MAD DOG
I’m a cunt!
I’ve always been a cunt, and I will probably always be a cunt.
And as I stand back watching the video screen waiting for 6:00 p.m. to roll around, a light flutter filters through my stomach. How do I know I’m a cunt? Because two members of my club, Stealth and Sentinel just met Wreaking Havoc. And even though I really liked Stealth, I’m happy—I’m fucking giddy with excitement that those motherfuckers are chopped up into tiny fucking pieces in coffin-shaped boxes, waiting for the arrival of the fucking heat to find them.
I wish things were different.
I wish I didn’t love the kills.
I wish I were a decent human being.
But being the president of a biker club hardens you, toughens you, it makes you love pain and misery. You thrive on the torture, the blood, the chaos. You live for the mayhem. This life eats you up and swallows you whole. You can’t outrun it, you can’t walk away from it. One you’re in, you’re in for life. Till death takes your soul, whether by old age or by the club, or of course, by the bloodshed that comes with the wars associated with club life. Either way, you die as part of the club, as Stealth and Sentinel found out. They were brothers, but they were also fucking cops, infiltrating us, trying to bring us down from the inside.
But due to Sentinel’s lack of stealth, pardon the pun, we became suss and planted bugs everywhere. We heard parts of conversations that were damning. So I sent Acid—our new prospect— to follow Stealth everywhere he went. This only confirmed our hunch when he met with Detective Hudson fucking Stone. I was fuming but had to bide my time and wait for the perfect opportunity to take them both out. When the timing was right, I drove them both to the abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Gawler and bam they were snuffed out.
Stealth had a family and by the sounds of what Acid reported back to me, his wife is gorgeous, and his three kids are very young. The baby is only four months old. But, I had to do what I had to do. I couldn’t let them live. There was a moment when I thought I could talk to Stealth, make him come to our side, but then when he went to see his wife, I knew I had no chance of him leaving his life behind.
He was lost to us, and that was the moment I knew I had to end him—him and Sentinel—and it had to be today. Do I feel bad for killing them? You’d think a part of me would, but no. They were planning on bringing us down, I couldn’t let that happen, so I did the only thing I could take them out before they took us out. It’s fight or die in this case. We have enemies in the prison system, and all of us going to jail—well it’d be impossible to keep us alive. I’m sure we’d drop like flies once inside.
So I did this for my brothers. It was us or them. The lives of two, for the lives of all my brothers. It was a no brainer. I do feel a bit for his kids, they’re innocents in all of this. But they’re young, they’ll get over it.
“Prez, the cars are pulling up,” Blade our newest prospect announces, drawing my attention back into the now.
Turning around, I look at the screen on his tablet. He’s basically taken up the tech role since Techie abandoned us the fucking cunt. Blade isn’t as good as Techie, but he still knows his shit.
Glancing at the screen, the video footage from the hidden cameras we set up at the warehouse comes into view. It’s 5:30 p.m. and the heat are about to show up to sting us for our meet with Papi. He’s a lackey Stealth had set up for us to store eccys. We intend to use him to distribute later, but I digress. Little do the heat know we have a surprise in store for them!
“Great, let’s get ready to watch the fireworks!” I grin through my excitement as the rest of my brothers circle around to watch.
The heat all take their positions, hiding behind trees and crates, trying to make themselves look scarce. Problem is, we’re not going to show up, so they can hide all they like because it won’t make a scrap of difference. Smiling to myself as Chops looks at me with a smirk, I nod to Blade, and he pulls out a burner phone and types in the three simple words. Check the shed.
We all start to chuckle as we zoom in on Hudson Stone. We got his number from Stealth’s phone after we 86’d him. So we thought seeing as they are such good buddies, it seemed only fitting to send him the message. Hudson looks down at his phone, and his eyebrows scrunch together.
“Chief, I got a weird message on my phone.”
The older man that looks a lot like Denzel Washington walks over to Hudson and glimpses at his phone furrowing his eyebrows. Giddiness runs through me at the way they’re furrowing their eyebrows, the way their lips are turned down into frowns and the tautness of their frames.
“I don’t like this, Stone,” the chief admits, which only makes me happier.
“You think they’re onto us?” Stone asks and I roll my eyes wondering how stupid he actually is.
“Of course, we’re on to you dickwad.” You don’t just get random messages like that for no reason asshat.
The chief looks around and rubs the back of his neck. “I think we’re made. I don’t want to just walk into the warehouse, though, it’s probably a trap. See if you can get a hold of Donovan or Barringer, and I’ll call in the Bomb Squad to go in first and search the premises before we enter,” Chief Thomas advises. There’s an ease in his tone, though, not full of panic like I would’ve suspected, but I guess that’s why he’s the Chief of Police. He needs to keep his cool in these situations. Hudson nods, taking a deep breath. He dials a number, and Stealth’s phone starts to ring over on the bar.
We all crack up laughing as we let it divert to voice mail, and we watch Hudson’s face slowly scrunch up like he’s really concerned.
“Where the fuck are you Adam?” he murmurs and then dials Sentinel’s number. It vibrates and rings alongside Stealth’s on the bar, and Hudson shakes his head as we all watch him rub his chin and swallow hard, gritting his teeth and pursing his lips like he’s really pissed off. “Fuck!” he spits as the call goes unanswered.
