Cole spotted the guys from his club standing near their parked bikes. He pulled up to them and parked. They dismounted.
Angel noticed Crash and several of the other guys. She could smell the aroma of something being cooked on a grill. There was a fenced off area, running the length of the back wall of the building and beyond that, an eight-foot-high wooden privacy fence. Music was blasting from inside.
“Sounds like the party’s started,” Cole said to Crash.
“Yup. They got a full house already. I think they started a couple of hours ago. Mack’s inside already,” Crash replied, turning to head over there.
Cole put his arm around Angel, and they followed the rest of the guys into the area. There was a guy sitting on a barstool at the gate that led inside. He nodded to them, and they walked on past.
Angel looked around. The area was huge, going back a good ways. There were a bunch of picnic tables, a big, long bar improvised out of cement blocks and planking set up along the left side under an overhanging roof that jutted out from the building. There were tiny colored lights strung along the bar and all along the top of the fencing. Way in the back, Angel noticed a huge stone grill that ran about ten feet across. A couple guys were flipping burgers.
Cole stopped to greet several members of the War Dogs. They chatted briefly, and then Cole led her over to a group of Evil Dead that were standing by the bar. Several of them she had never seen before.
Angel could hear the group talking as they walked up. She noticed one of them had a Scottish brogue when he spoke. He had his back to them. Angel heard someone say, “Hey, Kilt Boy, look who just crashed the party.”
The one with the brogue turned around. He was dark headed with long hair and a close cut beard. Angel thought if he did have a kilt on, that he would look every inch the part of a highlander.
He looked at Cole and smiled. “Fookin’ hell. Ye ol’ bastaird. Haven’t seen ye in ages.”
Cole smiled. “Who’re you callin’ an old bastard?”
He and Cole slapped each other on the back.
“What are you doin’ down in this neck of the woods?” Cole asked him.
“Came to see your sunny southern coast. Tired of the bluidy rain up north.”
“I thought it rained all the time in Scotland. You should be used to it.”
“Aye. But it had a wey of makin’ me homesick.”
Someone slid them a couple bottles of beer, and Cole turned to hand one to Angel.
Kilt Boy turned to Angel and asked Cole, “And who’s this lovely lass?”
Cole put his arm around her. “Don’t even think about it.”
Kilt Boy smiled. “What? Ye don’t trust me, Sonny-boy?”
“Nope.” Cole smiled back.
“Come on, introduce me to the wee lass.”
“This ugly mutt is Ferguson. Better known as Kilt Boy. Kilt Boy, this is Angel.”
He flashed a crooked grin. “He’s just jealous of my sensuous Scottish brogue and the wey it drives all the lasses wild.”
“Shit. Half of ‘em can’t understand a word you’re saying.”
“Aye. But as long as they nod their head in agreement, I don’t care verra much if they know to what they’re agreein’.” He turned to Angel and waggled his eyebrows.
She couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head. She liked him immediately.
“Got some news,” Crash interrupted, moving to stand next to Cole. Cole dropped his arm from around Angel and lit a cigarette. He turned to Crash, blowing the smoke out.
“Yeah. What’s that?”
“Mack invited the Devil Kings here.”
Cole pulled the cigarette from his mouth. “What?”
Crash nodded. “Yup.”
“What the hell for?”
“Didn’t he tell you?”
“No, man. He’s been pissed at me since that shit with Ling.”
Crash nodded, glancing over to where Mack was sitting at one of the picnic tables. “Yeah. Well, seems he wants to make some kind of alliance. I think he’s hoping to get a foothold in Arizona.”
Cole shook his head. “Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“Bluidy hell,” Ferguson added.
Cole looked over at him and smiled. “Looks like you showed up at a good time, Kilt Boy.”
He smiled back at Cole. “Aye. Looks that wey.”
They all stood around talking and drank several bottles of beer.
One of the War Dogs walked over to Cole.
Angel thought he looked young, probably still in his twenties, with an athletic build. He had a buzz cut, revealing a face and neck red from the sun. He wore a pair of desert camouflage pants and a black t-shirt. A pair of sunglasses were pushed up on his head and dog tags hung around his neck. If he’d been in the service, Angel imagined he hadn’t been out for very long.
“Hey, they takin’ care of you?” He nodded toward the girls tending bar.
Cole looked at him. “Yeah. Thanks. You throw a nice party, Rusty.”
“Glad you could come by.” They shook hands.
“You hear who might be showing’ up later?” Cole asked him, taking a hit off his cigarette.
Rusty looked back at the picnic table where Mack was sitting, deep in conversation with the leader of the War Dogs. “Yeah. I did.”
Cole followed his gaze. “He good with it?”
“JP? Yeah. I guess. Of course, I don’t think he’d say no to Mack on anything.”
Cole nodded.
“You expecting trouble?” Rusty asked, setting the sunglasses back over his eyes.
“Don’t know,” Cole answered honestly.
“Fuck. Looks like we’re about to find out.” Rusty nodded toward the gate.
Cole turned to look and Angel followed his eyes.
“Fucking Devil Kings,” he snarled as the men walked in. Angel noticed the first man through was a big mountain of a man. He was followed by a mean looking man.
“Is that their President?” Rusty asked.
Cole nodded. “Big Ed, and the mean looking son-of-a-bitch with him is Taz. I’ve had run-ins with him before.”
Angel watched as about six more guys followed. Then she caught Cole glance over at Mack, and saw Mack look over at the gate and then nod to Cole.
Angel looked back at the group coming in and a chill went down her spine. She had a bad feeling.
Cole threw his cigarette down and turned to head over to the group. He looked back at Angel and pointed at her. “Stay there.”