Cannibal Corpse, M/C

Slaughter pulled off his cigarette. “Yeah, what exactly.” He shook his head. “All right, citizen. Let’s play cat-and-mouse until you get the nuts to tell me what’s on your mind. Let’s play it like that.”

“You killed two cops in New Castle, PA,” Brightman said then. “You murdered an innocent woman.”

“If you say so.”

“Quit the shit, Slaughter. You left your goddamn prints all over everything, and you did it specifically so that everyone would know what happens to enemies of the Devil’s Disciples. Am I right on this?”

“Damn right,” Slaughter said. “Those cops murdered my brother Neb in cold blood. I saw it happen. He gave ‘em no shit, and he wasn’t armed. They pulled their pieces and put him down like a fucking dog, so I returned the favor. Two less shit-eating cops in the world. So what? And that woman? Not so fucking innocent, citizen. She rolled over. She dropped a dime on Neb. She fingered him to the cops and that brought about his death. She deserved what she got.”

“She deserved to be…gutted?”

“You’re fucking right she did, citizen. The lowest of the low: a rat.”

Brightman just sighed and shook his head. “I’m trying real hard here, Slaughter, to see you as a stand-up guy with some twisted, convoluted sense of underworld honor and not some dirty bloodthirsty animal.”

Slaughter just laughed. “You don’t know shit.”

“Don’t I?”

“No, you don’t. Just as you have your laws, citizen, we’ve got ours. You’re good to us, we’re better to you. You shit on us, we bury you alive. Simple as that.”

“Is it?”

“That’s right,” Slaughter said. “I’m your best friend or your worst enemy, but there’s nothing in-between.”

Brightman finally sat down. He did not look amused by any of it. “I talked with some gang experts back east, and they told me some things. They told me who you are and what you are. I know you, Slaughter. And I know you because I can read those tattoos you have. They tell me who you are, where you came from, what you did, and who you did. For example, I know that black diamond on your vest means that you’ve killed for the club. And I also know that the black Waffen SS deathshead on the back of your left hand indicates that you are a member of 158 Crew.”

Slaughter smiled. Brightman had done his homework. The 158 Crew were an elite group of enforcers and contract killers within the Devil’s Disciples. “158” was shorthand for “1958”, the penal code of the federal statute given to “murder for hire.”

“Okay, citizen. You got me. So show me the cheese and see if I nibble.”

Brightman acted like he had no idea what the biker was talking about. He had a thick file on Slaughter, and it was pretty well-thumbed by the looks of it. “You’ve been a bad boy, Slaughter. Your sheet is longer than my left arm. Twelve county lockups on minor offenses ranging from disturbing the piece to street brawls to possession of a deadly weapon. Two years in SCI Frackville for aggravated assault. You split a guy’s head open with…let’s see here…” he paged through the file “…a monkey wrench? I like that. Three more in Yardville for battery of a police officer. This one’s better. There’s a little notation here. Apparently the cop was a narc and he caught you flushing packets of meth down the toilet. When he tried to stop you, you beat him so badly he spent six weeks in the hospital. Nice, real nice. Only reason you didn’t get twenty years on that is because that idiot came in without a search warrant and you, being the good upstanding citizen you are, were only defending your life and property. Let’s see…ten years at FCI Leavenworth for armed robbery…sentence commuted after two years. You got lucky on that one. Witnesses couldn’t be sure it was you so your lawyer managed to have it overturned. Nice. I’m guessing your shithead club brothers had something to do with the hazy memories of those witnesses. What’d they do? Threaten to kill their kids? Rape their wives?” Brightman laughed. “At Yardville you were brought up on charges twice for stabbing other inmates with homemade knives…both times, charges thrown out for lack of witness corroboration. I like that. I’m guessing those other cons were scared to open their mouths. And look at this, another six convictions overturned or thrown out of court—gun running, narcotics distribution, murder conspiracy, assault with a deadly weapon, possession of explosives, grand theft.” Brightman had himself a little laugh. “Slaughter you’re nothing but a goddamned scab on society’s ass.”

“You got it, citizen.”

“A parasite.”

“Sure.”

“A fucking predator.”

“One-hundred percent. So throw me in a cell and get it done with so I don’t have to listen to any more of your high-handed shit.”

Brightman threw the file on his desk. “We’re willing to pretend this file doesn’t exist. We’re willing to ignore the three bodies you left behind you in New Castle. In fact, we’re willing to give you a clean slate if you’re willing to play ball.”

“Whose ball?”

“Mine,” Brightman said, “and those I represent.”

“Uh-huh. Go on.”