“Parcheesi?” the detective coughed out a laugh. “The three of you are going to play parcheesi?”
Crip nodded. “When we’re done, we were going to go up by the pier and get a Hawaiian shaved ice. We’ll sit side by side cross-legged on the beach and wait for the sunset.”
The detective glanced at each of us. “In your jeans and kuttes?”
“That’s standard attire here at the good ‘ol boys club.”
“Sounds like a hell of a way to spend the afternoon. I’ll keep it short.”
Crip glanced at his watch. “Please do.”
“Satan’s Savages have been running dope and raping women for as long as I’ve been on the force. The other day, someone finally agreed to testify against them on a gang rape case. So, I got a warrant, waited until they were holding a meeting, and raided their clubhouse. In fact, that’s how I spent my night last night--”
“Hey, Pee Bee,” Crip said. “Run inside and see if we’ve got any of those lollipops left. I think the cop’s looking for a reward.”
The detective cleared his throat. “There’s one small problem.”
Crip let out a laugh. “One of them was holding a candy bar, and you thought it was a gun? You shot him, and now your facing charges?”
The detective’s gaze hardened. “Can you stop being a prick for a few minutes?”
“Probably not.”
The cop shifted his gaze to Pee Bee. “One of the Savages involved in the rape – the orchestrator of it, in fact – is singing like a song bird. So far, I’ve been the only one to take statements.” He reached into his back pocket, removed a notepad, and opened it. “In June of 2011, someone shot – and killed – one of the Black Diamond’s members at a rally north of Palm Springs. The murder was never solved. According to this source, James Spencer did it. You may know him as Spider. He rides with your group.”
My eyes shifted to Pee Bee. His face went stark white. I’m sure mine did the same. Stone-faced, Crip stared at the detective as he flipped to another page in his notepad.
“According to the Savage’s source, Whip, Panda, Taffy, and Lowbrow were all castrated and relieved of their respective male members by none other than you, Peanut Butter.” He glanced at Pee Bee, flipped the page on his note pad, studied it, and then looked up. “In April of 2014, Crip, Pee Bee, and Adam ‘Cholo’ Downey retaliated for a motorcycle that was stolen by a lowly club that is now defunct, but was called Broken Boyz MC at the time. Cholo ended the argument in a fist fight, which left Michael ‘Jersey Mike’ Tredetto in a coma. He died the next day.”
He flipped to another page. “Sorry, this isn’t in chronological order. Nicholas ‘Crip’ Navarro, on or about January 2004, did charge the acting president of the Southern Stars MC, Bart ‘B.A.’ Anderson, $10,000 to allow the club to operate in this region without retaliation, thereby committing extortion under the RICO act.”
“Stop,” Crip said. “I’ve heard enough. What are you getting at, detective?”
He folded the notepad, let out a sigh, and then looked at Crip. “Are you done being an asshole?”
“For now.”
“I’m not getting at anything, Navarro. I’m here to advise you of a situation that has developed, and what I believe might need to be done to resolve it.”
“I’m listening.”
“There’s enough information in this notepad to put away every principal in this MC for the rest of their lives. I think you’re aware of my beliefs regarding this club. I’d hate to see that happen. For now, I’m the only one who knows about this and I’d like to keep it that way--”
“How do you propose to do that?” Crip asked.
“I’ve got a short window of time before the informant expects me to present this to the District Attorney. Luckily for all of us, he doesn’t have an attorney. Yet.”
“What can I do to prevent that deal from being made?”
“Someone needs to get to the informant before I make it to the District Attorney’s office.”
“The informant that’s currently in jail?”
“That is correct.”
Crip arched an eyebrow. “You’re telling me that I need to have someone get tossed in the same jail, and have him ‘take care’ of this guy before the deal’s made?”
“That is also correct.”
“When do you expect you’ll be presenting the DA with the contents of that notepad? How much time do I have?”
