by K E Osborn
We all crack up laughing as we let it divert to voice mail, and we watch Hudson’s face slowly scrunch up like he’s really concerned.
“Where the fuck are you Adam?” he murmurs and then dials Sentinel’s number. It vibrates and rings alongside Stealth’s on the bar, and Hudson shakes his head as we all watch him rub his chin and swallow hard, gritting his teeth and pursing his lips like he’s really pissed off. “Fuck!” he spits as the call goes unanswered.
“Sorry, this little pig’s not home,” Chops teases. We all laugh as we watch the heat all starting to move around making calls and loading themselves behind protective barriers, I’m guessing in case the place blows. Which we should have thought of.
Damn! Oh well, next time!
Chief Thomas storms back over, and Hudson shakes his head. “Couldn’t reach either of them. I have a bad feeling about this Chief.”
“Yeah, me too, Stone. Something isn’t right. The bomb squad will be here soon. Until then, all we can do is wait this out.”
“Can’t we send a K9 unit in to check it out?”
“And what if the place blows, Hudson? I know you’re anxious, I am too. But we have to just wait.”
His ease in this is weird. But like I said, I guess that’s his job.
Hudson huffs, running his fingers through his short hair. “What if Adam and Doug are down, Chief? What if they’re in there hurt, and we’re out here waiting?”
The chief huffs and shakes his head. “It’s a risk we have to take. You know the protocol, Stone. We have to follow procedure... we wait. It shouldn’t be long.”
Hudson throws his hands in the air and storms off, as we all chuckle at his little display of annoyance.
“This is like a five-star movie, Prez. You’d pay good money to see this shit in a cinema. Thank God for all the trees at the location. It made it easy to hide our cameras so we can watch this bullshit unfold,” Acid chirps and smiles wide.
“We should put this up on YouTube. Put some sappy music to it, maybe some voice overs and some title credits at the end. Make it into a feature, and then we might get nominated for an Academy Award,” Chops chimes in making us laugh again.
Hudson storms back over and plants his arse down on a log, folds his arms over his chest and huffs out in a loud grunt.
“I have an idea. Let’s play a drinking game, a shot for every time Hudson huffs,” Blade suggests and I crack up laughing slapping him on the back.
“You know what, son, you might just be an asset after all. Acid, load up the tequila, and bring over some glasses, this shit’s about to get messy!”
***
After laughing ourselves stupid at the copious amounts of tequila we’re all downing, the Bomb Squad finally show up, and Hudson huffs again like a petulant child storming up to the van. We all chuckle and throw back our seventh, maybe eighth shot, I’ve lost count.
“It’s about fucking time!” Hudson calls out, throwing his hands in the air as Chief Thomas aka Denzel, walks up to them and fills them in on the situation. The bastard in me finds this whole thing hilarious. They’re wasting valuable resources, time, and money, just to find a couple of mangled dead bodies in a warehouse. Nothing more, nothing less. But fuck is it fun to watch.
The heat all stand back, behind their protective barriers, as a little robot wheels itself inside the mass of red tin. We all stand back watching their faces as they see the robot showing the two rectangular boxes with the beautiful array of flowers sprawled delicately on top.
Hudson’s face falls, and his head spins around to the chief. “What the fuck kind of game are they playing?”
The chief shrugs, shaking his head slightly. “I’m not sure, but once the sweep is done and there’s no sign of explosives, we’re going in.”
A young guy dressed all in black jogs over. “Chief, there’s no explosives in the area. It’s clean, you can go in now.”
“Finally,” Hudson exclaims and stands up rushing with the chief toward the warehouse.
“Keep up with them, Blade,” I demand. He switches the cameras and follows them from outside by the tree to inside, as they walk slowly up to the two rectangular boxes.
“Can you smell that?” Hudson asks.
The chief nods and furrows his brows. “O’Connor, carefully open that lid will you?” he asks one of the other pigs that’s standing around the two makeshift coffins.
“Here we go boys, prepare for fireworks!” I sing out happily as O’Connor pulls off the flowers slowly placing them on the ground. They all gather around Sentinel’s box, and we all watch intently.
