All About the Bikes

We’re pulling into the Benton parking lot now. I’m surprised to see how empty the place looks without its regular commerce taking place. Just two pick-ups and a half dozen Harley Davidsons. Knuckleheads must be doing their thing. I can see shadows moving around out there, but I can’t quite make out what it is that’s going on. As Deep and I are getting out of the car, two of them come stalking in from the dark section of the park.

“Hey, man,” the smaller of the two calls. “Park’s closed tonight.”

Deep looks at me for my reaction. “It’s cool,” I tell the big guy, “We’re Kingfin. Here to check things out.”

Both men keep walking towards us, stopping once they reach us. The smaller guy has long, auburn hair spilling down over his black leather motorcycle jacket. His jeans are faded, but smeared with dirt and grease which I take to mean he actually rides one of the bikes parked out here. His companion’s wearing the same general outfit, except instead of a leather jacket he’s sporting some military issue coat and he’s put his hair back in a ponytail. The larger man crosses his massive arms over his chest, eying us from beneath dark, bushy eyebrows.

“Kingfin, huh?” his voice is raspy and softer than I’d expected. “Well, I don’t think we need any checking up on. Y’all can go on home, now.”

“Yeah,” the smaller guy pipes in, “We paid you guys fair and square for the privacy.”

I lick my lips before speaking so I can reign my temper in. “I’m Percy Straight,” addressing the larger one since I figure he’s in charge. “I’m the man who arranged this deal with Kobra.”

“That so?” the big guy’s beard shifts about as he works his jaw, thinking.

“It is,” I give him direct eye contact, “We’re not here to interrupt your gig, Mr…?”

“Big Doug,” he extends a hand, which I shake firmly, “Member of the Diamondknuckle Saxons. Our boss spoke highly of you, Mr. Straight. That’s rare.”

I nod, “Everything working out down here tonight? Any trouble?”

“Not a bit,” Big Doug relaxes into a less guarded stance. “Your boys are keeping all trouble at bay, so far. Not that we couldn’t handle it ourselves, but it’s good to see they do their job.”

“Mind if I take a look at the proceedings?” I ask, glancing towards some of the shadows moving around out under the trees.

“That’s really not up to me,” he reaches into the side pocket of his coat, pulling out a cellphone. “I can call and ask the boss if it’d be alright with him, though, if you want?”

“Go ahead,” I say, noticing Deep Kut standing over by the bikes. “Mind if I check out your rides?”

“Help yourself,” Big Doug grins slightly, “Just don’t touch nothin’.”

I can hear Big Doug making the call as I stroll over to Deep Kut, pulling out and lighting up a smoke as I go. Deep’s got his hands in his pockets, taking in the beauty of the bikes, their paint jobs glittering even in this low light. They really are a sight to see and in a good deal better shape than the more banged up pickups they’re parked near. Squatting down, Deep seems to be studying the machines, which amuses me.

“You into bikes, Deep?” I ask between drags.

“Huh?” he seems startled as he turns to look up at me. “Oh. I don’t know, I’ve always kind of liked the individuality, you know? Sort of like back in the day when a man rode a horse around to get where he was going. Wild, free kind of thing.”

I suppress a chuckle. “I guess you’re right about that. These bikes sure do speak for themselves. Can’t really picture myself riding one, but they’re good looking machines, aren’t they?”

“Hell yes.” Deep’s tone is one of awe. “Look at the paint job on this one,” he reaches out to touch the bike, “Looks like red wine poured over-”

“Hey!” I whisper. “The man told you not to touch that shit! They get real territorial about these bikes.”

“Oh,” Deep snatches his hand back like the thing was hot. “Sorry, man. Kind of hypnotizing.”

“I feel you.” I, too, am thoroughly impressed by these iron horses. One of them’s a deep shade of maroon with some sort of tribalistic design painted in silver along the body, the other’s metallic forest green up front, fading back into a pale blue towards the rear.

