HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  But, even though numerous motorcycle clubs were in attendance, no one fought. It was a day to celebrate freedom, the open road, and a love for one thing.

  Riding.

  We walked to the large tent, and stood beside a small makeshift stage. A man stepped up to a microphone, blew into it, and laughed.

  “Everyone have a good time?”

  The crowd cheered.

  “Good food?”

  More cheering followed.

  “Alright. We appreciate your attendance today. Proceeds for this event will be tallied, and the numbers will be on our website by tomorrow end of day. In case you’re unaware, every dollar spent will be donated to the Suicide Awareness Foundation. Twenty-two veterans a day commit suicide, and that’s twenty-two too many. We’re playing our part to bring that number down to zero. Now, before we announce any winners, we have one more announcement.”

  He held the microphone at his side. A big man in a leather vest walked up the steps, and got on stage. A red bandana covered his head, and sunglasses hid his eyes. Beneath his left arm, it appeared he had a black leather binder hidden.

  He took the microphone and cleared his throat. “Not much for talking to groups, so I’ll keep this short,” he said, his voice raspy and weathered. “Everyone in attendance today has one thing in common with the man beside him. Doesn’t matter if you’re a 1%er, a weekender, or if you ride in a do-gooder bike club. We’re all after the same thing. Freedom. During our time on the road, we’ve escaped the man, his rules, his regulations, and the cages he peddles to the unknowing. On our time on the road, we’re free.”

  The crowd roared.

  He raised his hand. “Being in a club is about a lot of things, but first and foremost, it’s about respect. You give, and you get. But you give first. Some don’t adhere to that policy. Some men, some clubs, they take. And, in turn, they are dealt with. It saddens me when we have such men in this fine state we reside in, but we have it nonetheless. Today, I stand before a bunch of men who respect their fellow brothers. Today, that respect earns each man in attendance a spot beside the man at his side, regardless of who he is, or what club he represents.”

  He took off his glasses and hung them on his vest.

  I gasped.

  Bama!

  “Brothers and sisters, listen up.”

  The crowd fell silent.

  “There once was a man who stood for freedom, and when he stood, he stood above the rest. He opposed only those who threatened harm on his brethren, and he died giving his life for his system of beliefs. Today, we honor that man, and his system of beliefs. Today, ladies and gentlemen, we have honor of having the daughter of Billy The Snake Schreiber in attendance.”

  I fought against the tears that welled in my eyes.

  He looked right at me. “Joey, can you come up here for a moment?”

  I looked at Percy. My entire body shook. “I can’t…”

  “Come on,” he said. “I’ll go with you.”

  Together, we walked on stage. I stepped to Bama’s side, and he gave me a side-hug.

  “I’d like to present the Snake’s daughter with two things today.” He handed Percy the microphone, and took the objects from under his arm. “First, I’ve got this.”

  He handed me a hardbound book. “A signed copy of To Hell and Back. A book about the MC her father so faithfully represented. And, this.”

  He handed me a leather vest.

  “Her first kutte. It’s clean, and ready for her to patch it up with whatever she chooses.” He grinned. “Or earns.”

  He extended his hand.

  I clenched my fist and held it between us.

  He smiled, made a fist, and tapped his knuckles against mine.

  “Brothers and sisters, if you see her in the crowds today, thank her for her father’s sacrifice. If it wasn’t for him, and men like him, none of us would be here.”

  He lowered the mic. “Have you got anything to say?”

  I bit against my lower lip and nodded.

  He handed me the microphone. “Take your time,” he whispered.

  I spoke without really thinking. It seemed to come naturally, simply flowing from my mind to my mouth. “My father died when I was two. I never really knew him. My mother told me stories of his code of ethics, and how he lived his life reciting the importance of four simple words. His generation was different. Men of his era stood up for what they believed in, and they believed in very little. Words that he lived by are rarely used today. Oddly, those four simple words were his code of ethics. They assembled his system of moral beliefs. They were respect, loyalty, trust, and honor.”

  I gazed out at the thousands of people and held my head high. “Today, I give respect to those who earn it. It doesn’t come easy. I respect the two men on this stage. You want my respect? Give it to me. I’ll give it in return. I am loyal to very few people. Two, to be exact. Myself and to the man at my left. For me, trust is like respect, it’s earned. The man on my left has earned it, so he gets it. Lastly, honor. Today, I honor the memory of my father. I hope some of you are able to do the same. When you leave here, show some respect to the man on your left. He just might give it back to you tenfold. Honor those who have earned your admiration, and give trust and respect only those who have earned your love.”

  I handed Bama the mic.

  “That about wraps it up, Brothers and Sisters,” Bama said. “We’ll be taking donations up until 5:00. If you’d like to...”

  Someone shouted from the rear of the crowd.

  Another joined in.

  And then, another.

  Over the sound of Bama talking, I couldn’t tell what they were saying. He lowered the mic and paused. Then, the crowd’s chants became clear.

  “Snake! Snake! Snake! Snake!”

  Some raised their fists. Others soon followed.

  Within a matter of minutes, the entire crowd held their fists high.

  “Snake! Snake! Snake!”

