AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Maybe. And, just so you know, I’m not on a fact finding mission. I’m really just here to make you…” He glanced at Pee Bee. “…and your cohort aware of something.”
“So you stopped by to talk to Peeb and me?”
“That his name?” he nodded toward Pee Bee. “Peeb?”
“No. Name’s Pee Bee, but I call him Peeb.”
“Pee Bee, huh? What’s that stand for?”
“Peanut Butter,” Pee Bee said. “One of the other fellas is named Jelly. We’re fuckin’ besties.”
He alternated glances between Pee Bee and me. “You two should come on down to La Jolla and get a job at The Comedy Store. Shit, you could get rich, funny as you two pricks are.”
I cleared my throat. “Never much cared for the smell of pork, detective. And we’re getting’ ready to ride out of here. What can I do for you?”
“This entire state is filled with outlaw motorcycle clubs. Personally, I never gave a shit one way or another about most of ‘em. You know, you guys kind of clean up your own messes. Makes it nice for people in my line of work.”
“Get to your point,” I said.
“Well, there’s one local club I always kind of detested. Maybe you’ve heard of ‘em. Satan’s Savages. Bunch of shit birds, if you ask me. Always flexing their muscle, and trying to be something they’re not. They want to be like the big boys. You know, the Mongols or Hells Angels...” He shook his head. “But they can’t.”
With my arms still crossed in front of my chest, I stared back at him. “What’s this have to do with us?”
“I’m getting to that. So, a few nights back, we got several reports of a group of bikers riding through town. A big group. Maybe sixty or so. It was late at night, which isn’t when most outlaw MCs are out and about in full force, unless something’s going down. With no reports of violence or gunfire, we really had no reason to react, because riding motorcycles in itself isn’t a crime. So we waited. Then, late that night, one of Satan’s Savages showed up at Scripps Mercy. Someone had cut his cock clean off. Castrated him too. Thirty minutes after that, two more showed up at Kindred. Same damned thing. Relieved of their cocks and balls.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “Wasn’t some kind of club initiation, was it? Cut off your cock to jump from prospect to patch?”
Pee Bee laughed out loud, but the detective remained straight-faced.
“All three of ‘em claimed it was an ISIS attack. They said some towel-heads did it.” he paused and forced a laugh. “So, about five in the morning, the president of Satan’s Savages shows up at Scripps. His cock had been cut off so short he was left with a twat. But one thing that was different about him was that he’d been shot. Once in each leg with a .45 caliber.”
“Same thing? Towel-heads?” I asked.
“No,” he replied. “Said he cut himself shaving. When we asked him about the gunshot wounds, he said he didn’t even notice ‘em. Crazy prick rode his motorcycle to the hospital. He’d lost so much blood they had to give him a transfusion.”
“But all four of ‘em lived?”
The detective nodded. “It’s a damned shame, but they did. Which is why I’m here.”
“Why are you here?” I asked.
“Never cared for the president of that group. The Savages,” he said. “Had him on a couple of rape cases a few years back, but neither of them materialized. Sad thing about rapists is that they seem to maintain a pattern of repeating the crimes. Considering the facts of this case, and that someone cut his cock off, my guess is that he dipped his dick in the wrong skank.”
I clenched my jaw at the thought of him calling Peyton a skank. “So you came by to tell us this, why?”
“Like I said in the beginning. I don’t mind MC’s. They have their own means of administering justice, which saves me time, and saves the taxpayers money. Rumor has it that Whipple and his boys are going after whoever did this. You might get the word out.”
“So, you want Peeb and me to spread the word that four dickless bikers are looking for revenge?”
He put his glasses on, pressed them high on his nose and got in his car. He then draped his right arm out the car window, brushed his left palm up his arm, and lifted the sleeve of his polo shirt slightly. “No, I want you to finish what you started.”
My eyes locked on the tattoo in the center of his bicep.
An eagle, trident, anchor, and pistol.
“Have a nice day,” he said.
And he drove away.
