Disclaimer: I want to make a few things very clear: A. I don't own gargoyles, and use the name and characters without permission.
B. I also use the Name "Hells Angels" without permission.
"Car 117, we have a bar fight at The Hogs Head tavern, please respond"
"Dispatch, Car 117, what's the address again?"
"That the Hogs Head Tavern, thirty-eight West Pine Street."
"Roger dispatch Car 117 responding."
Officer Jake Vincenzo flipped on his cruisers lights and siren, pulled a u-turn at an intersection and sped towards West Pine
Street. When he finally got to the beat up old bar, a double column of chopped Harley Davidson's was roaring down the street
at top speed, but they quickly turned right down a side street, Vincenzo grabbed the radio mike in his squad car and called
"Dispatch, this is Car 117, am at Hogs Head Tavern"
"Copy Car 117"
Pulling on his jacket, Vincenzo walked into the bar. To call it train wreck would be an understatement. Broken chairs and tables littered the floor, the massive mirror behind the bar had been shot to pieces, a quartet of deep cuts dragged down the bar like claw marks and the ceiling and walls were dotted by a dozen gaping holes, all ringed with fire. Drawing his pistol,
Vincenzo called out; "If anyone's in here I want them to come out with their hands up! Now!"
A scared-looking blond in a tank top peeked over the shattered remnants of the bar.
"Did you get her?"
"The red haired gargoyle, did you get her?"
Vincenzo stared, holstered his firearm, looked at the shattered remains of the bar, and called for backup.
Earlier that night
They came like a mob of Mongols roaring off the steppe to pillage anything they saw, bikes screaming down the city streets, the roar of their exhaust pipes echoing down the canyons of steal and brick like cannon fire. The riders of these roaring machines would certainly have fit in with Genghis' horde, clad in black leather and flying three-piece patches, they made for an unwelcome diversion in the nighttime bustle of Manhattan. And they also gained the attention of someone whose attention it is better not to get.
Demona had been gliding, something she for which she had not had much time lately, what with the difficulties of running a major corporation AND trying to slaughter the human race. The immortal gargoyle noted the arrival of this throng of bikers with only mild curiosity, she was mainly concerned with avoiding the roving patrols Goliath's...her clan incessantly mounted
in a feeble attempt to protect the people of the city from themselves. Pausing briefly on a rooftop, she looked down as the line of choppers pulled into a gas station. Idly she watched as the biker lined up for gas. Cursed humans, she thought, always so desperate to poison the planet with the fumes from...Demona gaped, her gaze transfixed on the front left rider of the pack.
As he had dismounted his bike, she had seen something she had absolutely not expected; the rider had a tail. As he idly sauntered up to the pump, she saw the wings caped around his shoulders, barely covered by the long duster coat he wore.
The left lead rider walked up to the mystery gargoyle, who was stretching out his arms behind his head.
"Hey Chief! how much farther we got to ride man?"
The gargoyle cracked his neck and ran a hand through his shoulder length black hair before answering.
"The Angels' club house is over in Queens, so I'd say about...two hours maybe."
"Shit, that a while, you maybe want to stop for a drink?"
"You know anyplace around here we can go?"
"Hell yeah! Hogs Head Tavern, best beer on this whole fucking island!"
"Alright, sounds cool. Soon as everybody's filled up, we'll head over there."
The left lead rider let out a shout of approval, and yelled out the good news to rest of the club. In the meantime, the gargoyle's bike had had its fill of gas, and he walked in to the gas station to pay the attendant. Demona patiently waited for the clerk to dash out, screaming in fear, but nothing happened. Through the window she saw the Gargoyle pick up a burrito, microwave it, fill a soda, pay for everything, and walk back out. Demona suddenly laughed, realizing what had happened.
It was simple really; the clerk was to scared of the motorcycle gang to notice a Gargoyle. It helped that the Gargoyle was about human size, and dressed and looked the same as the crowd of bikers he rode with, but the sheer terror of that many big, scary-looking people would blind almost any human to someone's true nature.
Brilliant, or very, very stupid. Either way,I should speak to this Gargoyle, maybe he'll join my cause. At the very least I can get him away from those humans.
The Gargoyle bolted down his burrito, chugged his soda, and moved his bike out of the bay and into a parking space.
He watched the pack fuel up for awhile, before waving to his second in command and motioning to near by alley.
The second waved, nodded, and turned his attention to the line of bikes still waiting for gas.
Demona ducked back from the rooftop, and crept silently across before sliding onto a fire escape that overlooked the alley
The biker Gargoyle had motioned to. She arrived just in time to see him face a wall, unzip his pants, and let fly.
Blushing a deeper shade of cyan, Demona quickly looked away. She waited until she heard the sound of a zipper to turn around. When she did she found that the mystery gargoyles was staring straight at her!
"Hey! You coming down from there or what?" he yelled, one hand reaching under his coat.