“Sorry, this little pig’s not home,” Chops teases. We all laugh as we watch the heat all starting to move around making calls and loading themselves behind protective barriers, I’m guessing in case the place blows. Which we should have thought of.
Damn! Oh well, next time!
Chief Thomas storms back over, and Hudson shakes his head. “Couldn’t reach either of them. I have a bad feeling about this Chief.”
“Yeah, me too, Stone. Something isn’t right. The bomb squad will be here soon. Until then, all we can do is wait this out.”
“Can’t we send a K9 unit in to check it out?”
“And what if the place blows, Hudson? I know you’re anxious, I am too. But we have to just wait.”
His ease in this is weird. But like I said, I guess that’s his job.
Hudson huffs, running his fingers through his short hair. “What if Adam and Doug are down, Chief? What if they’re in there hurt, and we’re out here waiting?”
The chief huffs and shakes his head. “It’s a risk we have to take. You know the protocol, Stone. We have to follow procedure... we wait. It shouldn’t be long.”
Hudson throws his hands in the air and storms off, as we all chuckle at his little display of annoyance.
“This is like a five-star movie, Prez. You’d pay good money to see this shit in a cinema. Thank God for all the trees at the location. It made it easy to hide our cameras so we can watch this bullshit unfold,” Acid chirps and smiles wide.
“We should put this up on YouTube. Put some sappy music to it, maybe some voice overs and some title credits at the end. Make it into a feature, and then we might get nominated for an Academy Award,” Chops chimes in making us laugh again.
Hudson storms back over and plants his arse down on a log, folds his arms over his chest and huffs out in a loud grunt.
“I have an idea. Let’s play a drinking game, a shot for every time Hudson huffs,” Blade suggests and I crack up laughing slapping him on the back.
“You know what, son, you might just be an asset after all. Acid, load up the tequila, and bring over some glasses, this shit’s about to get messy!”
***
After laughing ourselves stupid at the copious amounts of tequila we’re all downing, the Bomb Squad finally show up, and Hudson huffs again like a petulant child storming up to the van. We all chuckle and throw back our seventh, maybe eighth shot, I’ve lost count.
“It’s about fucking time!” Hudson calls out, throwing his hands in the air as Chief Thomas aka Denzel, walks up to them and fills them in on the situation. The bastard in me finds this whole thing hilarious. They’re wasting valuable resources, time, and money, just to find a couple of mangled dead bodies in a warehouse. Nothing more, nothing less. But fuck is it fun to watch.
The heat all stand back, behind their protective barriers, as a little robot wheels itself inside the mass of red tin. We all stand back watching their faces as they see the robot showing the two rectangular boxes with the beautiful array of flowers sprawled delicately on top.
Hudson’s face falls, and his head spins around to the chief. “What the fuck kind of game are they playing?”
The chief shrugs, shaking his head slightly. “I’m not sure, but once the sweep is done and there’s no sign of explosives, we’re going in.”
A young guy dressed all in black jogs over. “Chief, there’s no explosives in the area. It’s clean, you can go in now.”
“Finally,” Hudson exclaims and stands up rushing with the chief toward the warehouse.
“Keep up with them, Blade,” I demand. He switches the cameras and follows them from outside by the tree to inside, as they walk slowly up to the two rectangular boxes.
“Can you smell that?” Hudson asks.
The chief nods and furrows his brows. “O’Connor, carefully open that lid will you?” he asks one of the other pigs that’s standing around the two makeshift coffins.
“Here we go boys, prepare for fireworks!” I sing out happily as O’Connor pulls off the flowers slowly placing them on the ground. They all gather around Sentinel’s box, and we all watch intently.
O’Connor slowly pulls back the lid of the box, and he shrivels up his nose and groans slightly as he turns his head.
“What?” Hudson asks. He moves in closer as O’Conner pulls the lid back fully letting it move to the side just enough for the chief and Hudson to get a good view of Sentinel’s severed head staring right back at them.
“Jesus Christ,” the chief calls out, furrowing his brows as Hudson turns pale white and shakes his head slightly like he’s in denial. Then I see it, his eyes open wide, and his chest starts to heave as he turns almost in slow motion toward the other box. He staggers slightly on the spot as he continues to shake his head like he’s losing the plot.
“Oh God, Adam,” he murmurs, and my heart picks up its pace as I smirk slightly watching Hudson stagger toward the other box.
“Stone, don’t open that box,” Chief Thomas calls out racing over to him, but his hands are on the flowers grabbing them and throwing them across the room in a frenzy. He lifts the lid so forcefully it flies up and off cascading to the floor, the wood banging loudly on the concrete. My lips turn up into a smile as I zoom in on Hudson’s face as he takes in the sight in front of him. His best friend, Adam Donovan, in mangled pieces before him. He lets out an almighty pain-filled scream as tears flood his eyes, and he falls to his knees with a loud thud burying his head in his hands.
His best friend is dead.
Killed by us.
How do I know I’m a cunt?
Because this feels so fucking good!
