“Saint, VP.” As he introduces himself, LoneStar sniggers. “You’re the fuckin’ famous one. You married a Fed.”
“Word to the wise.” Lunatic crashes the party, leans in, and stage whispers as if passing on a confidence, “Don’t go there, Brother. Not if you want to leave with your balls intact.”
At that, LoneStar casts a wary eye toward Saint, who barks a laugh. “Not me you need to worry about, but my Pippa knows several ways to castrate a man.”
Not knowing whether to believe him, the Texas members give a slightly nervous laugh, and more than one cups his crotch.
“Nah, she’s good folks.” Hardcore also steps forward. “She’s just robbed the MDMC of two million dollars.” He holds out his hand while giving Bullseye an apologetic grimace, and to the East Texas brothers continues, “We kind of jumped the gun, but I’m Hardcore, and this is Lunatic. We’re from California.” Now there’s more backslapping.
Then it’s a free-for-all as we all move forward and introduce ourselves.
But when Rattler steps into view, LoneStar gives a chuckle. He takes off his Stetson, brushes imaginary dirt off, before replacing it on his head. “Now you, Rat, I remember. You were stirring shit up.”
Rattler takes his hand and pulls him in close. While giving him the requisite man hug, he responds, “As I recall, you were as much of an asshole.”
“Oh fuck,” Freak drawls. “I can’t take another Rat. Tell me there’s not two of them.”
“Afraid I can’t tell you that,” Renegade replies while grinning widely, then adds to Hazard, “As we ain’t being offered hospitality, go round us up a few beers.”
Bullseye waves for their prospect to stay where he is, and yells, “Prospect? Beers all around.”
Knight’s not stupid. He whistles loudly, getting the attention of the club girls, and employs them as waitstaff to hand thenumerous bottles he’s had to open around. Our newly arrived friends waste no time wetting their throats.
“When you’re refreshed, we should have a catch-up in church. Let you know where we’re up to.” A ringing interrupts him. Bullseye pulls his phone out of his pocket and discreetly moves away. He’s back within seconds. “There are three brothers from the fuckin’ Georgia chapter who have flown all the way down.” He shakes his head as though he can’t believe help has come from so far. “Need a pickup from the airport in Tucson.”
Church will be all about the construction and what we’ve got planned. While I can wield a hammer as well as anyone, I haven’t much to contribute to the actual plans. What I know about building could be written on the back of my hand. I hadn’t even done particularly well with Trip’s toy bricks.
“I’ll go get them,” I offer. It will take me about an hour and a half to get there, and the same amount of time back. That’s with a fair wind blowing and good traffic. A good chunk out of anyone’s day, so might as well be mine.
“Appreciate that.” Prez gives me a chin lift.
I drain the last of my beer and leave straight away, deciding to take one of the club’s SUVs as it will be easier to manoeuvre in traffic than my truck.
As it happens, I have a clear run and am soon entering the airport. Going to the cell phone waiting lot, I call the number Bullseye had texted me, and connect with one of the Georgia brothers, telling him to get themselves to the pickup area. After giving them a couple of minutes to find their way, I go directly to the arrivals level of the terminal and pull into a vacant spot at the curb.
Sliding on my cut so I can be recognised, I ease out of the car, quickly spying the men I’m looking for. Likewise, they’ve already got a bead on me and head my way. Going around to the backof the SUV, I raise the liftgate so they can put their duffels and other bags inside.
Their slow progress toward me has me straightening and glancing their way. It’s only then I realise two of them are basically carrying the third, whose legs are dragging on the floor. When they reach me, unceremoniously, they throw the barely conscious man into the back seat before turning to greet me.
“Rhino.” The man closest to me offers his name in a tone that sounds like a bear’s angry growl. “Thanks for the pickup.”
“Short.” His brows rise. I’m used to the reaction when I give my name, so I grin. “Long story. And ain’t no problem.”
“This is Token.” Rhino introduces the second man with him.
I reach out my hand to shake the second man’s.
“And what’s with him?” I jerk my head toward the interior of the car.
The corners of Rhino’s mouth turn up. “That’s Blitz. He, er, doesn’t like flying, so I gave him a few of our special gummies. They didn’t help at first, so I kept feeding them to him. Hell, man, he’d have tried to jump out of the fuckin’ plane if I hadn’t. Oh, and the half dozen double whiskys he had to have, before he’d even walk up the steps to the plane, probably didn’t help.”
Well fuck me, I’ve got a drunk, doped-up brother to deliver back to the clubhouse. Still, by the looks of him, he won’t even wake up until he gets there. Have to admit though, the story makes me chuckle.
Rhino removes his cut, then takes shotgun. The uncommunicative Token, now cutless as well, eases the comatose man over so he’s squashed behind me with minimal leg room, as I’ve got my seat pushed all the way back for obvious reasons. He then sits next to him in the roomier seat.
He tries to remove Blitz’s cut, then the first words I’ve heard come from him as he gives up. “Heavy fuckin’ lump can pay the fine.”
There’s silence as I concentrate on navigating my way out of the airport and through the city, but when I’m on the freeway, Rhino asks, “So you’ve got yourselves in a bit of bother?”
