HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  I would have never expected her to be so upset over my having taken Alexandra to dinner, but I wasn’t about to let the age comment go without me rebutting it.

  “Hold on a minute,” I said. “She’s not a child. She’s 21. I’m 31. There’s 10 years between us. That’s it. Ten. If she wants to--”

  “So, this isn’t innocent, is it? I can’t believe you,” she huffed.

  “It isn’t anything. Come outside, and we can--”

  She shook her head. “Stay away from her. Leave her alone. She needs to be comforted, not fondled by some tattooed musclehead that’s in a biker gang.”

  “It’s a club,” Crip said with a low laugh. “There’s a difference.”

  God damn it, Crip.

  She glared at Crip, and then at Pee Bee. Her angry eyes shot to me. “Leave her alone. I mean it.”

  She spun around and stomped toward her car.

  Half rattled and half pissed by her visit, I turned to face Crip and Pee Bee. “God damn. Didn’t see that coming.”

  “So, what the fuck happened?” Crip asked. “You throw the daughter some cock?”

  “Fuck no,” I said. “Just like I said. Went by to check on her, and we went to dinner.”

  His eyebrows raised. “At your mom’s place?”

  “She offered, and it was a free meal. Why not?”

  He shrugged. “Guess there’s no harm in it.”

  The sound of screeching tires echoed through the shop. Pee Bee chuckled, and nodded toward the door. “See that?”

  “See what?” Crip and I said at the same time.

  “As she was peeling out of here, your buddy pulled in.” Pee Bee said.

  Crip craned his neck toward the open door. “What buddy?”

  “That detective.”

  “Oh fuck,” Crip said. “Wonder what that fucker wants.”

  “What detective?” I asked.

  Crip nodded toward the door. “That one.”

  I turned around. The detective that arrested Crip on the disappearance of Whip’s brother was sauntering toward us with a shitty grin on his face.

  “Let me do the talking,” Crip whispered.

  Dressed in khakis and a blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled to the middle of his forearms, the detective walked within ten feet of us and stopped.

  He nodded at Crip and then Pee Bee. “Navarro. Peanut Butter.”

  He looked me over, and then fixed his eyes on Crip.

  “Detective,” Crip said dryly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Well.” He paused and gazed around the shop. After taking in all there was to see, he looked at Crip. “I was headed to the donut shop for my morning routine, and I got to thinking about a case that slid across my desk. A gang case. I dabble in those. You knew that, right?”

  “Rumor has it,” Crip said.

  “Well. Over the last month, half a dozen girls have been abducted from one 7-Eleven here in our great city. Hell, there might have been more, but only six got reported. We didn’t have many clues to go off of, other than the color of an old Ford truck, and a plate number. Plate was stolen off a late model Toyota Prius, so that didn’t pan out. Anyway--”

  “We don’t abduct girls, detective,” Crip said, interrupting him mid-sentence. “They come willingly. Bitches love bikers. You can write that on your little notepad.”

  The cop cocked an eyebrow and gave Crip a one-eyed glare.

  “See any girls in here, detective?” Crip asked.

  “Can’t say that I do, Navarro. Hear me out, though.”

  Crip nodded. “I’d be delighted.”

  “So, with nothing to go on, we get nowhere with these disappearances. Six girls, ranging in age from 14-20, all missing from one fucking 7-Eleven. The owner adds security cameras, we add a patrol to the area, but we come up empty-handed.”

  “Sounds like bad cop work,” Crip said sarcastically.

  Through the officer’s entire speech, I remained stone-faced, nervous about what he knew, and what he thought he knew.

  “Wait. It gets better,” the detective said. “Magically, they all surfaced.”

  “Big hoax?” Crip asked.

  “One might think,” the detective said flatly. “But then there was something that connected to it. Loosely, but a connection, nonetheless.”

  Crip crossed his arms and gasped like a scared girl. “The hell you say?”