  My heart swelled with pride.

  I tilted my head to toward the sky, closed my eyes, and exhaled.

  Hear that, dad?

  That’s something you’ve earned.

  Respect.

  Chapter One Hundred Ninety-Eight

  P-Nut

  My brother’s betrayal didn’t bring me to tears. Cutting off my toes and losing a potential professional baseball career didn’t either. In fact, nothing had since I was about ten.

  Joey’s speech and the crowd chanting welled my eyes with tears, though. I somehow managed to keep them from rolling down my cheeks, but that didn’t lessen my emotion. On that afternoon, I learned to respect her with a greater degree of admiration.

  She wasn’t a strong woman.

  She was simply strong.

  I believed I trusted Joey prior to the poker run. After it was over, I had no doubt.

  I stepped from the bathroom into the bedroom. Dressed in shorts and a loose-fitting tee, Joey was sprawled out on the bed with her arms spread wide. Upon hearing me, she tilted her head toward me. “I’m exhausted.”

  I sat on the corner of the bed. “Makes two of us.”

  “Can we go to bed early?”

  “As soon as we’re done talking.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. Just have something I want to tell you.”

  “But it’s not bad, right?”

  “Depends on how you want to perceive it, I suppose.”

  “Okay.”

  “I haven’t told this story to anyone. Not Smokey, Crip, nobody. You’ll be the first.”

  She sat up. “I’ll keep it a secret.”

  I knew she would, that’s the only reason I could tell her. I clenched my fist and held it over the center of the bed.

  She pounded it.

  I gazed down at the floor and began. “When I was fourteen, I had a girlfriend. We were both freshman. We saw each during my freshman year and sophomore year whenever we could. We were young, and I couldn’t drive yet, but we
were as close to inseparable as we could be. Had big plans, too. We were going to get married and have a house full of kids. My junior year, I started driving. We went everywhere together. Our plans grew bigger. I was going to be in the major leagues, and we were going to live in a house that looked over the ocean in the off season.”

  I drew a long breath, held it for a moment, and then exhaled. “Then, the accident happened. She never said anything, but something changed. I could sense it. we stopped seeing each other every day, and the next thing I knew, we weren’t going out on the weekends. She claimed she loved me, but I didn’t see it. I trusted her, so I figured I’d give it time.”

  I glanced at Joey. Her hands were covering her mouth and her eyes were puffy. She must have heard the emotion in the tone of my voice. Telling her wasn’t easy, but it was necessary. I pursed my lips and raised my index finger.

  She gave a nod. “Go ahead.”

  “It went on through my senior year, and never really got any better. We saw each other several times a week, and we said we loved each other, but I felt like it was one-sided. I blamed it on the accident, and told myself it’d get better. By the time I was a senior, I was the only one left at home. My three brothers were all in the military. It got a little better after school ended, but it was never the way it was before. One thing that always troubled me was that when my brother was home, she seemed to be unavailable.”

  I looked at her. “And he came home every chance he got.”

  She reached for my hand. I held her hand in mine, and continued, staring down at the floor the entire time.

  “A couple of years passed with us claiming we were in love, but it was becoming obvious she wasn’t, and I was. Then, when I was twenty-one, my father died. Everyone came home for the funeral, and when it came time to leave, my brother took my girlfriend with him. They uhhm. They got married, and they’ve got kids now. So that’s…that’s why I’m not really good with trust.”

  I looked at her. “But I want you to know this: I trust you. One hundred percent. I really do.”

  “I’ve got two things to say.” She released my hand. “Maybe three.”

  She wiped her eyes. “One. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. And, two. I was nine. It was my birthday. Mom and I were going to get a cake, and she stopped at the yellow light. She did that a lot. She was a really safe driver, especially when I was in the car. So, we sat there and talked, and listened to music. Boulevard of Broken Dreams, by Green Day was playing. I remember that. The light turned green, and we took off. Then, out of nowhere, some guy came flying through the intersection on our left. I saw him, but I didn’t really understand what was happening.”

  She twisted her mouth to the side, exhaled, and then gazed blankly at the wall for a moment. I reached for her hand, and held it in mine.

  “He uhhm. He hit the front of the car. Kind of the front, and kind of the side. It flipped us over. The uhhm. There was a fire. It uhhm. She. My mom didn’t…”

  She began to cry. Within seconds, she was blubbering. Seeing her in such pain crushed me.

  I pulled her to me and held her in my arms. “I’m so sorry.”

  After sobbing for some time, she leaned away from me. Then, she wiped her eyes and exhaled. “She didn’t. She didn’t make it. It’s uhhm.” She patted her left leg with her hand and nodded repeatedly. “It’s how I…how I got this. And, it’s why I don’t…celebrate my uhhm. Birthday.”

  “I know it’s not enough, but I’m sorry, Joey.”

  In each other’s arms, we collapsed onto the bed. Silently, we remained still, staring up at the ceiling. During that time, it seemed I let go of what anger and resentment I’d held onto from the loss of a girlfriend and my brother, but I couldn’t be sure.

  I turned to the side and tapped her on the shoulder. “You said there were three things. Is there another?”

  She looked at me and nodded. “Yeah, there’s one more.”

  “Okay. I’ve got one more, too.”

  “You first,” she said.

  “Ladies first.”

  She let out a breath. “Don’t get mad.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Promise?”

  “I’m not going to get mad.”

  “Promise?”

  “Why would I get mad?”

  “Are you going to promise?”

  “Okay. I promise.”

  She looked at me and grinned. “Promise what?”

  “I promise I won’t get mad.”

  “Number three,” she said. “I love you.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. It was exactly what I was going to say. My mouth curled into a smile.

  “That was my next one.” The four words that followed flowed from my lips readily. “I love you, too.”

  Chapter One Hundred Ninety-Nine

  Joey

  He took a bite of his enchilada, swallowed it, and then lowered his fork. His lips parted slightly and I hoped he’d say something. While I sat, suspended in wait, his eyes fell to his plate. Our discussions had been sparse throughout dinner. I could tell something was troubling him, but I got the same response every time I asked.

  He’d gone to see his mother in the morning, and although he’d planned on giving a bid on a baseball card later, he never made it back in time to do so.

  He poked his fork at his food and then looked up. “What are your thoughts on cops?”

  “In general?”

  “Sure.”

  I considered my response. I had very little respect for police. Most of my contempt came from my mother, who I suspected obtained it from my father.

  “I think they’re creepy, especially if they have mustaches.”

  He chuckled and then set his fork aside. “Do you trust them?”

  “No.”

  “Do you hate them?”

  “I try not to hate anyone. I hate what they do, sometimes.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “Like what?”

  “Lying. Doing x, and then claiming they did y. They get by with it nine out of ten times, and it makes me sick. Then, someone comes out with a video and says, ‘hey wait, you actually did this’.”

  “So, you think they can’t be trusted?”

  “I’d say that’s accurate, why?”

  “Just making conversation.”

  I was glad we were talking about something, even if it was cops. I offered a cheery smile. “Okay.”

  “What about feds?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “FBI, ATF, DEA. Those guys.”

  I’d heard far too many stories about the ATF and their lies from my mother. She told me of their infiltration into what they described as OMGs, or Outlaw Motorcycle Groups. They arrested, killed, and set up more club members than any other government faction.

  “If the ATF said the sky was blue, I wouldn’t believe them,” I said.

  His eyes slowly widened. “Why?”

  “They’ve proven over and over that they’re willing to lie. They murdered hundreds in Waco, Texas when all they had to do was back off and wait. I’ve heard far too many stories. I just don’t trust them, sorry.”

  “Interesting.”

  “What’s interesting?”

  “Your answers.”

  “Why’s that?”

  He pushed his plate to the side. “Club business is club business. I won’t discuss club business.”

  “I wouldn’t ever expect you to.”

  He crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair, and let out a long breath. “I’ve got some business of my own, though.”

  “Okay.”

  “I need some advice,” he said. “And I don’t have anyone to get it from but you and Smoke. I know Smoke’s opinion, and I’m thinking I might want yours.”

  “Well, when you’re ready, let me know. I’ll give it.”

  I acted interested in my enchiladas, even though I wasn’t. I’d lost my appetite, but didn’t really want to get up from the table. I wanted him to continue with our discuss
ion, but doubted he would.

  “I’ve got a guy in a box up by mom’s place.”

  I looked up. “Excuse me?”

  “One of the big metal things that they keep construction materials in.”

  I blinked a few times. “You’ve got a guy in one?”

  “Yep. Remember when I told you that I do bad things but--”

  “But you have great intentions?” I said.

  He nodded. “This is one of those times.”

  I took a drink of water and then shook my head. “I just want to make sure I heard you right. You have a guy in a metal box up by your mother’s house? Did I hear you right?”

  “Yep. Between Fallbrook and Highway 15.”

  “Okay. I’m going to go out on a limb and guess this guy’s a cop.”

  He pulled a dollar bill from his pocket, folded it, and began to pick his teeth. “Yep.”

  “A fed?”

  “Yep.”

  “Is he alive?”

  He nodded. “For now.”

  “Why?”

  He stopped picking his teeth. “Why what?”

  “Why’s he alive?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you have him in a metal container, and he’s alive, there’s a reason for it. You would have killed him yesterday or the day before or whatever. But, if you’ve kept him alive for a few days, there’s a reason.”

  “Few months.”

  “Wait. What? A few months?”

  “Yep.”

  “You’ve had this guy in a metal box in the desert for a few months?”

  “That’s what Smokey said. I give the fucker food and water. I’m not a damned fool.”

  “I know you’re not. But having a federal agent in a metal box for a few months, regardless of where you’re keeping him, isn’t a great idea. It’s a tremendous risk. It’s quiet out there at night. There’s the noise, the smell, you’ve got to be coming and going, what, daily?”

  “Pretty much, yeah.”

  “And, you’re not worried about getting caught?”

  “Not really.”

  I knew being with a 1%er would eventually expose me to some craziness, but I had no idea a federal agent in a box in the desert would be the first thing I would be forced to deal with. Nonetheless, I was committed to the cause.