“I can drag it on for forty-eight hours before the informant will get suspicious. After he loses faith in me, he’ll certainly start talking to someone else. That, Mr. Navarro, is my only concern. If, and when, this information lands in the hands of another detective, you – and everyone else named in this notepad – are screwed.”
Filled with disbelief, and lacking any level of trust that the entire plan wasn’t a set up, I shifted my eyes from the detective to Crip.
“You’re going to trust this fucker?” I asked.
“Don’t have a choice,” Crip said.
“The hell you don’t.”
“What’s your suggestion?” he asked.
“I don’t have any fucking idea. But, a cop’s a cop,” I said. “Sound familiar?”
“Lift up your right shirt sleeve,” Crip said.
He pulled up his sleeve, revealing a tattoo I recognized as being the Navy SEAL Trident. He turned so Pee Bee could see it.
Crip glanced at each of us. “Look familiar?”
The detective’s involvement in the club’s activities, his provision of information regarding police investigations, and his assistance in getting me out of prison now made sense. There was one thing, however, that didn’t.
“If you two are SEAL brothers.” I glared at the detective. “Why the fuck did you arrest Crip for murder that day? Right here in the shop?”
He pulled his sleeve down and met my gaze. “Because this exact thing happened. Whipple came to me, complaining that his brother had come up missing. I tossed the complaint aside. He came to me again. I tossed it again. Then, he went to another detective. At that point, I had to act.”
“You expect me to believe that simply because you and Crip were SEALs that you’re going to let us slide on shanking a guy in the joint? I’m not buying it, detective.”
“Maybe this will help you understand,” he said. “There will always be predators, and there will always be prey. This MC is a predator. A necessary predator. Satan’s Savages are the prey--”
I choked on a laugh. “Holy shit. You just cleared everything up.” Sarcasm dripped from each word. “Want to come over for dinner?”
He glanced at each of us and then let out a long breath. “In the food chain, the grass feeds the grasshopper. The grasshopper is eaten by the snake. The snake is captured and eaten by the hawk. The hawk takes a shit from a tree branch and feeds the grass beneath him. The grass is fertilized by that hawk turd, and eventually grows enough to feed another grasshopper. The chain is endless. The Filthy Fuckers MC is my hawk. The members don’t fuck with anyone who doesn’t fuck with them. The only people who are dumb enough to fuck with you are clubs like Satan’s Savages – and a few others – who spend their spare time raping women, robbing gas stations, and cooking meth. They, gentlemen, are the prey.”
I hated to admit it, but his analogy not only made sense, I liked it.
A lot.
I nodded in acknowledgement of his statement. “Right now, you’re handing us a snake.”
“That is correct. A venomous snake.”
“Who’s the informant?” Crip asked.
“Darin ‘Gravy’ Wheatland.”
“Fucking piece of shit,” Pee Bee said. “You’re sure he raped that chick?”
“He’s even admitted it. It was the first step in him cutting a deal. According to some of the other Savages, it’s something he does with regularity.”
“That motherfucker,” Pee Bee said through his teeth. “I hate that son-of-a-bitch. I’ll take care of it. What are you going to do? Arres
t me and stick me in jail with him?”
Crip shook his head. “You aren’t doing shit, Peeb. I’ll take care of it.”
The thought of going back to prison made me feel ill. Having my family living under the threat of prosecution – at the hands of a serial rapist – filled me with rage. Rage won the battle.
“This isn’t going to be simple,” I interrupted. “It’s going to take some planning. Do they have time on the yard? Meals in the cell, or meals in a chow hall? Is there a commons area that all the inmates can use, or are they confined to their cells? Are there cameras in the cell block? On the yard?”
The detective raised his index finger. “This is where it gets complicated. Although the investigation is out of the San Diego County Gang Task Force office, the men are being held in the Federal Detention Wing of the LA County Jail. We didn’t have room for them in SD County, and they’re being charged federally, so that’s where they ended up.”
