Page 515 of Devil’s Disciples

“I’m Carma,” she said with a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“Slacker, Rebound, turn around,” he said. “This is Carma. She’s Reno’s…”

“Ol’ Lady,” I said.

“Ol’ Lady,” he repeated.

Rebound, who could double for Pee Bee, turned around and grinned. “You get a good look at this fella before you agreed to be with him?”

Carma gave him a look. “Excuse me?”

He swiped his shoulder-length hair away from his face and extended his hand. “He’s uglier than hell. Just seems strange seeing someone as pretty as you with a turd like him.”

I punched him in the arm hard enough to knock him off-balance. “Fuck you, Rebound.”

He let out a low laugh and shook her hand. “Just kiddin’. He’s one hell of a good man. Pleasure to meet you.”

She gave a nod. “Nice to meet you, too.”

Slacker nudged rebound to the side and wiped his hand against his tattered jeans and then offered it. “Slacker,” he said. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

Slacker was a former Marine, tall, and built like Ghost was built—like a weight lifter. He, no differently than Crip and me, was disgusted with the government’s treatment of returning war vets. His decision to ride with the red and white was a result of that disgust.

Carma shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“She’s got to leave early, for work,” I explained. “She’ll be back later, but I didn’t know if you’d still be here. Just wanted you to meet.”

“We’ll be here until the fat lady sings,” Bama said, raising his glass of beer. “Rumor has it that this fella’s a hell of a cook.”

“World class,” I said.

“Really?” Carma asked.

“You’ll find out pretty quick. He cooked two hogs, a dozen briskets, and a dozen chickens. Grilled octopus, too.”

Bama shook his head. “I’m not eating tentacles.”

“You ever tried it?” Carma asked. “It’s one of my mother’s specialties. She loves it.”

Bama looked her up and down. “Can’t say I have, but I’m guessing by the way you’re looking at me that you must like it.”

“If it’s cooked properly, it’s fantastic.”

“I wouldn’t know a properly cooked octopus from a fucked up one,” he said. “Pardon my French.”

“Fucked up ones taste pretty fucked up,” Carma said.

Bama laughed and then patted my shoulder. “I like her.” He looked at Carma. “I like you.”

She smiled. “I like you, too.”

“It’ll be a cold day in hell before I try cooked octo-anything,” Bama said, directing his comment to Carma. “You can have all of it, as far as I’m concerned.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing out on,” Carma teased.

He chuckled. “Lived half a century without it, doubt I’ll change my mind.”

“Well,” I said. “We won’t keep you. She’ll be back later tonight.”