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I grinned and nodded. “Didn’t want her sittin’ beside me. You know how I am about havin’ people in my space.”
“Where’d you fuck her?”
“Bent her over the bench.”
He coughed out a laugh. “Just couldn’t fuck her while she was hovering over a corpse?”
“I didn’t give a fuck if she sat on him, but I didn’t want to fuck her while she was layin’ her tits on him.”
“Makes sense.”
The things that made sense to a biker were undoubtedly different than what made sense to most people in the free world. I could tell any of the men in the club that I had a body to dispose of, and their response would be where is it? If the same question was asked of someone out of my group, most people would respond by vomiting.
Or calling the cops.
Our MC consisted of a close-knit group of men who would place their lives on the line for any of their club brothers. The comradery and devotion was as close to what I felt in the Navy. Often, my MC brethren reminded me of my SEAL team.
“So, that’s something we need to get taken care of quick. Today, if possible.”
“What’s that?”
“The body in that fuckin’ drum.”
“Wanna do it now?”
“No. We’re gonna need to drive out to the desert. Or up to Temecula, by the mountains. Fucker’s been in that drum of Sodium Hydroxide since Saturday night, I’d say he’s about ready.”
“Acid’s the way to go, huh?”
“Sodium Hydroxide’s not acid. It’s lye. They use acid on T.V., but in real life, the shit doesn’t work. The fumes alone from hydrochloric or hydrofluoric would kill you. And it doesn’t do what they show it doing on T.V., believe me.”
His face distorted. “How the fuck you know all this shit?”
I tapped my index finger against the tattoo on my bicep of the eagle, anchor, trident, and pistol – the insignia of the SEALs.
“Shoulda known,” he said.
“They didn’t just teach us how to kill, they taught us how to do it and not leave a trace,” I said with a laugh.
He tossed his empty beer bottle in the trash. “Funny. Government teaches you how to do that shit, and the same government will lock you up for doing what they trained you for.”
“Don’t get me started.” I waved my hand toward the fridge. “Grab me one, too.”
He opened the two beers, handed me one of them, and kicked the steel drum with the toe of his boot. “So we just pour him out on the ground?”
“It’s gonna be a fuckin’ mess,” I explained. “We need to dump it somewhere, scavenge what’s left of the bones, and crush ‘em up. They’ll be pretty brittle. And hollow.”
“Figure out when, and I’m good to go,” he said.
“You ought to be, you dip-shit. Who doesn’t leave air holes when they do something like that?”
“Well, Mr. Navy fucking SEAL, not all of us are special warfare experts. That’s the first motherfucker to ever have his face taped up by me. So, considering, I think I did a pretty good job,” he said in a prideful tone.
“You did a damned fine job, Peeb. Just fell a little short on keepin’ the fucker alive,” I said with a laugh.
“Fuck this prick. He swung a baseball bat at my head.” He kicked his boot against the drum. “If it wasn’t for my cat-like reflexes, you’d be buryin’ me in the desert, not him.”
I raised my beer bottle. “I’m just fuckin’ with ya.”
