Read Making the Cut for Free Online Page B

DNA matching would be difficult. Dental records and fingerprints were still the only methods of identifying a body, especially in a city Winfield’s size.
    “Well Otis, if we get rid of his fingerprints and teeth, they won’t be able to identify this fat fucker. As much as I want to get rid of this prick, I ain’t really lookin’ to get caught, if you know what I mean. So, we cut off his head and hands, sneak ‘em back here, and put ‘em in a five gallon bucket. We fill the bucket with concrete, and it’ll sink to the bottom of the lake. That’ll end that.”
    “Yeah, makes sense. I wasn’t following ya at first. Sounds good, Slice,” Otis nodded.
    To me, this was something I simply needed to take care of. I had no ill feelings about ridding the earth of a child molester. It didn’t necessarily mean the other members would immediately sign on to cut a man into pieces and haul his body parts around the county to three or four respective places. Although I knew Otis wouldn’t mind, I needed to see the reaction of the other men. As I gazed across the table toward Tater and Toad, I was pleased by their reaction. 
    “I got an old shitty old chain saw we can use to cut him up. We can toss it in the lake with his head and hands. And we can use my truck to haul his ass in,” Tater nodded.
    “What color is the truck?” I asked.
    “Brown, why?” Tater responded.
    “Well, I wasn’t looking to try and sneak around in the dark if it was fucking white, Tater,” I chuckled.
    “Yeah, it’s dark brown. It’d pass for black in the dark,” he grinned.
    Tater had been with the club five or so years, and was a man who had spent a lifetime riding a motorcycle. As a younger man, he had done two short bits in prison for robbery and arson. Never quite conforming to what society expected of him, he had spent his life feeling like an outcast. After losing his wife to cancer at forty-five years old, he decided the only family he needed was the brotherhood of the MC. He was as devoted to the club as any man would ever be to his family, and often volunteered to do things others wouldn’t dream of.
    Toad also had roughly five years with the club. The only thing that kept him from joining earlier was his commitment to the Marine Corps, and the completion of his final tour. He had been around for years as a Hang Around , and we all believed as soon as he completed his military commitments, he’d become a Prospect. Having spent almost a decade in Iraq and Afghanistan, he was not new to killing or death. A younger man of roughly thirty years old, he was quiet and mostly kept to himself until asked to participate. Once asked, he was always committed; probably much more than most. Toad was as good of a man as would ever grace this earth. As he sat with his chin slightly resting against his clenched fist and staring at the table, I began to become slightly concerned about what his thoughts might be.
    “You good, Toad?” I asked.
    He slowly looked up from the table and raised his hands to the head of closely cropped Marine hair he kept maintained in a military perfect manner, “When I joined the Marines I took an oath, Slice. Against all enemies, foreign and domestic and it didn’t have an expiration date. So, killing this fat fucker?”
    He stood from his chair and rubbed his hands against the thighs of his worn baggy jeans, “Little kids, Slice. The dude fucked with helpless little kids. He forced helpless seven year olds or however old they were to suck his dick while he made movies of it. Those kids? Yeah, they’ll be fucked up for life. They didn’t have a choice; this prick intervened with their path, he fucked with their life; he altered it. They say God works in mysterious ways? I suppose it all depends on how you wanna perceive it or whatever, but check this out; God didn’t fuck with those kids, the devil did. That fat prick is Lucifer himself. God is getting ready to administer his justice. The judgment day is now