HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  I have always seemed to possess an uncanny knack for reading people. She appeared to me to be apprehensive or as if she felt out of place. He seemed nervous and quite anxious. My efforts to make eye contact with him as they walked past me and into the bank were unsuccessful. As soon as he entered the otherwise empty bank, his eyes began to nervously shift back and forth throughout the lobby. He either had a plan and was too damned nervous to implement it, or was assembling one quickly in his mind. Either way, I stood by the door and watched his every move with interest. As he walked into the center of the lobby, she remained at my side; standing beside the door.

  A man’s physical size may have something to do with his capacity to intimidate other men, but in all honesty, size has very little to do with actual ability. Although I was a good six inches taller than he was, and clearly physically larger and stronger, something about him made me nervous. I was in no way intimidated by him or scared, but his nervous behavior was beginning to make me feel more and more uneasy. As my eyes shifted between him and her, his plan became crystal clear.

  You’ve got to be fucking kidding…

  “Nobody fucking move; and if anyone pushes a panic button, I’ll kill every motherfucker in here!” he screamed as he began waving a pistol at the bank tellers.

  Immediately, my military instinct took over. I damned sure wasn’t new to fighting, combat, gunfire, or stupid fuckers armed with guns, but I wasn’t so self-centered that I didn’t realize he was twenty feet from me and armed with a pistol while I had nothing more than a knife and a pouch full of money. If I could only get him close enough to touch him, I knew I could disarm him before he knew what happened. Having received my black belt in the Marine Corps Martial Arts Program, or MCMAP, I could have remained in the states and been a Marine martial arts instructor. Instead, I opted to go to war. As I studied him and his manner of holding the weapon, he turned in my direction and began nervously screaming.

  “Toss your deposit bag. Throw it over here, you big fucker…” he stammered as he waved the gun in my direction.

  If this motherfucker thinks he’s going to rob me, he’s either going to have to get a dozen more men or a hell of a lot more firepower.

  “Throw it on the fucking floor,” he demanded as he shifted his gaze back and forth between the bank tellers and me.

  Sorry, shit hat. Come and get it.

  Nervously, he shifted his eyes to the row of tellers, “Every one of you motherfuckers better get the money out of your drawers right now. Put it all in deposit bags, and don’t sound an alarm. If a cop comes in here, I’m going to shoot every one of you bitches before he shoots me.”

  As he quickly turned away from where I stood and faced the tellers, I tilted my head to the side and whispered. “Stay right here by the door. Don’t move, understand?”

  His female accomplice nervously nodded her head.

  While he faced the other direction, I took two steps toward him. As he turned around, he blinked his eyes a few times and once again demanded I drop the money.

  “I told you to toss that bag on the floor, big boy,” he snarled as he pointed the gun toward me.

  Did you just call me a boy?

  I figured my best bet was to coerce him to come to me and attempt to take the money. All he needed was a little encouragement. I rolled my shoulders forward, stared down at my boots, and tried to appear as small as a six foot tall 190 pound Marine could possibly look. Luckily, I was wearing a tee shirt that did a pretty good job of covering my Marine tattoo.

  “Can’t do it. I need to deposit this money in the bank,” I said sheepishly.

  Come over here motherfucker, I’ve got a little trick I want to show you.

  “Toss it on the floor,” he barked as he motioned to the floor with the barrel of the pistol.

  “But it’s damned near fifty grand. I really need to deposit it,” I lied as I raised my left hand toward my chest in what he would perceive as a fearful posture.

  As I had hoped, the claim of fifty grand got his attention. With widened eyes he quickly began walking in my direction. As he approached, he held his pistol with his arm extended and elbow locked. Contrary to what was typically shown in movies and television, holding a pistol in this manner is an invitation to have it taken away by anyone with an ounce of training. As he took his last step, the gun was mere inches from my chest. With my left hand raised and my palm outward, I loosened my grip on the bag of money with my right hand and waited. If possible, I needed him to raise the pistol just a little…

  “Drop it,” he grunted.