My heart sank into the pit of my stomach. I looked at Crip and then at Pee Bee. “That’s where I was being held. I’ve got bad news, fellas. Inmates are on lockdown twenty-three hours a day, and they only get one hour on the yard. Short of stabbing a man to death with a golf pencil, there’s no chance of shanking anyone in there.”
“If we don’t do something with that son-of-a-bitch, every man in this club’s going down,” Crip said. “I don’t need a shank. I’ll choke the motherfucker to death.”
“Never work,” I said. “There’s cameras on the yard.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” he said. “That’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. I’m the president of this MC, and I’m going to fucking act like one. I can’t let that son-of-a-sorry-bitch take this club apart at the seams.”
“Hold up, Boss,” Pee Bee said. “We need to talk about this.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” Crip snapped back.
I was facing the detective, standing to his left. Crip and Pee Bee were beside me, facing him, standing on his right. It seemed the four of us were in a negotiation, of sorts, but it was obvious we were getting nowhere.
The men in the Filthy Fuckers MC were inherently good men. All the crimes the detective read from his notepad were against no-good motherfuckers who were headed straight to hell whether we sent them there or not. I couldn’t let men who I’d taken an oath to support and protect be arrested when there was a way for me to prevent it.
“You’re right,” I said. “There’s nothing to think about. There’s only one way this’ll work, and there’s only one man that can get it done. It’s not either of you. I’m going back in.” I looked at the detective. “I’ve got a couple questions.”
“What are they?”
“Gravy raped that girl? You’re sure of that?”
“He admitted it. Swabs taken from the victim after the incident were a definite match. He raped her.”
“Just to get this straight, you’re telling me that you can arrest me, and then drop charges or whatever? Get me back out of jail?”
“As long as you don’t get caught committing a crime inside,” he said.
“Can you give me until the end of the day before you arrest me? Let me get my affairs in order?”
“Sure. I can--”
“Hold up a minute,” Crip said. “I can’t let you do that, Meat.”
The club started with five men. Of those five, there were four left. Stretch was almost blind, and he was weak after a long bout with pneumonia that he never fully recovered from. Crip, Pee Bee and I were the other three.
In my eyes, it was the responsibility of one of us to resolve the issue with the snitch. Pee Bee had a life with his new wife in front of him, and the Filthy Fuckers MC would cease to exist without Crip as the leader. Both men, however, were far too stubborn and prideful to negotiate with.
A decision had to be made.
So, I made it.
While the detective’s eyes were fixed on Crip, I swung my right fist into his jaw. The impact of the punch knocked him into the exterior wall of the shop.
“Holy shit!” Pee Bee shouted.
I’d always wanted to hit a cop, and looked at that wild swing as my only opportunity to do so. It was also the only way I could secure my position to be the one behind bars.
“God damn it, Meat,” Crip said with a dull laugh.
As he stumbled to stay on his feet, I turned to the side and put my hands behind my back. “There. Arrest me for assault on a law enforcement officer.”
“You cocksucker,” he groaned. “You blindsided me.”
“Had to do something before one of these two beat me to it,” I said.
He rubbed his jaw. “I was going to arrest you on a bullshit charge.”
“I just wanted to make sure it was me that got arrested,” I said.
As if he needed Crip’s approval, the detective looked at him and raised both eyebrows. “Well?”
“If he’s got the guts to do that, he must have a plan that he thinks will work.”
I glanced at Crip. “Appreciate it, Brother.” I turned toward the cop. “I need to stop at the CVS before you take me in, though.”
He looked at me like I’d asked him to let me sleep with his wife. “For what?”
“Can’t tell you,” I said. “I don’t want you to have to deny anything if this goes to trial.”
“I’m not cuffing you now.” He motioned toward the car. “Just get in.”
“Damn it, Meat,” Crip said. “Use your head in there.”
I glanced at Pee Bee and then Crip. “In case I don’t make it back, I need to tell you fellas something.”
