Making the Cut (11 page)

AVERY

What seemed to be a very simple transaction had immediately turned into a huge mess. A truck with two Hispanic males came screaming into the lot, and while it was still rolling into place, one jumped out and held a gun on the two men in the back of the truck. The driver jumped out as soon as the truck stopped, and jumped out with a gun. Now he was screaming into the back of the van as he waved the gun into it. Otis and Axton were in the back of the van, and I was standing toward the front of the truck; alone and scared half to death.

It was as if I didn’t even exist. No one was paying attention to
me.

My purse was draped over my right shoulder. In my purse, as always, was my loaded Glock 9 millimeter pistol. The instructor of the concealed carry course drilled the importance into my head of using the weapon as a last resort in a life or death scenario only. This was clearly one of those situations. It didn’t make things any easier. The two Hispanic males were focused on the men in the back of the truck the men in the back of the van.

“El dinero. Dónde está el dinero?” the man screamed into the back of the van.

He wanted to know where the money was.

Maybe they’d take the money and leave. That was probably wishful thinking.

“Dónde está el dinero?” he screamed again.

Scared beyond comprehension, I quickly glanced at the van and then toward the truck. The robber at the truck stood quietly on the ground with the gun aimed at the two men who were standing in the bed of the truck on top of the crates of guns. The man standing at the van was shaking the gun and appeared to be extremely nervous.

“El Pelón te matará, pendejo,” the English speaking Hispanic whispered to the man on the ground with the gun.

The bald man is going to kill you.

“Cállate!” the man with the gun shouted.

Shut up!

I couldn’t see into the van, but it was pretty obvious neither Otis nor Axton were able to pull their guns.

“El dinero o la vida,” he screamed as he shook the gun toward the inside of the van.

He was saying,
your money or your life
.

He’s going to kill Axton.

The one advantage of the Glock pistol was the absence of a safety or any lever that would have to be messed with prior to pulling the trigger. The internal safety is part of the trigger mechanism, and simply required the gun be pointed and fired. No pulling levers or making distracting noises like on television or the movies.

“Ahora!” the man screamed into the back of the van.

Now!

The man at the van with Otis and Axton was apparently done trying to negotiate. He wanted the money
now
. Someone must have tipped him off about the deal going down. I wished I could see Axton or Otis, but I could not. The man at the back of the truck stood quietly with the gun pointed at the two Hispanic men in back. It was obvious they were after the money, and nothing else. The man at the van raised the huge gun to his shoulder as if he was going to shoot. Even if Axton wanted to, he couldn’t give him the money; Otis put it in the front of the van. Hell, Axton had no idea what he was saying anyway. If I didn’t do something immediately, this was going to end, and end badly.

If you are in fear for your life or for the life of a loved one, and you have no other alternative…

I knew if I did anything, I had to do it quickly. I was all of fifteen feet from the back of the van, and I was the same distance from the truck. The man at the back of the truck had his back facing me, and the man at the van had no idea I even existed.

The man at the back of the van lowered the shotgun a little and screamed, “Ahora!”

The English speaking Hispanic made eye contact with me. He was able to see me, but the man with the gun was not, as his back was to me. As I pulled my pistol from my purse, he nodded his head slightly.
God I hope this works.
I took aim at the man behind the van, and fired one shot. As the bullet struck him in the side, his body twisted, and he fired the shotgun into the parking lot. As his body absorbed the shock from his gun firing, he fell to the ground.

The English speaking Hispanic immediately grabbed the barrel of the gun the man was pointing at him and was attempting to twist it from his grasp. As I twisted and took aim at the man’s back, he screamed from the back of the truck as he fought for possession of the gun.

He nodded his head toward me as he pushed the barrel of the gun upward and away, “Shoot theese motherfucker!”

Scared and without much thought, I fired a shot into the back of the man standing at the truck. Immediately, he fell against the truck and then flopped onto the ground. I turned toward the van. The man I had shot was on the ground moaning.

The entire thing took a few seconds.

Axton jumped from the rear of the van and picked up the gun the man had dropped. He stepped on the man’s neck, raised the gun slightly, and pressed the barrel into the man’s chest. The man on the ground began to groan.

He’s still alive. They’re both still alive.

Thank God.

“Hijo de la chingada! Your chica saved our asses, homie,” the man at the truck said toward Axton.

I stood and shook, still holding the pistol in my hand. My ears felt as if they were on fire. Although I had fired my gun several times during training and at the firing range, I had never fired it without hearing protection. Nothing could have prepared me for the sound of the gun being fired without protection.

“Who are these two motherfuckers?” Axton demanded.

“Putos ladrones!” the driver said as he spit on the man lying on the ground.