  I attempted to make my voice seem shaky and nervous. Nothing could have been further from the truth. I enjoyed situations like this and truly missed the adrenaline rush I received from being in combat.

  “It’s all I…it’s all I got…I really…can’t…” I mumbled.

  He slowly raised the pistol toward my head. In firearm disarmament training, I’d disarmed a man no less than a thousand times in the exact same situation. Taking his weapon would be no different. I released my grip on the deposit bag, and before it hit the floor, I swung my left hand toward the barrel and gripped the slide as my right hand simultaneously swung into his right forearm, just above the wrist. Instantaneously, the pistol snapped out of his hand.

  In a move which took a fraction of a second, the pistol swung 180 degrees and was now in my control. Unarmed, and with his mouth wide open, his eyes were filled with a combination of sheer surprise and oh shit, what just happened?

  I raised my right foot and planted a front kick into his left lower hip – bringing my heel down against his upper thigh. He fell to the floor and landed flat on his back.

  “Don’t fucking move or I’ll plaster what little brains you have all over the floor, you fucking idiot,” I growled as I pointed the pistol at his head.

  I tilted my head toward the tellers as I stepped on his chest.

  “I’ll hold him here until the cops arrive,” I shouted toward the three tellers.

  I turned my head slightly toward the woman standing at the front door.

  “Come here,” I said through my teeth.

  As far as anyone in the bank was able to discern, the woman could have entered with either of us. From the time he stepped in the bank and began demanding money, she stood by my side at the door. Additionally, as I had held the door for them to initially enter, it was never clear if she was with me or with him. I wanted to give her an opportunity, a way out, but only if she wanted it. Nervously, she approached. As she got within a few feet of where I stood, I said what little I had to say.

  “I’m giving you a way out of this. He’ll do a 20 year mandatory minimum in Federal Prison for this stunt. You’ll do at least half that much for being with him. Cops will be here in a matter of minutes if not sooner. I’m willing to say you came here with me. You married to him? Or tied to him in any way?” I asked.

  Clearly nervous and shaken up, she shook her head.

  “Now, I’m asking you, who’d you come here with?” I whispered.

  “Uhhm, I uhhm. You?” she stammered as she glanced toward him anxiously.

  “Don’t look at him; he doesn’t have a fucking thing to do with this. He’s on film robbing this bank, he’s fucked. Now, who’d you come here with? Make a decision right now,” I whispered.

  She swallowed heavily and bit her lip slightly. “You.”

  “But…” the would be robber whined.

  “Shut the fuck up,” I grunted as I stepped down on his chest.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Sydney. Sydney Shephard,” she whispered.

  “Cops can’t tie you to him?” I asked.

  She shook her head.

  “I’m Toad. You rode here with me from Winfield on the back of that bike out there if anyone asks. Where’s your car?” I asked.

  “In Old Town. At the Pump House. I seriously just met him,” she responded.

  “I met you at the Pump House last night, picked you up, and you
came home with me on my bike. Understand?”

  Tears began to roll down each cheek. She bit her quivering lip and nodded her head.

  “Have anything in his fucking car that has your name on it? Anything that’ll tie you to him?” I asked quietly.

  She raised her purse and shook her head from side-to-side.

  “Get outside. Go to the big guy sittin’ on the bike. His name’s Otis. Walk out to the bike right now, and say these exact words. ‘Toad told me to tell you to take me to Biscuit’s house right now. The Devil looks after his own.’ He’ll do it. If the cops show up before you get to the bike, tell them you’re with me,” I said.

  “Otis take me to Biscuit’s house. Devil looks after his own,” she stammered.

  “Good enough,” I said with a nod.

