HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  “Scared of showing up at your little clubhouse?”

  “No.”

  It was a lie, at least partially so. I wasn’t scared, but Crip was going to shit when he saw me. I’d shaved my beard off completely, and then I had Rita cut my hair as if I was going in for a job interview at one of the banks in downtown SD.

  “Well, you look damned fine, Son. You really do. You never said the other night if you were going to ask Tegan on a date. Now that it’s just you and me, I’m going to ask point blank.”

  In anticipation of the imminent barrage of bullshit that I was about to receive, I exhaled heavily and shook my head. I didn’t know what I was going to do about Tegan, and I damned sure didn’t want to discuss it with him.

  I wasn’t eighteen, I was thirty-two.

  “What?” he snarled. “

  “I’m not in high school, Pop.”

  “No, you’re not. But you’re as irresponsible as a fuckin’ teenager, that’s for god damned sure.”

  I shot him a glare. “Why do you say shit like that?”

  “How many girls have you had sex with?”

  I looked away. He didn’t want to know. “I don’t know.”

  “You’re a god damned lair. Be a man, Son. Tell me. I’ve got a point to make.”

  I really didn’t know. Telling him an exact amount would be impossible.

  “I really don’t,” I said.

  “Ten?”

  I laughed. “No. You don’t want to know.”

  “More?”

  “Pop…”

  “Twenty?”

  I lowered my head and sank my teeth into my bottom lip as I tried my best to count, focusing only on the women who immediately came to mind.

  “God damn, Son. More?”

  I nodded. “I really don’t know.”

  “How can a man claim to be a man if he’s dipped his dick in twenty women? That’s not manly, it’s chicken-shit. We weren’t put on this earth for that. I know good and god damned well you didn’t love those women.” He leaned forward and widened his eyes. “God damn, Son. Twenty? Jesus jumped up Christ.”

  He looked disgusted. And disappointed. He relaxed against the back of his chair and shook his head.

  I rested my forearms against my knees and gazed down at the floor. This was something I’d avoided discussing with him, for good reason. I reached up to stroke my beard, and then realized it was gone.

  “It’s more than twenty, isn’t it?” he asked. “Christ on a fuckin’ crutch, Son. How many? I’m not here to crucify you, but let’s be men about it. If you’re going to be honest, be honest.”

  “I don’t know for sure, but maybe like fifty or something.” I looked at him. “It’d be hard to say, really.”

  “Fifty? Fifty? Are you fucking around, or being serious?”

  I really didn’t want to have this talk. I took a deep breath, met his gaze, and responded. “Serious. Fifty. Something like that.”

  He sat up in his chair and glared at me. “How in the fuck does a man even do something like that?”

  “Pop…”

  “Go make me a cup of coffee,” he said.

  “Mom said--”

  “I don’t give a shit. I want a cup of fuckin’ coffee. Go make me one. Make you one, too.”

  “Are you sure it won’t--”

  “Go!”

  I made a pot of coffee, then carried the two cups into the living room. “Made ’em just like we used to drink ‘em when I was a kid.”

  He took a sip, and then raised the cup. “Nectar of the Gods.”

  I sat down on the couch, knowing damned good and well that a lecture was coming. I wanted the day to be over, so I could take care of business. I glanced at my watch.

  It wasn’t even 7:00 a.m. yet.

  “Alright. Back to being serious,” he said.

  Well, fuck.

  “Are you an honest man, or are you a liar?” he asked.

  I clenched my teeth at the thought of him even questioning my honesty.

  “I’m honest.”

  “Is your word good?”

  “You know it is,” I insisted. “Good as fuckin’ gold.”

  “So, I’ve raised a man that someone can count on?”

  My heart swelled a little. “God damned right.”

  “If you say it, it’s so. A man can count on you, can’t he? If you give your word, there’s nothing to worry about, right?”

  I nodded. “Yep.”