O’Connor slowly pulls back the lid of the box, and he shrivels up his nose and groans slightly as he turns his head.
“What?” Hudson asks. He moves in closer as O’Conner pulls the lid back fully letting it move to the side just enough for the chief and Hudson to get a good view of Sentinel’s severed head staring right back at them.
“Jesus Christ,” the chief calls out, furrowing his brows as Hudson turns pale white and shakes his head slightly like he’s in denial. Then I see it, his eyes open wide, and his chest starts to heave as he turns almost in slow motion toward the other box. He staggers slightly on the spot as he continues to shake his head like he’s losing the plot.
“Oh God, Adam,” he murmurs, and my heart picks up its pace as I smirk slightly watching Hudson stagger toward the other box.
“Stone, don’t open that box,” Chief Thomas calls out racing over to him, but his hands are on the flowers grabbing them and throwing them across the room in a frenzy. He lifts the lid so forcefully it flies up and off cascading to the floor, the wood banging loudly on the concrete. My lips turn up into a smile as I zoom in on Hudson’s face as he takes in the sight in front of him. His best friend, Adam Donovan, in mangled pieces before him. He lets out an almighty pain-filled scream as tears flood his eyes, and he falls to his knees with a loud thud burying his head in his hands.
His best friend is dead.
Killed by us.
How do I know I’m a cunt?
Because this feels so fucking good!
CHAPTER ONE
It’s been five days since we 86’d Stealth and Sentinel. Five days of waiting to see if we fucked up by leaving any evidence at the warehouse. But we didn’t, the cleanup crew are good, we have them on our books for a reason. There’s no trace of us being there, so the heat have nothing on us, or they would have come for us by now.
My brothers and I have silently been trying to build up trust in our ranks again. Knowing we had two cops infiltrate us so easily has put everyone on edge, and no one is trusting anyone. But we’re pretty sure that they were the only deceptive pricks in our ranks. Chops and I kept the bugs around the club after they were gone, just to see if anyone else crept up as being under the radar. But the only talk we heard were our brothers discussing the lowly dogs that infiltrated, and how they’re all glad we got the scum. So we’re pretty sure all leaks are firmly sealed.
Today, though, today is the day we get to show the last sign of non-respect to a man who lied and called himself a brother, but who was playing us the entire time. Stealth’s funeral is today, and we are going to hide in the shadows. We have something up our sleeves to show the heat what we really thought of him infiltrating us undercover. And we will strike when no one is watching.
We pull up in the black cages at the cemetery. It really is quite beautiful, for a place filled with dead people. There’s a line of bushes along the row where Stealth’s coffin is sitting all alone, waiting for the people to arrive from the funeral service ready for the burial.
“Acid, go!” I call out, and he grabs Stealth’s cut from the back of the van, then high tails it looking left and right, making sure no one is around as he runs up to the coffin. He removes the pristine white roses and places his cut on top.
Now you might think this is a sign of respect that we’re burying him with his colours. But, in fact, it’s quite the opposite. As a mark of respect when a brother
dies, we burn his cut. Sentinel and Stealth were betrayers, rats, narks, the lowest of the low. They don’t deserve that kind of respect, so their cuts won’t be burnt. Instead, they’re stripped of their names and by placing it on the coffin, it shows the police that we know. That we’re here, and we know that they have nothing on us. It’s basically a giant middle finger to the entire police force that will be rocking up at any moment.
Acid turns around putting both his thumbs up and baring his teeth like a rabid dog in excitement. He really is a fucking fruit cake. I tilt my head and wave for him to come back. He nods, rushing back over to us. We jump in the cage and head further down the paved road away from the burial site, but close enough so we can just see.
The cars begin to pull up shortly after, and an honor guard begins walking down the green grass toward the coffin with a Minister in the front. We all smile as we watch with bated breath, as Hudson walks down the centre with a brunette under his arm. She’s crying heavily as two little boys toddle alongside her. I guess they’re Stealth’s boys. Tightness stabs my chest briefly, and my breath is knocked from me, as an elderly couple follow behind carrying a tiny little baby. Clenching my jaw tightly, I watch Hannah, Stealth’s wife, bring a tissue up to her sunglass covered eyes while she holds onto a suited Hudson. I swallow hard, as something washes over me. I’m not sure what it is. Not grief, because I’m happy that Stealth’s dead—he betrayed me—but maybe a slight sadness for his family that he’s betrayed them too. By infiltrating my club, he sealed his own death certificate and left his family behind. He’s the reason Hannah is a mess right now, and I feel sorry for her. She has three kids, and she’s all alone now. And that, right there, that’s on Stealth. He knew breaking into the ranks of a biker club was dangerous, he chose his fate. We’re here because of his choice, not ours.
Stupid fucker.
As they approach the coffin, the Minister clears his throat and turns to look at Hudson. “Umm detective… is this supposed to be here?” he asks.
Hudson looks up and notices the cut on the coffin, and I smirk watching his face contort with rage. His nostrils flare and the vein in his neck pulses as his body tenses. Hannah looks up at the cut as Hudson tries to turn her away, but she spots it and screams loudly, bursting into a torrent of tears. My heart beats faster as she drops to her knees, and her little boys rush to her sides starting to cry too, not knowing why their mother is so distraught.
Hudson looks around the area obviously searching for us, but we’re too well hidden by the bushes. He yells something out, and a bunch of the uniformed pigs start to fan out looking around for us. It’s time to go. We’ve given the impression we wanted. I’m disappointed Hannah got so upset, our intention was to hurt the heat, I didn’t stop to think of his wife or her feelings. I just hope the kids don’t realise what’s going on.
Their father was caught in a war—a war he was never going to win.
The Savages will come out on top every time.
I’ll make damn sure of that!
8 MONTHS LATER
NOVEMBER
We’ve been in talks with Papi, our eccy lackey, and we’re moving very slowly with him. He’s a loose cannon and he’s fragile. If we shake him too fast, we could lose him. We’ve asked him to move into the distribution side of things, rather than just storing the drugs. Papi is a strange one. I think underneath his addiction, he’s a good guy, and that’s why he keeps saying no to us. Which, of course, has me more than a little frustrated. So I’ve decided that I need to move things along a little.
Walking through the clubroom, which used to be buzzing with brothers and electric with energy, is now almost empty with only a few stragglers. The sounds of ‘Die Trying’ by Art of Dying blares out through the stereo, and it’s almost like fate is trying to tell me something. But I grit my teeth and bring my finger to my lips letting out a loud whistle.
The few that are in here look up at me, and I tilt my head to the assembly room. “Church brothers,” I say. They all stand up and start to make their way toward the assembly room. Because there’s so few of us now, I let everyone come into church nowadays. If I didn’t, there would only be three of us and that’s just ridiculous.
We all walk in taking our seats. I take my position at the head of the table, Chops to my left and Manson to my right. He’s taken on Jigsaw’s old position of Sergeant At Arms. His Road Name was given in honour of Charles Manson—he has a habit of killing people for no reason. He’s as quiet as a mouse, and you hardly even know he’s around. But due to the mass exodus of club brothers, and the sheer shrinkage of the club in the last few weeks, he stands out a little more from the shadows. I guess that happens when all the big personalities are fucking disloyal pricks.
Penetrator, Acid, and Blade take up the other chairs, so I pick up my gavel and bang it once on the wooden table. The echo of wood hitting wood resounds through the medium sized room.
“Right, I’m calling church because we need to make a move on Papi. He needs to see sense and start distributing. He’s been with us now for eight months, and I’ve been far more than lenient toward him and his flightiness, but this shit’s gotta stop. He needs to know we mean business, and we’re not pussyfooting around anymore. He distributes or shit gets real…
“We know he’s storing our stash at his workplace… umm… Cupiditas, the whorehouse on the esplanade. I’ve had Acid scoping the place, and getting a general feel for the running of the business. We know that every day their workers take turns to get coffee for everyone, and we know that Papi’s girlfriend Star, is the one to be making the run tonight. So I’ve decided that if we mess with Star just enough, then maybe Papi will understand the terms of our arrangement a little better…”
Everyone nods and Chops tilts his head toward me. “You thinking we black and blue her, or something a little… dirtier?”