  I watched out of the corner of my eye as she pushed the door open and ran toward the parking lot. The entire event, from our walking into the bank until she left took roughly two minutes time. I didn’t know much about robbing banks, but I did believe regardless of his demand to the tellers, they would have probably sounded a silent alarm. I exhaled a sigh of relief as I heard the sound of Otis’ new cams rumble in the parking lot. As the exhaust note faded away, I wondered if one of the overzealous Wichita cops would shoot me as soon as they entered the bank. Considering the fact I was tall, muscular, holding a weapon, covered in tattoos, and wearing a 1%er cut - and the robber was wearing slacks, a dress shirt, and jacket, I stepped into his chest harshly and pushed the pistol into the waist of my pants.

  After picking him up from the floor and placing him in a choke hold, I tossed the pistol toward the front door. It came to a stop a few feet from the threshold. As I stood fifteen feet from the door choking the fucktard who tried to steal my money, I laughed to myself at what the police would think when they learned the Sergeant at Arms for a 1% club stopped a bank robbery in progress.

  Ten seconds later, when what appeared to be the entire S.W.A.T. team broke through the front door, I got a good idea of what they were thinking.

  “Release the man, take two steps backward and slowly interlock your hands behind your head,” the man with the H&K MP-5 pointed at my head barked.

  Suddenly I wasn’t in the mood to try to explain anything. After tightening my choke hold - bringing shit-for-brains a little closer to unconsciousness - I slowly released him from my grasp and swept his legs out from underneath him with a quick right foot, dropping him to the floor. As soon as his body came to a thud at my feet, I grinned, raised my arms, and interlocked my fingers behind my head.

  “The guy on the floor is the one who tried to rob us,” the teller shouted.

  The immediate look of surprise on the faces of the over-dressed and under trained officers removed what little wonder I had in what they were all thinking.

  I can see it in your eyes, asshole. Oh shit, the biker didn’t do it?

  Considering how much I disliked cops, the fact Otis beat me in a street race, and some brainless thief tried to steal my deposit money, I wasn’t in a very pleasant mood. I stared at the cop whose face was covered in disbelief, and I couldn’t help myself.

  I coughed a laugh and grinned. “Sorry fellas, at least this time, the biker didn’t do it.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  TOAD

  As I pulled the bike into the driveway, Otis, Biscuit, and Sydney were all standing by Otis’ and Biscuit’s motorcycles staring out at the street. Two hours of questions, interviews, and a short spot on the local news was a little more than I had planned or was prepared for. Luckily, the city cops were the only law enforcement who showed up, and I didn’t have to argue with or talk to the Fed’s. City cops are typically so poorly trained and out of touch with real world reality that bullshitting one of them goes unnoticed by even their best trained idiots.

  “I expected you’d be here an hour and a half ago,” Otis said as I pulled alongside the parked bikes.

  “See me on the news?” I said as I stepped off my bike.

  “Seriously?” Otis asked.

  “Afraid so. Did a pretty long interview. Fuckers asked me to take my cut off. Can you fucking believe that? She asked if I’d interview in my shirt. I fucking laughed. Told the little bitch listen up, a Sinner stopped this robbery, and a Sinner is who you’ll interview. She finally agreed. I thought it was fucking hilarious.” I hesitated and reached toward Biscuit with my right hand.

  “How’s it hangin’ Biscuit?” I asked as I shook his hand and patted him on the back.

  “Ain’t nothin’ goin’ on here but the rent, brother. That and harborin’ fugitives,” he responded.

  “You were the closest Sinner I could think of,” I said. “Appreciate ya, brother.”

  Biscuit released my hand, leaned back, crossed his arms and grinned. “The life of a Sinner, it’s always interesting if nothin’ else. So, we heard her side of it, let’s hear what really happened. She said you whipped some of your martial arts bullshit out, took the fuckers piece, and karate kicked his ass to the floor. Sounded like she was watching the entire show through rose colored glasses.”