“We’ll take care of your sled,” Crip said. “I’ll put it in the shop.”
I found the thought of rotting away in prison ironic, considering the content of my recent book. “My guess is I’m not coming back,” I said. “I’m serious.”
“You’ll be back.”
“You haven’t seen this place.” I gazed beyond him and shook my head. “I’m not coming back.”
I shifted my focus to Crip. “I’m not an editor.” My gaze fell to his boots. “I haven’t been for some time. I just want to come clean before I go. It’s the only thing I haven’t been truthful about. Been eating at me for a while, too.”
He slapped my left shoulder. “Pretty proud of you on the one you just released, TD. From what I hear you might hit the New York Times Bestseller’s list with that one.”
His response caught me off guard. I looked at him with wide eyes. “You knew?”
“Known for some time now.” He grinned. “Peyton reads all your stuff. She loves it. She’s getting ready to read the new one again right now.”
“So does Tegan,” Pee Bee said. “She loves ‘em.”
“Alright, then.” I swallowed a lump of pride. Emotion soon replaced it, all but bringing me to tears. “Well, let me go do this deal.”
I glanced at each of them. “I love you, my brothers.”
Crip rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms and then met my gaze with wet eyes. “Filthy Fuckers Forever.”
Pee Bee and I responded in unison. “Forever Filthy Fuckers.”
Chapter Two Hundred Twenty
Bobbi
I had been a blubbering mess on and off all evening. The book had taken me on a ride I wasn’t prepared for. Becker being covered in Stephen Sanders’ blood when the police arrived caused them to arrest him for suspicion of murder. His predisposition to carry a straight razor was brought up in a pre-trial conference, and then presented to the grand jury. That one grain of evidence was enough to indict him.
His straight razor was entered into evidence, as was his blood-soaked shirt, a photo of the trail of blood that led to his home, and a photo of the bloody handprints on the door.
Becker claimed that he met Stephen in a coffee shop, and that their conversations led to him fashioning an engagement ring out of twenty-four carat gold. Incapable of producing the ring, phone records, emails, or text messages to support his claim, it wa
s dismissed by the jury as being a lie.
At Becker’s demand, the members of the MC did not attend his trial. He feared in doing so that they would each subject themselves to biased minds and eyes of the detectives, prosecutors, and onlookers that had charged him with a crime that he did not commit. Protecting his only family was his first concern.
Despite his demand, the president of the club, Crip, sat silently in the rear of the courtroom throughout the entire trial.
After deliberating for thirty minutes, the jury convicted Becker of the murder charge.
A tear rolled down Crip’s cheek at the thought of losing his brother as Becker was led away in handcuffs.
As he reached the door, Becker turned to face Crip. Dressed in a suit and tie that he’d bought for the occasion, Crip stood and raised his clenched fist in support, and in protest.
“Dirty Diablos Forever,” Crip whispered.
Becker paused and gave one last nod before being ushered through the door. “Forever Dirty Diablos.”
After being sentenced to life in prison, Becker was soon diagnosed with cancer. While receiving treatment in the prison’s second-rate hospital, he met and befriended one of the prison guards, Allison.
They spoke of life, love, and of hope. They were both convinced that love existed, but neither had managed to be fortunate enough to find it. Their conversations about life, love, each other’s system of beliefs carried over from week to week. Their desire to have met that one person who would change their life became the topic of choice. As the weeks rolled past, they learned intimate details of each other’s lives and shared dreams for their future.
Despite the fact her visits with Becker were limited to the thirty-minute wait times he typically had before and after his treatment, she managed to fall deeply in love with the man she believed him to be.
As his cancer worsened, she researched his legal case. She found that there were witnesses who had come forward, but were never called to testify. Their testimony, although damning to the prosecution’s case, was not entered into evidence. After reading several versions of the story, all of which included descriptions of the man in the black hoodie, she hired an attorney.
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