  The detective nodded. “Place over on 14th. Four of Calle 18’s boys were gunned down in a shitty little dope house. We got to it long afterward, and although there wasn’t any dope or money left on the scene, there were four dead vatos and some other interesting effects.”

  Fuck.

  “Do tell,” Crip said.

  “Room in the back had a five-gallon bucket full of piss and shit, a couple hundred oatmeal bar wrappers, blood-stained sheets, a few fistfuls of hair, and some other shit that leads me to believe that the deceased were keeping girls in that room. Sad thing was I couldn’t ask the vatos, because they’d all died from lead poisoning.”

  Double fuck.

  “Somewhere in that sad exchange, you lost me, detective. What brings you to darken my door?” Crip asked.

  The detective rubbed his chin between his thumb and forefinger. “As you might guess, the neighbors in those neighborhoods are all blind and deaf when it comes to giving testimony against Calle 18. There was a little boy who lived across the street that was fond of lollipops, though.”

  “And we both know you’ve got a pocket full of those, don’t we?” Crip snapped back.

  He grinned a false grin and nodded. “I’ve got one less after this morning.”

  “Kid give you a handjob for that, detective?”

  “No. But he gave me some information.”

  “I can’t wait to hear it.”

  I didn’t want to hear it. By my guess, he had my tag number, or the tag numbers of one or more of the fellas. The thought of it made me sick.

  “Kid said the girls were all hauled out on the backs of Harleys. More than a dozen, from what he said. In the middle of the night.”

  “More than a dozen?” Crip’s brow wrinkled. “Sounds like the work of an MC, detective. Were they wearing kuttes? Any of them sporting colors? Maybe I can point you to their clubhouse.”

  “No. As fate would have it, they weren’t wearing their colors,” he said.

  “Sounds like a loose-knit bunch, detective,” Crip said. “Here at the Filthy Fuckers MC, we have a strict policy. If one of the fellas is on their bike, they’ve got to wear their colors. It’s a pride thing. And we’re a mighty prideful bunch. Any MC in SoCal has the same policy, if that helps. My guess is it’s the work of vigilantes. Probably some do-gooder Christian group.”

  “Thanks for the tip, Navarro. I’ll stake out the local churches and look for Harleys.”

  “Anything else?” Crip asked.

  He folded his arms in front of his chest and shook his head. “Calle 18 doesn’t give a fuck about the deceased, Navarro. Hell, they can replace ‘em in ten minutes with a few more volunteers from Tijuana. Rumor on the street, however, is that they aren’t too fucking happy about the missing dope and money, though.”

  Crip shrugged. “Don’t imagine they are.”

  “My concern isn’t so much with the deceased, it’s with what might happen up the Calle 18 food chain,” the detective said. “This could very possibly start a war.”

  Crip cocked an eyebrow. “With the Christians?”

  “With whoever took the fucking money, Navarro.”

  “I’ll let you know if I see any bikers spending money frivolously,” Crip said.

  The detective looked at me, and then at Crip. “You do that.”

  “Sure will, detective. Now, if you don’t mind, we’ve got to get busy wreaking havoc on the city.”

  “I’ll let myself out.”

  He turned around and walked to his car, and then left.

  “Holy shit,” I said. “My asshole is tighter than a nun’s
twat.”

  Crip looked at Pee Bee, and then at me. “You didn’t mention any money.”

  “We didn’t take any,” I said. “Or any dope. Left it right there where it was.”

  “Who was the last one out of the house?” Crip asked.

  “Smoke,” I said. “I think.”

  “No,” Pee Bee said. “He was outside with me.”

  “Not sure who it was,” I said. “Not really.”

  “How much dope, and how much money are we talking?”

  “From what was out in the open, I’d say three kilos of smack, and fifty grand. Maybe more.”

  He looked at Pee Bee.

  “We talked about it, Boss. Decided taking it wasn’t worth it. With them being Calle 18, and all, the risk was too big. I didn’t count it, but it was a good-sized pile. Could have been a hundred grand for all I know.”