  He lifted the cup of coffee to his nose, inhaled a deep breath, and then took a drink. “If you sit there and be honest with yourself, and I mean completely honest, do you feel like a good man – an honest man – when you think of those girls you’ve been with? Did you tell each of them that you were going to fuck ‘em and then disappear, or did you bullshit any of them just to get in their pants? Think about that for a minute, and when you’re ready to answer, don’t. I want you to think for another minute about how it’s okay to lie to aa, and then claim you’re an honest man. Because if you’ll lie, you ain’t nothing short of a fuckin’ liar.”

  I stared down at the floor for a long time and thought about what he asked. I didn’t feel like a good man, or an honest man. At least not at that moment. I’d always claimed to be honest, and, in fact, had built a reputation for being so. As I sat and mentally ran through the list of the women I’d been with – and considered the circumstances surrounding each one – I didn’t get very far before I gave up.

  I sighed. It wasn’t easy to admit. My face fell. “I don’t feel very honest.”

  “You saying that because you feel that way, or because you think it’s what I want to hear?”

  “Well, put the way you put it, it made me think. And, fuck, I don’t know, Pop. I feel like it wasn’t right. I mean not all of it. Kind of bad, really.”

  “Kind of bad? Hell, it’s nothing short of insane. You know how many girls I’ve been with?”

  I didn’t, but I doubted it was many.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Care to guess?”

  I looked at him. “I don’t know.” I shrugged. “Five.”

  He shook his head. “One. Your mother.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Dead serious. And, I’ll tell you why. When we reached a point that we made love, I knew. It was that simple. I just knew. I knew I didn’t want to be with anyone else, and I also knew I didn’t want anyone – other than your mother – to have something I felt was so special. You know what that special thing was?”

  I felt an odd sense of pride for my father, and for my mother. I grinned. “What’s that?”

  “Me,” he said. “To think another woman could even claim to have been with me seemed wrong. Your mother was special to me, and I wanted her to feel every bit as special as I thought she was. So, I gave her my love. No other woman can claim to have had that. Do you know how many people live on this earth?”

  I had no idea. “I uhhm. No.”

  “7.4 billion, right now. So, your mother has something that 7 billion, three hundred ninety-nine million, nine-hundred ninety-nine thousand, and nine-hundred ninety-nine others don’t. My love.”

  I filled with warmth thinking about his genuine love for my mother, and then I felt like a complete shit for acting the way I had acted toward women. Being with fifty different women was impossible to promote as being honest, kind, or caring.

  “You made your point,” I said.

  “No, I haven’t,” he said. “Not yet.”

  “There comes a point in time that all boys become men. You might be thirty, or forty, or even fifty. It has nothing to do with age, or with experience. It has to do with being honorable. Trustworthy. All the things you and that fuckin’ Navarro talk about when you have your little meetings with your cronies. You spout those words from your mouth like you invented ‘em, and then you go and treat women like they were put on this earth to poke your dick in. Don’t get me wrong, there ain’t a god damned thing wrong with having sex with a woman. A woma
n, not all women. What you’ve done is nothing short of selfish. You’ve done it for no other reason than your own satisfaction. That is the textbook definition of selfish, and I did not raise you to be that kind of man.”

  He paused for a moment, and I hoped he was finished. I’d been kicked when I was down in a fight, but never in an argument. My father, however, had done just that. Changing wasn’t going to be easy, nor was I even sure that it was be possible.

  When I looked at him, his eyes were closed. His mouth was twisted to the side, and his jaw was tight.

  I stood. “Pop, you alright?”

  He opened his eyes and then inhaled a long breath through his nose. “I’ll be fine. That coffee might not have been such a good idea.”

  “Your heart?”

  “Mind your own fuckin’ business, Son. No, it’s not my god damned heart. It’s my gut. You’ll be old one day, and then you’ll understand. Sit down.”

  Reluctantly, I sat.

  He met my worried gaze. “Let’s say we could find all fifty of those women. If we lined ‘em up out in the street and let them talk with each other about you for half an hour, and then you asked each one of ‘em individually, how many do you think would say you’re a good, honest man?”

