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her to her feet. “Take
your pick.” He motioned with his arms, indicating all the rock formations and
scrub brush surrounding them. “Yell if you see any snakes.”
    “You can count on that,” she replied.
    He walked behind some rocks. When he came back, she
was nowhere in sight. He grabbed up the blanket, and rolled it up, and attached
it to the front of his bike with a bungee cord. He was stuffing the bottle of
whiskey back into the saddlebag when she came back.
    “Where are you taking me?” he heard her ask from
behind him.
    He glanced back at her. “My clubhouse. Get those
cuffs off you. Then we’ll see.” He handed her the helmet, and watched as she
put it on. “No more questions?”
    “Wasn’t that your clubhouse we just left?” she
asked.
    “Nope.” He turned, letting her look at the patch on
his back. “Different club. Different patch on my cut.”
    She saw that his said Evil Dead on it. She knew that
the others had all said Dead Souls. “Cut?”
    “This.” He reached up, slid a thumb in the arm hole pulling it slightly away from his body, indicating
the leather vest he wore. “It’s called a cut.”
    “Oh. The picture on it, what is that?”
    “That’s the angel of death. Our symbol.”
    “Oh. But, I don’t understand. Why did that guy do
what you said, then, if you’re not in the same club?”
    “Because, they’re a brother club of ours.” He could
tell she didn’t understand. “We’re the big dog . They
do what we say.”
    “Oh,” she nodded. “And where is your clubhouse?”
    “San Jose area. Couple more hours ride .”
He threw his leg over his bike, and turned back to her. “Come on, babe.”
    She climbed on behind him.

 
    Two hours later, as they approached the outskirts of
civilization, Cole pulled to the side of the highway and made a call.
    Angel could only hear his side of it.
    “Yeah. Can you meet me at the clubhouse in about
fifteen minutes?”
    A truck roared by, and the wind rocked them.
    “I’ll explain when you get there.” He put the cell
back in his pocket, and turned to look at her over his shoulder. “You keep your
mouth shut about what happened to you. Understand?”
    She nodded.
    He pulled back out onto the road.
    A few minutes later, he turned down some side
streets in a not-so-nice section of town, and pulled into what looked like an
old industrial park. They drove to the end of a dead end street, and pulled
into a lot surrounded by a tall, chain-link fence. Cole pulled around behind
some type of old, two-story, red brick warehouse. Angel noticed about a dozen
bikes parked in the back lot. There was a sign over the door with the same
design as she had noticed on the back of Cole’s cut. There was also a squad car
parked, and she saw a cop standing talking to a couple of the club members.
    Cole rolled the bike to a stop on the opposite side
of the lot, near the back fence. Beyond the fence there were some overgrown bushes,
and up on a bit of a rise Angel could make out the silver reflection of a
couple of sets of railroad tracks.
    The cop glanced their way, and Cole motioned him
over, then he turned back to her. “Let me do the talking.”
    The cop walked up. Angel took him in. He was tall
and lanky, middle-aged, probably in his forties. His hair was cut in a flat
top. His face had thin, pointed features , his eyes were beady . Angel thought he looked like a weasel.
    He glanced at Cole’s passenger. “Cole. What’s up?”
    Cole cut the bike off, but made no move to get off.
He looked at the officer, and raised his shirt, revealing Angel’s cuffed wrists
wrapped around his stomach.
    “What the hell? Why did you put cuffs on her?”
    Cole’s eyebrows shot up. “I didn’t. Can you get them
off?”
    His eyes ran over her. “She runnin’ from the law?”
    “Nope.”
    The cop stared at him dumbfounded, and then reached
into his pocket, and pulled out some keys. He fumbled with the cuffs, and
finally got one wrist released.
    Angel’s hands