  “Make a list of who was there, and who you’re absolutely fucking positive was outside when the last of the fellas came out,” Crip said. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

  The thought of someone taking the money was difficult for me to accept.

  Going to prison for murdering the four men, however, was incomprehensible.

  Chapter Ninety

  Lex

  “You did what? I screeched.

  She raised her hands in defense and began to explain. “Lex, you’re young and impressionable. You need someone to look after you that has your best interest at heart. That person isn’t--”

  “It obviously isn’t you,” I barked. “I can’t believe you went and talked to him.”

  For once in my life I was attracted to someone who didn’t seem like a controlling prick, and she was determined to sabotage the relationship before it got started. I felt like my legs had been knocked out from underneath me.

  “Settle down,” she said. “Just hear me out.”

  I glared at her, still in disbelief that she had done what she had done. “Young? Impressionable? I’m not thirteen, don’t treat me like I am. You didn’t say anything shitty, did you?”

  “I just told him to leave you alone.”

  “Leave me alone? That’s your call to make? You’re deciding who I can and can’t see now?”

  “So, you’re seeing him?” She tossed her purse on the floor and crossed her arms. “Have you two--”

  “Anything that we’ve done, are doing, or plan to do is none of your business, mother.”

  “I’m sure he’s good for someone, but that someone isn’t you,” she said, lowering her tone. “You need to be able to see that.”

  I couldn’t believe it. Eight o’clock in the morning and my day was going to shit. She had no right to talk to Adam. My guess was that she did it because she was jealous.

  I cocked my hip and shot her a look. “What? Did you go talk to him because you’re jealous? Because you want him to want you?”

  Her eyes shot wide. “Are you kidding me?”

  “No. I’m not. I’m serious.”

  “He’s a tattooed meathead that--”

  “He wasn’t a tattooed meathead when he was here a few weeks ago. You were going on and on about him. He’s so nice. He’s so handsome. You’re a hypocrite. You’re going to apologize to him.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “I’ll leave. I swear. If you get between us, I’ll leave.”

  “You don’t have anywhere to go,” she coughed.

  “Try me,” I said. “I mean it. Apologize to him, and don’t put your nose in my relationship business again.”

  “Lex. Seriously,” she pleaded. “This is textbook stuff. You’re attaching yourself to him because he saved you from those--”

  “Jesus, mother. Really? Do you have that little faith in me?” I flopped down on the couch and buried my face in my hands. After a few deep breaths, I continued. “I haven’t attached myself to him. I find him attractive because he’s nice, and he treats me like he cares about me. It has nothing to do with him saving me.”

  “He doesn’t care about you,” she said.

  “And you know this how? You don’t even know him. You were neighbors. You weren’t even friends. And you hadn’t seen him for ten years when you went and asked him to find me. Think about it, mother. You asked him to find me, and he did. Why? Because he’s nice. Would some asshole do what he did? I don’t think so.”

  She sighed and sat down beside me. “I just don’t think he’s--”

  “Have some faith in me, and give him a chance. But don’t wreck something that has the potential of being good for me.”

  She looked at me. “Do you really like him?”

  I nodded. “I do.”

  “And you don’t think he’s just doing this to, you know. To--”

  “To get in my pants?”

  “Yeah.” She nodded. “For sex.”

  “No,” I said adamantly. “I don’t.”

  She gazed down at the floor and let out a sigh. After a long pause, she looked up. “Okay.

  “So, you’ll apologize?”

  “If you want me to.”

  “I do.”

  “Okay. I suppose I’ll have to, then.”

  “Thank you.”

  I wondered exactly what she said, and how Adam felt about it. Hopefully he’d accept her apology and we’d move on as if it never happened.

  I turned to her with every intention of telling her how I felt about him, and when I did, the doorbell rang.

  “That’s probably him,” I said.

  She stood. “I doubt it.”