  “You made your point.” I turned to face him. “I’ll try my best to be a better man.”

  “Ask that girl on a date,” he said.

  “I might.”

  “I got a feeling about this, Son. I really do. So, ask her. For your old man. If it doesn’t work out. Fine. If it does? Well, that’s fine, too.”

  “Who knows if she’ll even go?”

  “You will,” he said. “If you gather enough guts to ask.”

  “I’ll see what happens.”

  He locked eyes with me. “The two most memorable moments in a man’s life are when he kisses the woman he’s going to marry for the first time, and the day he marries her.”

  “Why’d you tell me that?” I asked.

  “Because.” He relaxed in his chair. “You have yet to experience either.”

  I thought about it for a moment, and then stood. stood. “Hungry?”

  “I could eat.”

  “We done here?” I asked.

  “You feel like someone kicked you in the gut?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Over and over.”

  “Good.” He grinned. “We’re done.”

  We had breakfast, and then spent the day together, talking about my childhood, the club, and how important to me the men of FFMC had become. Although he always called us shit-heads or dip-shits, at least during our discussions on that day, he didn’t.

  I sent Tegan several text messages throughout the day, but she didn’t respond to any of them.

  It wasn’t surprising, considering where she was.

  I enjoyed the time with my father that day more than any other that I could remember. For me, it was a turning point in my life.

  Being honorable in all respects wasn’t going to be easy, but I was going to try my best to make my father proud.

  At the end of the day, I gave him a hug, and thanked him for our talk. I had business to take care of, and as crazy as it seemed considering what was about to happen, I knew he’d be proud of me for what I was about to do.

  I parked my bike in front of the club.

  A muscular bald man in a black tee shirt and jeans looked me over as I approached. When I got close enough to reach for the door, he stepped in front me and smiled.

  “Can I help you?” he asked.

  “Hope so,” I said. “Looking for Serge.”

  He eyed me for a minute, and then met my gaze. “And you are?”

  “Just looking for someone. Hoping he can help me out.”

  He folded his arms in front of his massive chest. “Who are you looking for?”

  “There’s a guy named Marcus, and he used to see a guy named Brian. A few nights ago, they were in here together. Brian ended up leaving with a guy named…”

  I paused and thought of the story Marcus told the night at the apartment. The name escaped me.

  “I can’t remember his name. But they ended up out here by the door, making out. Marcus got stuck with the tab. After he paid it, he left. I’m looking for--”

  He offered an apologetic shrug. “I don’t know that I can be much help.”

  “Listen.” I looked him in the eyes. “Can you just point me in the right direction? I just want to--”

  “Sorry,” he said with a shrug.

  It was frustrating to think that I wasn’t going to be able to resolve the issue. Marcus was in intensive care, and I wanted vengeance. “Look. This guy beat Marcus half to death, and I’m going to make sure that he doesn’t do that to him – or anyone else for that matter – again.”

  He waved at a passing car, and then glanced over each shoulder. “Oh. You’re not looking for Marcus?”

  I shook my head. “Brian.”

  He stepped back and searched my face. “You’re a friend of Marcus’s?”

  “I am. Him and Tegan. He even posted a pic of me and him on Instagram the other night.”

  He pulled his phone from his back pocket, messed with it for a minute, and then alternated glances between the screen and me.

  “Oh wow.” He wrinkled his nose. “That is you, isn’t it?”

  I nodded. “Got a haircut since then.”

  He smiled, opened the door to allow two people to walk in, and then put his phone in his pocket. “The hair? I liked the hair. But that beard?” he shook his head. “Shaving it was the right thing to do. It looks nice.”

  “Thanks.”

  “His name’s Brian Bailey. He’s not here. You might try The Brass Rail. It’s on Robinson and Fifth.”

  “What’s he look like?”

