this shit-hole to MS-13? I see they tagged it as theirs.”

  He turned to face me and crossed his arms over his chest. “I was just telling Pee Bee I thought I smelled bacon frying. Shit, I no more than turned around, and here sits a pig, frying in the SoCal sun. You lost, detective?”

  “Not lost. Just investigating MS-13’s claim of territory. It’s become a pretty big deal.” I opened the car door and stepped out. “Looks like they’ve claimed yours.”

  He glanced at the graffiti and then looked at me. “Probably a bunch of kids.”

  I shook my head. “You and I both know better. Anyone painting that on this building better be one of their solid members, or there’ll be hell to pay. Shit, they’ll kill a man for tagging territory who isn’t one of their own.” I shifted my gaze from the building to him. “So, when are you leaving?”

  Navarro glared. “We’re not going anywhere, detective.”

  I looked at the construction worker, Smokey. “You’re getting ready to have twins, aren’t you? I know you’re smart enough to get the hell out of here. Don’t want your children to grow up fatherless, do you?”

  “Don’t want ‘em to grow up thinking their Ol’ Man’s a chump. That’s what I don’t want ‘em to think.” He clenched his jaw and shook his head. “So, fuck these pricks. I’m not leaving.”

  I glanced at Pee Bee. “What about you, Peanut Butter? You gonna fight all 70,000 of these guys? That’s how many there is. 70,000. You’re a big fucker, but with that bum knee--”

  “Fuck you, and fuck them. My knee’s fine.” He looked at Crip and then shot me a glare. “And, there ain’t 70,000 of them in this town.”

  “Oh no?” I asked, feigning surprise.

  “I ain’t going anywhere,” he said adamantly.

  I alternated glances between them and then looked at Navarro. “You know. You four look like quintuplets. With your jeans, boots, white tee shirts, and little leather vests,
you could pass for four brothers. You should move to Detroit and start a boy band. You could come up with a catchy name, like, The Front Street Boys, or Old Kids on the Block. Might be a way to make a living without getting shot at. You’d all have to get matching haircuts, though. And some powder blue tuxedos. You’d look good in baby blue, Navarro. You know, with those eyes.”

  Navarro’s eyes thinned to slits. “There a reason you’re here, detective?”

  I gave a nod. “Matter of fact, there is.”

  “Mind sharing it? I’m thinking if you stay much longer, P-Nut might develop a rash. He’s allergic to cops.”

  I looked at the baseball card collector. He looked like he was ready to choke me out.

  “Looks like he’s got to take a shit, if you ask me.” I said as I eyed him. “If you need to take a dump, go ahead. I just need to talk to Navarro.”

  With a shaking hand, he removed a cigarette from his pack and lit it. After blowing a cloud of smoke in my direction, he shot me a laser sharp glare.

  “I think he’s pissed,” I said as I turned toward Navarro.

  “I’ll add him to the list,” Navarro said. “The longer you stay, the longer it gets.”

  “Want to take a walk?” I asked.

  I knew he wouldn’t, and preferred he didn’t. I wanted the four men to all hear what I had to say. I was certain it was the only way my plan would work.

  “You got anything to say, every man here can hear it.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest and spit on the concrete at my side. After meeting Navarro’s gaze, I let out a long sigh.

  “Fine. MS-13 tagged a building in Vista, and three days later, they slit the throat of the paint shop owner, his nephew, and his brother when he didn’t give up the building to them. In El Cajon, they tagged an old warehouse, and three days later they shot the owner and his wife when they didn’t relinquish the building. In Chula Vista, there was a similar incident, where they--”

  “I’m not giving up this building to them, or anyone else for that matter.”

  I inhaled a long breath through my nose, tilted my head toward the sky, and exhaled. “Well.” I met his stare. “My only advice is that you better be ready to fight like your life depends on it.”

  I looked at each of them. “Each one of you. Like your fucking life depends on it. These guys won’t stop at killing you. They’ll slaughter your wives, kids, and anyone else who gets in their way. No member of your club is safe. You owe it to them to let them know what I said, too. If you care about them as brothers, that is.”

  The four men stared back at me with tightened jaws and clenched fists. The incidents I’d just cited were all fabricated lies intended to get the men to react promptly. By the looks on their faces, it looked like my plan was working.

  I turned toward the car, took a few steps, and then glanced over my shoulder. “How long ago did they tag this place, anyway?”

  Navarro glared at me. “Yesterday.”

  “Looks like you’ve got ‘till tomorrow to move out. If you’re staying, I’d say you better be good at finding ghosts. These guys aren’t easy to locate.”

  “You worry about handing out parking tickets and trading kids lollipops for hand jobs,” Navarro said, his voice thick with sarcasm. “We’ll worry about finding La Mara Salvatrucha.”

  At least he’d done his homework. It was further proof that he planned on doing what I wanted him to do. I took another step toward my car and then turned around.

  “Mind if I use your pisser?” I asked. “My bladder’s about to bust?”

  Navarro spit out a laugh. “Are you fucking kidding?”

  I shook my head and exhaled heavily. “We have our morning meetings at Dunkin Donuts. I must have chased my dozen donuts down with too many cups of coffee.”

  “Piss at the corner of the building,” he said.

  “Inside?”

  “Fuck no.” He tilted his head toward Pee Bee. “Right over there.”

  “Against the law. No can do, Navarro.”