Rolling my eyes at the dirty old prick, I shake my head. “No Chops, we’re not going into that sort of territory. Just black and blue. Plus, she’s a whore, God knows what kind of fucking diseases she has. She’ll probably give you crabs that have herpes, for crying out loud.”
He nods his head while everyone else chuckles. “True, true.”
“Okay, so we head out, grab Star while she’s walking back from her coffee run, make her blue and then deliver her back to Cupiditas for Papi.”
Everyone nods. I bang my gavel, and we all stand up and walk out into the clubroom toward the black door. Shogun greets me, and I smile at my dog. He’s always been here, through thick and thin, and as I pat his head, I think of Amelia and the day she brought him and Cassius here for Steel and me. Wincing slightly at the loss of Cass and Steel, I swallow hard and continue walking outside into the compound and toward the metallic black Volkswagen Crafter.
The blue moon shines brightly in the sky as we jump into the cage. Chops is staying behind in case anything happens and we get caught. I need someone here who can run this place if a shitstorm happens, and we’re arrested. But I don’t plan on letting that happen, I haven’t been arrested in the three decades I’ve been here, I’m not about to start now.
“Remember, quick snatch and grab, Manson,” Chops reminds him as he grabs the side of the Crafter door.
Manson nods not saying a word. For someone who’s sinister, he really doesn’t talk much. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever heard him talking. “Right Prez, call me when you’re on your way back,” Chops demands, and I nod.
“Will do. Penetrator, let’s go.”
Chops slides the door shut enclosing Manson, Acid and Blade in the back, ready to grab the girl as we do a drive by. The windows on the cage are the darkest tint they can possibly be for us to still see out of them and be legal. The plates are fake, so if anyone does see anything and reports them, they’re not traceable. All angles are covered, now to just pull it off.
Bashing up women has never been my thing. But to get my point across, I’ll do anything to bring Papi in line and distributing. I need to find a way aroun
d the fucking Cartel because they’re royally fucking up every other avenue I have of distributing my eccys. I’ve already had to let the gun trade go because I can’t find a way to make that work. This is the only way I can keep cash coming into the club besides our sideline businesses, other than finding a legit business for our club to take over.
Sure we have Strapless and the Gun Shop, but they’re not mine, they’re Vin’s and Frankie’s. They take most of the profits, we hardly see any of it, not enough to keep us going if we lose the drug money as well as the guns. We need finances, the club’s bleeding. As it is, the money coming in has dropped significantly already, it can’t fall anymore or I’m fucked. More of my brothers will walk, and if any more leave, this chapter will have to fold, and for me that would be sacrilegious. Virginia is the Original Chapter. I started the Satan’s Savages, there’s no club without me.
Penetrator starts the Crafter and pulls it into gear driving it toward the gate. Rover is on the gate full time, now that Sentinel obviously isn’t gatekeeping anymore. But I’ll have to find another man to help out, as Rover is struggling to keep himself focused. Being the only man in charge of the gate, eating, sleeping and practically pissing in the same place is a bitch of a job, and he doesn’t deserve that. So I need to find a shift change for him ASAP. I might have to put Manson up there for a while when he isn’t on jobs with me. He doesn’t do much around the club, except fuck the club whores and drink the bar dry, so I think spending some time in the lookout post will suit him just fine.
Rover opens the gate, and it slides much easier since we had the new one installed. Having the old one blown up by the 5113ers was a blessing in disguise, I suppose. It forced me to finally update the rickety old fucker. Penetrator pulls out onto the road, and we start our track down toward the beach. It’s a fair drive, so we have some time to run through the plan. Turning in my seat, I look back into the open expanse of the van to see Acid talking to Blade, and Manson is staring at the cage door. He lives in his own world.