  “Six-two. Two hundred, give or take. He’s muscular. Short curly hair. It’s black. Dark skin, kind of like you. He’s got a big scar over his eye.” He reached for his face. “Left eye. And, he’s mean. Really mean.”

  I grinned and shook his hand. “So am I.”

  I wedged my bike between two parked cars and pointed it toward the street. Reluctantly, I removed my kutte, folded it, and put it in the saddlebag. Taking the chance of having it stolen wasn’t something I’d ever done, but wearing it in wasn’t an option. I’d taken an oath to protect it at all costs, and as much as it bothered me to leave it there, it bothered me more not to take care of what I needed to take care of.

  Wearing my wife beater, jeans, and boots, there shouldn’t be a problem getting in. I glanced in my rearview mirror, straightened my helmet-hair, and then walked to the front door.

  The doorman looked me over and then pushed the front door open. “Have a good time.”

  I stepped past him, and inside the bar.

  Loud music blasted from stage mounted speakers. As a D.J. shouted into a microphone, a fog machine sprayed smoke out over the screaming crowd. The center of the bar was filled with men and women who danced as multi-colored lights flickered to the beat of the music.

  I walked to the bar, ordered a beer, and glanced around. After five minutes, I’d spotted four men who could have been Brian. I made my way through the crowd, checking each man for a scar.

  The third one had one.

  Over his left eye.

  He stood with another man, trying to talk over the loud music. He was a few inches shorter than me, and built like a professional bodybuilder. As I sized him up, he met my gaze.

  He looked me up and down, and then grinned. I nodded and smiled in return. His grin transformed into a smile. He patted the man he was talking to on the shoulder, and then stepped around him.

  “I’m Brian,” he said with a smile.

  At least he’d eliminated all doubt.

  “Bradley,” I said with a nod.

  He studied the tattoos on my arms for a moment, and then looked up. “So--”

  I narrowed my eyes and pointed to my ear. “I can barely think in here. Can we go…” I motioned toward the door. “
Can we go outside?”

  “Sure.”

  I turned toward the door. “Come on.”

  He followed me outside, and onto the side walk. Luckily, there were several people waiting to get in.

  “Maybe we should go over there,” I said, pointing to the parking lot.

  Before he could respond, I started walking around the corner of the building toward the car-filled lot.

  I stepped between two parked cars, looked at him, and smiled.

  “Bradley, right?” he asked.

  I nodded. “And you were?”

  “Brian. It’s loud in there, isn’t it?”

  I glanced at my boots, paused, and then looked up. “Are you the Brian who used to see Marcus?”

  He let out a sigh. “Marcus. Marcus has a big mouth. You know Marcus?”

  I shrugged. “Not really. I just wondered if you--”

  He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I did. But--”

  I punched him in the teeth as hard as I could. As he stumbled, I glanced over each shoulder. After seeing no one, I got him in a headlock and pulled him down to the ground.

  Out of view from passing cars, and hidden from the bar’s patrons, I felt comfortable I could do what need to be done.

  As I squeezed his neck between my left arm and bicep, I punched him in the face repeatedly until he went limp. I released my grasp. He fell into a pile at my feet. While he laid motionless, I removed his wallet and took out his driver’s license.

  Covered in blood, and missing a few teeth, he eventually opened his eyes. As he tried to speak through his battered lips, I shook my head and raised my bloody hand. “If you say one fucking word, I’ll knock the rest of your fuckin’ teeth out.”

  His worried eyes widened.

  Standing over him, I turned his driver’s license to face him. His eyes shot to it.

  “If you ever talk to Marcus again, other than to apologize, I’ll hunt you down and I’ll cut off your cock. That’s a promise. If you ever touch him again, for any reason, I’ll kill you. If he tries to talk to you, you better run the other fucking direction.”

  I shoved his driver’s license into my pocket, pulled out my knife, and sliced a six-inch long wound into the meaty flesh of his forearm.

  As he bitched and whined about what I’d done, I pressed the heel of my boot into his neck.