Page 514 of Devil’s Disciples

“What’s the difference between bedroom sex and sidewalk sex, in the grand scheme of things?”

I thought about it for a moment. “It’s kind of like giving something away, I guess. If something’s valuable to me, I don’t want to give it away. Telling a story is like giving something to someone. Giving them a part of your life. If something’s valuable to me—really valuable—I don’t want to share it.”

“So, the bedroom sex is valuable stuff?”

“Priceless,” I replied.

He grinned. “I like you.”

“I like you, too.”

“C’mon.” He tilted his head toward his motorcycle. “Let’s go to this party and make some memories we can share, and a few that we can’t.”

188

Reno

There was a DJ, a makeshift dance floor identified by a string of lights, a portable bar complete with bartenders, and a keg of beer at each corner of the roof.

Goose’s home was on the beach in Mission Bay. His means of passing time was growing flowers, and his roof was his sanctuary. Gorgeously decorated with colorful species and varieties that I could in no way identify, the space looked like a botanical garden.

A botanical garden filled with drunken bikers.

I walked up behind Carma, who was gathered with the girls telling stories. I gestured toward a group of men who were gathered around a keg. “Come over here for a minute when you’re done, I want to introduce you to some of the other fellas.”

She stutter-stepped away from the girls as if I was dragging her away against her will. Then, she waved like she’s never see them again. “I really like everyone,” she said. “I’m so glad they’re accepting me.”

“You’re easy to like.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You are. You’re personable, kind, and clever. It’s easy to get someone to be one of those things, but not all three.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

“These guys are known as being hard-core as hell,” I forewarned her. “But they’re not all that way. Just like any other group, some are good, and some, I’m sure, are bad. These fellas are good as gold.”

“Who are they?”

“Hells Angels.”

She stopped in her tracks.

“What?”

She swallowed hard. “They come into the restaurant all the time. They’re drunk and rude, and they make a huge mess and leave a dollar in change for a tip.”

I shook my head. “Not these guys. If it is them, tell me.”

“Believe me, you’ll know. I cringe when they come in.”

With some reluctance, she followed me to the keg at the far end of the roof. When we got to it, Bama turned around.

He raised his hand to shoulder height and opened his palm. “How’s my favorite explosives expert?”

“Doing well.” I slapped my hand against his and pulled him into me for a bro-hug. After a pat on the back, I released him. “Want to introduce you to someone.”

He stroked his long gray beard and then wiped his palm on his jeans. He extended his hand. “Bama.”