  “Motherfucker,” he growled. “Take this donut eating piece of shit to the bathroom, Pee Bee. Keep an eye on his ass, too.”

  “Got it, Boss.”

  After following Pee Bee to the bathroom, I pissed, and washed my hands. Next, I removed my wallet, and then put it back into my left pocket, but only half way. Last, I removed the micro GPS locator from my pocket and palmed it in my right hand.

  Fitted with a series of four high-powered magnets, it would stay affixed to anything made of metal. Attaching it to Pee Bee’s bike wouldn’t be too difficult, because, as always, the men’s bikes were parked inside the clubhouse. It was apparently one of Navarro’s pet peeves – he didn’t like the public to know who was there, or how long they stayed.

  On our way out of the building, I sauntered toward Pee Bee’s motorcycle. After looking it over from a distance, I whistled admiringly. “Damn. I thought you wrecked that thing a while back?”

  “Got it fixed,” he said.

  “Paint looks better than new,” I said. “Mind if I take a look? I need to paint my Heritage.”

  “Don’t touch the motherfucker,” he grumbled.

  “I wouldn’t dare.”

  I stepped within a foot or so of the bike, admired the paint, and then turned toward him. “Who painted it?”

  “Place called Rudy’s. On fifth.”

  “Know the place you’re talking about. They sure did a good job on this fucker, that’s for sure. I’ll give ‘em a visit.”

  I crouched in front of the bike, and using my left hand, forced the wallet from my left pocket. As it hit the floor, Pee Bee’s eyes shot to it.

  He nodded toward my wallet. “Dropped your wallet.”

  As I stood, I slipped my hand under his right fender. At the same time the magnets snapped into place, I faked a sneeze.

  “Appreciate it,” I said.

  When combined with the GPS I’d already placed on Meathead’s motorcycle while he fucked a stripper’s brains out, I knew I’d be able to determine when the club was making a move. Satisfied I’d done all that I was able, I picked up the wallet.

  After offering Pee Bee a nod of appreciation, I turned toward the door, and then shoved the wallet into my pocket. “Hope you fellas get this misunderstanding with MS-13 ironed out.”

  “Nothing to misunderstand,” he said. “This place is ours, and it’s staying that way.”

  “For what it’s worth, this is the same bunch of lunatics that kidnapped those girls you fellas saved a few months back. Same assholes that kidnapped your boxer, too. What’s his name?” I glanced at Pee Bee. “Cholo?”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said dryly.

  “Oh. Yeah. Right. Forgot. Code of silence. Gotcha.”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you don’t.”

  I stepped through the overhead door, and up to my car. After getting in, I leaned out the window and gave a nod toward each of the men.

  “Navarro, Peanut Butter, P-Nut, Smokey. I’ll say a prayer for you.”

  “Don’t bother,” Navarro growled. “God forgot about us long ago. Have a nice day, detective.”

  I smiled to myself. “I’ll do just that.”

  Chapter Two Hundred Sixty-One

  Taryn – Day twenty-four

  Marc sat on the couch clenching his phone in his hand. His eyes were fixed on the floor, and had been for quite a while. It seemed he’d had very little desire to communicate all day, only responding to questions I’d asked or giving an opinion about a topic I’d brought up.

  Left alone, he seemed to prefer being quiet. He wasn’t sulking, but he certainly wasn’t outspoken or jovial, either. He’d carried his phone with him all day, and laid it beside his plate at dinner. Now that it was approaching midnight, and he was still gripping it like was his life support system, I was worried that he may need to leave at any minute.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked.

 
His eyes remained fixed on the section of floor between us. “Just fine.”

  Sitting at my customary spot on the loveseat, I pushed myself away from the cushion and stood. “You don’t seem fine.”

  He glanced at his watch, and then looked up. “I have a case that is time sensitive. It’s currently out of my control, and I wish it wasn’t.”

  I took a few steps in his direction. I knew better than to ask him about the case, but hoped he could find a way to allow himself to forget it for a while. I didn’t envy what it was he had to do over the course of his daily activities. Knowing he had to keep all the information – good and bad – a secret caused me to be even more sympathetic.

  He resembled my father when my sister went on her first date, only my father wasn’t clutching a cell phone.

  He’d paced the floor most of the night, and eventually gave up. Sitting at his normal spot on the couch with his head hung low, he stared at the floor, waiting for my sister to get home. She got home thirty minutes late.

  When she came through the door, his face transformed from one of worry to sheer elation. I’ll never forget how nice it was to see him discard his concern.

  I wanted Marc to do the same, but realized I had no control over how he felt. I had no idea what level of comfort I could provide him, but whatever I was able to give, I wanted to make sure he got.

  I sat on his left side. After receiving no objection, I placed my hand on his thigh. He glanced at me, gave a half-assed smile, and then looked away.

  It pained me to see him in such a state. “Are you hungry?”

  He lifted his head and looked around. “No. Just…I don’t know. Just worried a little.”

  “You can’t talk about it, can you?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry.”

  I rubbed his leg. “I understand.”

  He glanced at my hand, and then at me. A slight smile came to his face. “Thank you.”

  “Do you want me to go ahead and go?”

  “No. Not at all.” He sighed and then looked at me. “I’ve been hoping to hear something all evening, but if I don’t here before long, it probably won’t come until tomorrow.”