Demona unfurled her wings, and glided down from the fire escape to the alley in front of the other Gargoyle. The leather-clad Gargoyle openly stared, reaching up, he pulled off his dark sunglasses and scrutinized Demona with icy blue eyes, walking a full circle around her before stopping back in front.
"You're like me." he finally said, with deep, almost menacing voice. Somehow, he didn't seem at all surprised to see another Gargoyle in New York City.
"Yes, obviously I am. But what about you?"
"What about me?"
"What clan are you from? Or are you here to join Goliaths Clan?"
"Who the fuck is Goliath? And what do you mean clan?
"You don't know what a clan is!" Demona was incredulous. The clan was the basis of Gargoyle society, how could he not know what it was? "Were you raised as a Gargoyle? Or with the...humans?"
"Oh, that's what you were talking about!" He laughed, "Fuck no I wasn't raised by 'Gargoyles', I skipped the hell out of the backwater hellhole I grew up in as soon almost a soon as I could glide. But I wasn't raised by humans neither."
"You abandoned your clan?"
"No, I ran away from that bunch of psychos as soon as I could."
"And you've been living with the humans since you were a child?"
"Uhm, Yeah." The biker was confused, not sure where this conversation was going, but not liking it all the same.
"Do you know nothing of the suffering they have caused us! The death they brought to so many others of your kind!"
"Oookay...its been my experience to avoid people who use 'they' in long hateful statements, so, goodnight lady."
The gargoyle turned and walked away, and for the firs time, Demona got an up close look at the insignia on the back of the leather vest he wore on the outside of his duster. The bottom rocker was green with blue lettering, it read "Nomads", in between the two rockers was a Viking helmet with crossed axes, and the top rocker was also green and blue lettering.
In bold, gothic letters, it read, "Vikingz MC". Demona took one look at this three-piece patch, than flew into a blind rage and reached out to tear the vest off. Big mistake. The biker whirled, and sent a well-timed sucker punch at Demona's face.
She deftly snatched his fist and flipped him over onto his back, landing hard on the alley floor. She brought her talons down in an attempt to rip out his throat, but he rolled out of the way and out onto the sidewalk just in time. Jumping to his feet, blocked another slash aimed at his throat and put Demona into an arm lock, before tossing her to the ground and kicking her in the back a few times. Apparently satisfied with the damage he had dealt, he turned and began to walk away. But before he got very far, Demona was behind him, and she raked razor sharp talons down his back before sinking her teeth into his shoulder,
falling to the ground screaming he clutched at the gaping wounds in his back and shoulder. Demona let out a Banshee wail of triumph, her eyes glowing red. Her triumph was cut short as a steel chain connected solidly with her head. Recovering, she turned to find that the pack of bikers had come up behind her, and she was now decidedly outnumbered.
"Which one of you pathetic humans is first?"
The bikers looked at each other, laughed, and all charged in at once.
Later, back at the Hogs Head Tavern
Matt Bluestone was having a bad night. Not only was he on permanent night shift because of his assignment to the Gargoyle Task Force, but every time he filed a report he was lying through his ass off about almost everything, trying to make very incident involving Gargoyles out to be completely ridiculous. Tonight was going to be very hard. It had taken the better part of an hour and a half to get the nearly-hysterical bar tender calmed down enough to give coherent statement. Now Matt was finding out he didn't like what he was hearing.
"Well... there were these guys in here…I think they were some kind of biker gang..."
She swallowed, than continued
"Anyway these guys were hanging out and…this…Gargoyle broke through the door…she was tall, and her skin was blue…and her eyes…oh my god…it was like looking into hell!"
Bluestone put a hand on her shoulder,
"We can talk later…", but the bartender interrupted, continuing her story.
"She started yelling, I think she had run into them before and something happened… she started shooting and the bikers shot back… then I hid under the bar."
"Alright, thank you for your time miss if you'll just go with officer Vazquez we'll get you taken care of…"
"But I saw the bikers when they were running out the back….and…" she hesitated
"One of the bikers, he was a Gargoyle too."
Bluestone blinked hard, thanked her again, and went outside to make a phone call.
The Eerie Building
Puck had long ago decided that Owen Burnett was possibly the most overworked personal assistant on the face of the planet. He facilitated the smooth running of worlds largest corporation, acted as the down to earth voice to a recovering megalomaniac, and served as the de facto communication officer/medic/intelligence specialist to a clan of tenth century Gargoyles.
All in all, Puck decided that Owen at least deserved a raise. A delighted squeal from Alexander distracted him from his reverie, and was pleased to find the toddler had managed to turn Owens cell phone into a small teddy bear, which Alexander was clutching lovingly to his chest.
Suddenly the teddy bear started to ring, and Alexander dropped it, startled enough to start crying as the small toy continued to ring, Puck picked up the squalling child and began to rock him back and forth. Holding the child in one arm, Puck picked the phone, flipped it open and answered in Owens boring monotone;
"This had better be very important Mister Bluestone."
"I need to speak to Goliath."
"Ah. If you'll hold on one moment."