“He said they’re thieves,” I whimpered.

“They’re not
your
people?” Axton hollered.

“Fuck no, homie. Someone must to told them we going to meeting. They come for the
money
,” he responded.

He looked down and spit on the man lying on the ground, “Fucking puta!”

“Jew can do whatever jew want to with heem. I’m going to execute theeese motherfucker,” the driver said as he tilted his head toward Axton.

“Avery. Get in the van. You don’t need to see this,” Axton demanded.

I noticed Otis was standing behind Axton with his pistol drawn. He was pointing at the man on the ground. I didn’t remember seeing him even jump out. I was clearly out of it, and probably in shock. I dropped my pistol into my purse and slowly walked toward the van. As I reached the door, and was out Axton’s view, I turned to face the Hispanic man.

“If you’re going to do it, do it,” I heard Axton shout, “Prove to me he isn’t one of yours.”

The Hispanic man pulled the trigger of the gun. The man on the ground went limp immediately. I heard another shot. Although I couldn’t see him, I assumed Axton killed the man on the ground. I stared at the Hispanic man. Without emotion, he raised the barrel and pointed it at the dead man’s head. Again, he pulled the trigger. As the gun fired, the man’s head disappeared.

Holy fuck!

“Grab that other crate of guns for him, Otis. And pick up Avery’s brass, there’s two on the ground somewhere. Find them,” I heard Axton yell.

“Got it, Slice,” Otis responded.

Axton walked beside the van and into my view. I stood and stared.

“I’m keeping this,” Axton said as he held the gun in the air.

“I’ll gave theeese one to jore partner,” the Hispanic man said as he raised the other gun to his chest.

Axton quietly walked up to me and leaned the gun against the van. He opened his arms and without much expression, began to speak.

“I had no idea anything like this would happen. I’m sorry you were involved, but I’m God damned glad you were here. Just like the man said, you saved our asses, Avery.”

I stood and stared, not knowing what to do or say.

“Come here,” he said as he held his arms outstretched and curled his fingers into his palms.

I quietly shuffled my way to him and laid my head against his shoulder. As his arms wrapped around me, I exhaled and bit my quivering lower lip. As he pulled me closer and held me tight, I began to feel safe. Although I had just shot two people, and witnessed their execution; something about being in Axton’s strong arms was beginning to make me feel as if nothing else mattered.

As he held me, I realized as far as Axton was concerned this was just another day in the life of being an outlaw. For me, this would without a doubt be a life altering experience. As attracted as I was to Axton, we were two totally different people in so many respects.

As Otis walked alongside the van toward us, I lifted my head from Axton’s shoulder. I watched as the Hispanic man drug the body of the man with no head toward the other truck. I blinked my eyes, turned toward Otis, and forced myself to smile. Otis extended his blood covered hand. I blinked again and stared.

“
Devil looks after his own
, Slice. I’m tellin’ ya, he damned sure does. One in a million chance, but I got the brass
and
both slugs,” he said as he turned his palm upward.

His hand was covered in blood and small pieces of fleshy material. In his palm were the two cartridge casings from my pistol, and the lead bullets. He had apparently dug them out of the dead bodies. He was right, finding them was probably a one in a million chance. Strangely, I wasn’t disgusted by it all; I was grateful. Without the bullets or brass casings, there would be no way the police could trace the killings to me. As Axton released me and held his hand out, I shook my head and nudged my way between him and Otis.

“Give them to me, they’re mine,” I demanded.

Otis shifted his gaze back and forth between Axton and me, “They’re covered in blood and those Mexican’s guts.”

“I don’t give a fuck, they’re mine. And I don’t trust either of you two with them,” I hissed as I opened my hand.

Axton nodded his head and smiled his shitty little smile.

Otis reached out and dropped the items into my hand. I looked down at my blood soaked palm and stared for a moment; as if I expected to wake up from some weird dream. After a few seconds, I realized this was as real as it gets, and I shoved everything into my pocket. As I wiped my hand on my jeans, it dawned on me; I may not ride a motorcycle or be in some club, but after what happened, the three of us
weren’t
that much different.

Without a doubt, in the eyes of the law I had become an outlaw.

And in my eyes…

I had become a
Sinner
.

AXTON

As soon as we become comfortable and relax in living life, something happens to remind us we aren’t nearly as in charge of the outcome as we once thought we were; we’re simply along for the ride.

My life had been a full throttle all out run toward the sunset from day one, and it has never let up. From time to time I’d exhale; and when I did, life would slap my face and remind me I wasn’t in charge. Avery’s involvement in the killings wasn’t something I planned or expected, but I couldn’t do anything to change it. I did, however, have to try and find a way to make it taste good in my mouth.

After taking Avery home, Otis and I were sitting in the clubhouse attempting to figure out what went wrong, and how we ended up in the situation we were in. Without a doubt, Avery had saved our lives, and we both felt indebted to her for doing so. Having someone clearly save your life, and realizing it, was a humbling experience I wasn’t necessarily prepared to admit or accept; at least not yet.

Otis leaned forward and rested his forearms on the edge of the table, “I tell ya what, if she hadn’t been there, you and I wouldn’t be talkin’ right now. I can assure you of that.”

“I hate to admit it, but I think you’re right,” I nodded.

“Shit Slice, you
know
I’m right. That fuckin’ beaner was about one breath away from shootin’ us and finding that money on his own. She said that cocksucker started screamin’
Now! Now!
”
he paused and shifted his focus to the floor.

“You know, there at the end, when he was screamin’ like a mad man? That’s when she knew it was time. That fucker was done askin’, and you and I don’t speak fuckin’ Spanish. Hell, he was talkin’ so God damned fast, none of it could have made sense. It’s a good thing she speaks that shit,” he raised the beer bottle to his lips and took a drink.

Otis’ forearms were still covered in blood. As I studied him I thought of what had happened and who might have put the attempted theft into motion. To think of another Mexican gang attempting to rob the MS-13 was almost impossible for me. No one in their right mind would attempt such a thing. To cross them would not only be suicide, but an assurance your entire family and the families of anyone you knew would be murdered. I was having a difficult time believing the two Mexicans knew who they were robbing on
that
end. I had an easier time believing they knew who
we
were.

I rubbed my hands together clenched my teeth. As I felt my jaw muscles flex, I realized my frustration was reaching an unhealthy level. Typically, I tend to try and resolve issues immediately, before they have a chance to fester within me. The longer I wait to find resolution, the more liable I am to make a decision I may later regret. I sat, stared down at my hands and ran the events of the night through my mind.

I hooked my index finger onto the rubber band and began to play with it, “I’ve been thinking. There ain’t a snowball’s chance in hell those two fuckers knew they were robbing the MS-13. And, if they didn’t know
that
, it leaves me to believe they
did
know they were robbing us. The more I think about it, the more I think it stinks. Someone said something. And that
something
ended up in the lap of a Mexican gang. They didn’t come after the
guns
, they came after the
money
. And they knew
we
had the money. They were screaming at you and me, not the Mexicans. Are you following me?”

“Shit. Yeah I see what you’re saying. Fuck, you think one of our own said something?” he asked as he stood from his seat.

“If you already know the answer, don’t bother asking the question,” I said under my breath.

“I hate thinking of that, Slice,” he said as he leaned over the trash can.

I snapped the rubber band against my wrist, “Throw that motherfucker in the shop. God damn, Otis. You know by now I don’t want to smell that stinkin’ fucker. And I sure as fuck don’t like thinkin’ of it either, but I can’t sit here and be blind. It’s pretty simple shit to figure out. Well, now that some fucking beaner ain’t waving a Street Sweeper in my face. Wash that blood off your arms when you’re in the shop. Hell, you get pulled over on the way home, you’re gonna be in fucking jail.”

Without speaking, he nodded his head and walked out into the shop. We were both exhausted. The level of adrenaline from the situation we escaped from was so elevated, it had brought me to an all-time high. Coming down off of that high left me tired and feeling weak; and the few times in my life when I found myself feeling weak, it eventually left me feeling vulnerable.

As Otis walked into the office, I turned to face him and stared. I had nothing to say, but I wanted answers, and I wanted them immediately. Being in a motorcycle club exposes a person to all types of violence, activities, and situations which will make most people cower in fear. Over the years I had become almost immune to any feeling associated with exposing myself to violence or criminal acts. Being killed was an entirely different story.

“What are we gonna do about the girl?” Otis asked as he sat down.

He raised his hands to his face and began to rub his temples.

I sat up in my chair and stared, “What do you mean?”

“We owe her big time, Slice. God damn, she saved our fuckin’ lives. I was cleaning all the blood off my arms, and thinkin’. It kinda freaked me out. But if she hadn’t gone…”

“We owe her ass big time,” he breathed.

I narrowed my eyes and stared, “You want to buy her a thank you card or get her some fucking flowers? Or maybe a box of fucking chocolates?”

Otis stood from his chair, lowered his hands from his face, and shook his head, “You know Slice, you’re the president of this club
and
you’re my best friend. But I got to be honest on this one. You’re a real prick. That fuckin’ girl saved us. She didn’t wash your sled or have new soles put on your boots. She shot two motherfuckers who were tryin’ to shoot us. Hell, she coulda took that sixty grand and ran. And they’d of killed us for sure. But she didn’t. I know she was scared to death. Hell, she ain’t one of us and she sure as fuck ain’t used to being in the shit we are.”

I stood up and began to speak, “We can sit here all night…”

Otis raised his hand in the air, “I wasn’t done,
Axton.
This is you and me talkin’.
Steve and Axton.
That girl saved my fuckin’ life, plain and simple. No real way around it. There’s sayin’ it, there’s understanding it, and then there’s
believing
it. And I’m tellin’ ya, when I was cleaning the blood off my arms, I come to believe it. Yeah, buy her a box of fuckin’ chocolates, you asshole. Send her a fuckin’ card. But I can tell you what I’m gonna do.”

“I’m gonna make God damned sure nothing ever happens to that little girl, Axton. Ain’t no motherfucker on this earth ever gonna harm that little bitch. I owe her my life. You do whatever your heartless ass thinks is best. But you know what’s best for the club? Do ya? I
do
, and I have my fuckin’ doubts about you,” he hesitated and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

I crossed my arms in front of my chest and flexed my biceps, “You doubting me, Otis?”

Otis uncrossed his arms and chuckled, “Keep flexin’ on me, Axton. It’s just you and me here, remember? I’ll wad your fuckin’ ass up and toss you in the street. Do I doubt you? No. Not really ever. But on this deal? You fuckin’ right I do. That girl needs taken care of. She needs to stay on our good side. Here’s the deal…”

“You know why I ain’t got an Ol’ Lady? You know why?” he asked.

I shrugged.

“Because I ain’t found one I can trust. That’s it. Now, why ain’t you got an Ol’ Lady? And before you answer, I’ll tell ya. Because you’re an asshole, and you don’t let yourself believe one won’t fuck you over. Hell, those ratty-assed bitches you had in the past were just that, ratty-assed bitches. Ratty-assed bitches can’t ever be trusted, but it doesn’t mean all bitches can’t be trusted. Now
you
tell me the reason,” he hesitated and crossed his arms again.

“So now we’re talkin’ about Ol’ Ladies? I’m trying to figure out who fucked us over, and you’re talkin’ about having an Ol’ Lady? And
you
want to question
me
?” I growled.

“You didn’t answer my fuckin’ question, Axton,” he said under his breath.

“Fuck it. I’m tired. I’m going home. But I’ll say this,” he paused and slowly walked toward the door.

As he reached for the door, he turned to face me, “You said that night in the bar she was off-limits. Well, make a decision,
boss
. I’ll remind you, we got bylaws and we got em for a reason. They’re posted on the wall behind ya in case you forgot ‘em. But you ain’t claimed her as your Ol’ Lady, you ain’t got her wearin’ a
Property Of
patch, and you sure as absolute fuck don’t have an “X” by your name. So, as far as the club’s concerned, she’s fair game. If you don’t make a move, I sure as hell will. You want to know why?”

He walked through the door and into the shop.

Before I could respond, he stuck his head in the opening between the door and the door frame, widened his eyes, and began telling me his thoughts, “She’s gorgeous. She’s got guts. She don’t take shit from anybody. She stands up for what she believes in. She don’t run her mouth like a teenager, and…”

“Because that little bitch has got my back,” he nodded his head once and pulled the door closed.

I lowered myself into the chair and removed my notepad from my jacket. I drew a line down the center of the page. I moved the pen to the left side of line and hesitated. I felt the need to make a list of the people I could trust one hundred percent and the people who I wasn’t sure of. To think of someone being in the club and not being able to be trusted was a difficult thing for me. At some point in time, I trusted each and every member enough to vote them into the club. Now, to consider one of my brothers turning against me was a difficult thing to imagine.

I faced the wall and stared at the list of members. After studying the board for a few moments, I turned around, closed my note pad, and removed my jacket. I needed to clear my mind. I walked to the door, flipped the light switch, and gazed out into the shop. My bike sat beside the van we had used to make the delivery with my cut hanging from the ape hangers.

I gazed at the cabinet on the left side of the shop and sighed.

You’re tired Axton. Take some time to think.

I sauntered over to the cabinet, opened it, and removed a lick ‘n stick seat and a clean rag. After I methodically wiped the dust from the rear fender of the bike, I cleaned the seat’s suction cups and pressed it onto the rear fender. I glanced at my watch. 1:22 am.

If Avery was anything like me, she wouldn’t be able to sleep at all. After my first shooting, I didn’t sleep for two days. If for whatever reason she
was
able to sleep, maybe she was more valuable than Otis indicated.

There was only one way to find out.