  She walked to the door, peered through the peephole, and then looked at me.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  She shrugged and pulled the door open.

  “Good morning, Miss Hart. I’m detective Watson with the San Diego County Sheriff’s Department. How are you doing today?”

  My stomach knotted into a ball.

  “I’m uhhm. I’m good. Is there something wrong?”

  “Wrong? No, there’s nothing wrong. I’ve just got a few questions,” he said. “Trying to close a case. Have you got a minute?”

  Oh shit.

  I hoped this day would never come. I wanted to go somewhere and hide, but there was nowhere I could go that he wouldn’t be able to see me. I buried my face in my hands and hoped she’d somehow convince him to leave.

  “Uhhm. Sure. What can I do for you?”

  “May I come in?”

  No. Don’t let him…

  “Sure.”

  He stepped into the living room and immediately made eye contact with me. He was muscular, and had short hair like many of the Marines in town. “Hi. I’m detective Watson.”

  I nodded. “Hi.”

  He turned toward my mother. “You filed a missing person’s report about your daughter, Alexandra. She was abducted at the 7-Eleven, and…”

  “She turned up,” she said. “She’s right there.”

  He didn’t act surprised. He simply glanced at me, nodded, and then looked at my mother. “I suspected that might be the case.”

  “Okay. Is there anything else I can do for you?” she asked.

  “Well. As you may imagine, I’ve got some questions about her disappearance, and about her reappearance, for that matter.”

  He looked at me. “Have you got a few minutes to answer some simple questions?”

  “Do I have to?”

  He shrugged. “You sure don’t. But, if you don’t, I may have to draw something up for interfering with a murder investigation. Then, I’ll have to arrest you, take you in, and you’ll be forced to answer questions in an interview, or in a court of law. I’ll let you think about that for a minute.”

  “Murder!” My mother gasped.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Murder.”

  “What do you want to know?” I asked.

  “Everything,” he said. “Who abducted you? Where’d they take you? How’d you get free? How’d you get home? I need descriptions of the abductors, and of any and all events that transpired during your
time in captivity.”

  He looked at my mother. “And, Miss Hart, I have a few for you as well.”

  She returned a worried look. “Like what?”

  “Why didn’t you report that your daughter had been found?”

  “Some guys in a truck took me,” I blurted, hoping to get him to shift his focus to me.

  He turned toward me and pulled a notepad from his back pocket.

  “They blindfolded me, and took me somewhere, but I don’t know where. They kept me and some other girls locked in a room. Then, one night, the door opened, and they blindfolded us and led us outside. The next thing I knew, we were on the back of a bunch of motorcycles leaving. It was weird, really.”

  As I spoke, he scribbled notes onto the pad. When I stopped, he looked up. “That’s it? That’s your story?”

  “Uh huh.”

  He lowered the notepad and stared. “You were gone for what? A week?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, probably.”

  “And that’s your entire story?”

  “Yep.”

  “So, let me get this straight. Blindfolded, driven somewhere, and then taken in a room. Kept captive in the dark. Then, blindfolded, loaded on the back of a motorcycle, and hauled out?”

  I nodded. “That’s pretty much it.”

  “Get a look at any of the men who abducted you?”

  I shook my head. “Nope.”

  “None of them?” he asked.

  “Nope.”

  “Not once?”

  “Nope.”

  “When they opened the door and handed you the blindfolds, you weren’t able to see what they looked like?”

  “There weren’t any lights in the room or in the hallway.”

  It was true. There weren’t. If he was there, he’d have noticed for sure.

  “When they fed you?” he asked.

  “Dark.”

  “And then, blindfolded and loaded onto what? Motorcycles?”

  I nodded. “Yep.”

  He chuckled. “With blindfolds on?”

  “Yep.”

  “And taken where?”

  “I don’t know. We were taken to a van, loaded into it, and driven home.”

  He shook his head. “Let me guess. Blindfolded?”