Upon sighting the crowd, the cold and calculating part of his mind that controlled him when he was riding took full control, and time slowed. Normally, Havel would have hugged the shoulder and taken his chances, maybe feathering the clutch to give the dicks hogging the road a blast from his engine when he went by. This is different though, what with one of his boys being in amongst the freaky cultists. Company Men had gone native in the past, but it's rare and Yankee ain't old enough to be feeling the long road behind and the bloody death ahead. Hell, he was still trying to eat up the road on his way, last time Havel checked, burning gas like any of the youngbloods.<br/><br/>Signaling to Morgan with a gesture and his brake-light, Havel slows down and rumbles directly into the path of the procession, his ride barking and growling like something large, dangerous and hungry. Swinging off his bike, Havel unslings his shotgun and starts walking the last few yards towards Yankee, automatically checking the load as he goes. He doesn't have to look back to see if Morgan is backing him up; he can hear the action of her SMG working as she slides a round into the chamber. It's gonna be one of those days, one fuckin' thing after another... It's too fucking hot for this horseshit, and he's got places to be and people to do.<br/><br/>"Yankee, I ain't in the mood. You got ten seconds t'explain why I shouldn't kill you now." Even now, his voice is simply firm and confident, not showing the mixture of frustration, anger and confusion that lies beneath the surface. He's not looking at Yankee directly, instead scanning the group with his gun aimed into the air, ready to drop if they get antsy. So, that's the honcho everybody seems so leery about? Havel's not one to fear the hand of God or anything, but nine out of ten times a kooky old man is a kooky old man. Time ten, he's something you don't want to be within a week's hard riding of. Too late to back down now, but Havel makes sure to keep one eye on the prick.<br/><br/>He's not paying to much attention to any one, just enough to make sure nobody pulls a gun on him. As far as he's concerned, Yankee is probably the most dangerous guy in this pack, a real veteran of the Company. That doesn't excuse desertion, which is what this looks like for damn sure; if he wanted out, he called a vote. If the Company thought they could lose him, they'd let him out, or they'd figure some other angle, something. Nobody just walks away from the Company, though, not no how.<br/><br/>"Nine, eight, seven..." he starts counting, even as he pulls back both hammers on his shotgun with an ominous ratcheting click-click. A Company Man deserves his say in a sitch like this, but Havel couldn't see any good reason for Yankee to be out here, sans buddy, sans bike. Most likely, he's about to end up bloating in the ditch for the buzzards. But even though Havel's pissed off and ready to kill, the Captain half of him has to hear Yankee out.