Puck pressed the phones receiver against his shoulder and spoke to the now silent Alexander.
"Alex…why don't you take us to the library?"
Alex smiled, clapped his hands and the pair disappeared in a flash of green light, only to reappear in front of a startled Goliath.
"Phone for you." Puck announced cheerfully before handing Goliath the cell phone and once again disappearing into the thin air.
Blinking hard, Goliath spoke into the phone.
"Were any of your clan on patrol near the Brooklyn Bridge tonight?"
"No…We all remained at the Castle tonight because of the Quarrymen rally."
"This is not good…"
"Demona shot up a bar tonight…and apparently she was going after a Gargoyle."
"In a bar?"
"Yeah. That's the weird part, but what's got me hung up is that there was a motorcycle gang in the bar at the time."
"A motorcycle gang?"
"The Vikingz Motorcycle Club, I'm running the name through the database right now."
"The Vikingz?" Goliath turned the name into a growl.
There was silence at the other end of the phone, and a muffled conversation.
"I have to go Goliath, but I'll talk to you later tonight."
When the phone went dead, Goliath tossed it aside and went to gather the Clan.
As dawn approached, the Clan had gathered together in the castle courtyard, and now awaited Bluestones arrival. When he did show up, it was with an inch and half folder tucked under his arm. Brooklyn hopped down form the wall he had been perched on and landed next to Bluestone.
"What did you find out about this new Gargoyle?" he asked.
"But I found out quite a bit about the crowd he was hanging out with though."
Bluestone set the folder down on rocky outcropping that jutted out of the court yard like a plateau and spread it contents across the rock.
"According to the bartender, the Bikers inside the tavern were all wearing the same three piece patch…from the Vikingz Motorcycle Club."
The word "Vikingz" was greeted by chorus of low growls from everyone but Angela and Elisa.
Elisa was the first one to break the ensuing silence.
"I've never heard of that one before."
"Well they apparently keep a low profile…" Bluestone rifled through the folders contents,
before picking up a document with an FBI seal across the top.
"Lets see, no known home base, known affiliates of the Hells Angels, occasionally spotted on Angels sponsored events and bike runs…suspected of arms dealing, narcotics dealing, extortion, and multiple murders. Nothing could be proven until last week when a known methamphetamine dealer was found shot to death, along with his wife and two younger sisters. Several eyewitnesses report seeing three men on motorcycles fleeing the scene, and all three were flying Vikingz colors. The club has been on the run since the day afterward."
There was a long silence after Bluestone was done speaking.
"But why would a Gargoyle be associating with people like this?" Angela asked incredulously.
Bluestone looked at the ground before slowly answering.
"Well…the bartender had something else to say…apparently the Gargoyle was not only a full member of the biker gang… but he was the leader."
Hells Angels Clubhouse, Brooklyn
Instead of roaring in triumphantly on their choppers The Vikingz found themselves staggering like the defeated remains of a broken army. Most were covered in bruises, and cuts, others cradled broken arms in their laps, steering their bikes one handed. Four members were so badly injured they had to ride in the cab of a stolen pick up, with their bikes piled in the bed.
As the pack drew closer to the mob of Hells Angels waiting in the street, a few straightened up in their seats, but most just stared ahead, unseeing. As the battered bikers slid to a stop, the Chapter President of the Hells Angels ran up to the lead rider.
"Jesus H Christ Angel! What the fuck happened to you guys?"
"Angel" got off his chopper and tore off the remains of his duster before answering;
"Brother, you have no fucking idea! We had a run in with one of those Gargoyles things…"
"Motherfucker, I'm real aren't I? Any way this crazy chick pops outta the shadows at a fuel stop over in Manhattan, starts freaking out, And we knock her around a bit, okay?"
"So Scag over there had talked me into stopping at this little dive he knows about for a drink, so we go there for awhile, but than that chick shows up with this thing!" Angel produced a laser rifle from the bed of the pickup, "And starts spraying with it. She manages to tag Miller with it before Gothic and Basky jumped her, but after that, shit just went downhill, finally someone manages to stick blade in her and I toss her out a side window, and we run outside to get on our scooters and bug the hell out, but…she was gone man!"
"Whaddya mean gone?"
"I mean gone! She'd lit out!"
"Yeah. I was you guys I'd avoid tangling with the local winged bunch man…those're some bad mothers."
Watching a truck load of Vikingz head to the nearest hospital, The Angels President remembered something, and turned to the Gargoyle standing next to him.
"Hey man, how long do you guys plan on staying?"
"Not long, why?"
"Well not to sound like an asshole, but you guys got more heat on you than I care to be around long?"
"What heat? We haven't pulled anything in weeks."
"Bull shit! It was on the news, 'Vikingz motorcycle gang sought for multiple murders!'."
"But we didn't pull nothing like that! Hell we been on the road for like ten days!"
The President evaluated Angel, before he nodded.
"I believe you man, but who would make up some shit like that?"
"Don't know. But I'm gonna find out." Angel growled as he walked away, pulling on his colors.