  Although Otis knew she had ridden to the bank with the guy in the BMW, he wouldn’t necessarily know he was the one who was robbing the bank, unless Sydney had told him. Otis had no way of knowing how many people were inside before we arrived. If for some reason she had told Otis, Otis wouldn’t have said anything to Biscuit without talking to me about it first. One thing I admired and appreciated about the club was that a man’s business was just that, his business. The shit talking and storytelling about any activities aside from what was common knowledge didn’t exist. I decided to tell my version of the story, leaving out a few minor details, but being cautious not to actually lie.

  “Well, I walked into the bank to deposit my hard earned money, and some cock sucker decided to try and rob the motherfucker before I had a chance to get out of there.” I hesitated and exchanged glances between Sydney and Otis.

  No reaction so far.

  “So this fucker starts screaming and waving his Ruger 9 millimeter around like he’s gonna get the money and head out without any problems. I acted like I was scared and convinced him to come try and take my money. When he got close enough that I could reach him, I grabbed his weapon and pushed his ass on the floor. Pretty simple stuff,” I said.

  As I spoke, Otis stood without much expression. Sydney, on the other hand, seemed somewhat nervous at first but calmed down as I finished speaking.

  “It ain’t every motherfucker who’s gonna take a man’s piece when he’s tryin’ to rob a bank. You act like it’s no big deal. You’re a wacked out war hero. I like her version better,” Biscuit said with a laugh.

  Otis raised his hands and began rubbing his head. “So what about the cops and the news? Slice’s gonna love the news coverage.”

  I was pleased with the fact Sydney hadn’t spoken so far. Not that I wanted to try and bullshit my club brothers, but the fewer people who realized what really happened, the better. A handful of people knowing something like this was a handful too many.

  “Cops questioned me for an hour or so. Fuckers couldn’t believe I disarmed him. One of ‘em was a real prick, the senior officer. He acted like it couldn’t have gone down like that, even after the tellers told him how it happened. Finally, I told the cocksucker to pull his piece and I’d take it from his ass too. So anyway, the news showed up; it was the little brown haired girl from the ten o’clock news on channel 10. They originally came to interview the tellers, but when they found out a civilian stopped the robbery, they decided the Toad man was a better story,” I said.

  “What’d you tell ‘em?” Biscuit asked.

  “Same fucking thing I told you. Kept it simple,” I said.

  “So how the fuck’s she fit in?” Biscuit asked as he tilted his head toward Sydney.

  I decided to answer in an abbreviated version of the truth, and see what everyone’s response was.

  I shifted my gaze toward Sydney and maintained my f
ocus as I answered. “Well, she was scared and I really couldn’t see her sticking around for the cops to harass. I told her to hop on with the big O and get a ride out of there before the fucking cops showed up.”

  Biscuit crossed his arms, studied Sydney for a long second, and lifted his chin slightly. “So, what now? Should we kill her or fuck her first, and then kill her?”

  Biscuit was the most serious practical joker in the club. He was a master of keeping a straight face while telling a joke or bullshitting someone. Until the very end of a story, you never knew if what he was telling you was the truth or a lie. He was an honest man and could be trusted one hundred percent, but he got great satisfaction out of bullshitting people just to get a reaction out of them. As soon as he spoke, I knew he was joking, but I waited anxiously to see how Sydney responded. Keeping an expressionless face was difficult, but I didn’t have to do it for long before she reacted.

  “Definitely fuck me first. Hell, maybe gang bang me right here in the driveway before you cut my throat, huh? And just to forewarn you, you may want to get a warm washcloth and a little soap, I haven’t cleaned my twat in a few weeks,” she responded in a serious tone.

  Damn, she’s got a little guts.

  Although Biscuit tried, he couldn’t keep himself from laughing for long. Within a few seconds of silence from Otis and me, he erupted in laughter.

  “There’s no bullshittin’ you, is there?” he said.

  She shook her head from side-to-side as she rolled her eyes. “You’ve got no reason to kill me, I don’t put your club at risk. If anything, I provide corroboration to Toad’s story.”

  Otis glanced in my direction and raised his eyebrows comically. Biscuit uncrossed his arms and hooked his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans.