Read Making the Cut for Free Online Page A

some nosy assed Ol’ Lady out of this clubhouse is the Sergeant at Arm’s fucking job, and Otis is the Sergeant at Arm’s. If you don’t want her here, Otis doesn’t want her here. And, if Otis doesn’t want her here, and she won’t leave, I’d expect Otis to knock her fucking teeth out if he needed to; to protect the club and all. Now, let me have a look up on the board, and see if you want your Ol’ Lady here.”
    I turned slowly toward the board behind me which listed all of the officers and full patched members. Pete’s name, as he had stated, did not have an “X” beside it in the Ol’ Lady Allowed column. I stared at the board and shrugged, “Nope, Pete. It says up on the board you don’t want her in here.”
    I turned toward Otis and smiled, “Good lookin’ out, Otis. Next time she gets mouthy, if Pete hasn’t put an “X” on the board by his name, bust out a tooth or two. Maybe she’ll get the hint.”
    I leaned over and placed my hands on the edge of the table, “Any old business ?”
    Silence.
    “Otis, Tater, and Toad stick around. Other than that, meeting adjourned ,” I barked as I tapped the gavel on the sound block. 
    After the room cleared out, the four of us sat down at the table. The remaining members either went into the shop, hung around drinking beer in the parking lot, or rode off to who knows where. As the three members sat and stared at the walls, I interrupted the silence with the morbid truth about what we were facing.
    “Alright, listen up. This fucker, from what I could gather, weighs about three-fifty. And this ain’t some random assed guess, he actually weighs three fifty. So it ain’t gonna be easy to toss this motherfucker around once he’s dead. My problem is this. Frank said he had videos of this ChoMo son-of-a-bitch making those poor kids swallow his load. Hell, he was shootin’ cum on their faces and videoing the shit,” I paused and clenched my jaw.
    “That motherfucker, I can take care of this on my own, Slice. Seriously, tell me where this motherfucker is,” Otis growled.
    “No, God damn it. I know you don’t like this shit any more than I do, but that’s what I’m trying to get at, Otis. This prick is a tub of shit, and we’re gonna have to move his fat ass around after he’s dead.  The point I was gonna make is this,” I paused and considered what I had planned.
    “I want to torture this prick. I want him to know why we got him, and realize what a fucking nuisance he was before we kill his big fat ass. The only place I can think of where we can do it is where the highway south of town turns and goes up toward Wichita. You know, where Highway 77 meets K-15. There’s a river west of 77, by the railroad tracks,” I stoppe d s peaking and turned to face Otis as he nodded his head.
    “Where we go shooting?” Otis asked.
    “You got it. Now, here’s the deal. I want to make this fat piece of shit pay for what he did to these kids first then we’ll get rid of his ass. But to haul him off, we’re gonna have to cut him in pieces He’s too God damned fat to move in one chunk. And, just to be safe, we’ll need to cut the fat prick’s head and hands off. If we get rid of his head and hands, they won’t be able to prove who he is. I f igure we’ll bring ‘em back to town and pour ‘em into some concrete. We’ll toss his head and hands in the Winfield Lake. That place ain’t dried up in fifty years. And if we don’t weigh ‘em down, they’ll eventually float. We can toss his body, arms, and legs to Stacey’s hogs. They’ll eat the bones and all,” I stopped speaking and waited to see the reaction of the group.
    “Why cut off his head and hands? Seems like we’re takin’ risks we don’t need to take, Slice,” Otis shrugged.
    I realized chopping up a person made the crime of murder a little more personal, but it was an evil necessity. Eliminating the hands and teeth left little means of identifying a body, short of DNA. With no family,