“Like ‘em?” The short guy seems to have materialized behind us because I don’t recall hearing him walking this way. “The Softail’s mine, the one with Polly written down low above the engine. Other one belongs to Big Doug. Rode mine up from L.A. to get here. Four day trip.”

“Nice looking bikes,” Deep says as he stands up. “Must’ve cost you some serious change, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” the biker replies. “My last bike damn near fell apart so I needed a new one, anyhow. Seabeard brothers pitched in and help me get this one custom.”

“Polly the name of the bike or your name?” I ask.

He laughs, “Nah. That’s my old lady’s name. They call me Hurk.”

“You put your mom’s name on your bike?” Deep’s eyebrow’s arching up over his shades.

“Saxons call our girlfriends our old ladies, you know?” Hurk seems highly amused by Deep Kut’s question. “Traditional thing. Goes back to the Hells Angels and all that.”

“You bring her up here with you?” I ask, glancing over to see Big Doug still talking on his cell.

“She always rides with me, wherever I go,” he speaks solemnly which draws my eyes back to him. “In my heart, you know? Passed away a few years back, but I’ll never forget her.”

“Sorry to hear that,” wishing I’d left that subject alone. “Must’ve meant a lot to you.”

“Yeah,” Hurk’s tone is wistful. “We rode all over Southern California. Together for eight years, me and Polly. Stuck with me through a lot of bad shit.”

“That’s the kind of woman to have, for sure.” Deep Kut’s sympathy is genuine, “Stick to you when things get rough. Hard to find a lady like that.”

“Sure is.” Hurk’s making me uncomfortable with this kind of talk, so I’m glad to see his partner heading over our way, at last.

“Kobra says you’re free to take a look around as long as you’ll be quiet,” Big Doug tells me. “What they’re doing takes some concentration so we don’t want them distracted. That cool with you?”

“No problem.” I step on the last of my cigarette since it’s finished. “Just need to take a look around and we’ll be out of your hair.”

With that, Deep Kut and I head towards the park. It’s so cold the grass has iced over and it crunches under our feet. I try to minimize the sound as I take a look around. There’s several big dudes out here, clad like their pals back in the parking lot. Two of them are leaned up against trees keeping a watch over things and a few are wandering around slowly, holding Y-shaped branches out in front of them.

“The hell they doin’?” Deep Kut whispers to me.

“Dowsing,” I keep my voice as low as possible. “Looking for something below the ground out here.”

“Crazy shit,” Deep shakes his head slowly. “Any idea what they’re after?”

“Not a clue,” I respond. “Now keep quiet like the man asked us to.”

We continue on, scoping the place. Over by the bathrooms there are some candles arranged over a chalked symbol on the concrete. More symbols have been chalked on the outside wall of the bathroom, too. One particularly heavy-set biker is watching over the temporary shrine, smoking a cigarette. He eyes us suspiciously, but doesn’t move from his position to approach us. Satisfied that the Knuckleheads aren’t tearing the park up, I head back to the parking lot with Deep Kut in tow.

“Everything check out for you, Mr. Straight?” Big Doug calls as we’re stepping into the parking lot.

“Looking good,” I nod to him. “Except for the writing on the walls outside the restroom. I don’t mind the chalk but I want it off there before you pull out.”

“I’ll let ‘em know,” the large man’s eyes darkened only slightly. “I’m sure it’ll be cleaned up by the time you see it next.”

“Best of luck with your dowsing out there,” I offer. “Hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

Both men nod quietly. It’s something of a standstill because none of us want to be responsible for sparking any sort of war between our gangs. MadBlack would come down on my head like an anvil if I stirred up trouble at this point, so I’m trying to operate with that in mind.

Social etiquette demands that Deep and I excuse ourselves politely from the park these Saxons are renting, so we do that and head back to the Cutlass. The ambiance of Benton seems to have changed. Somehow, things feel different to me right now, but I’m unable to put my finger on it.

Author’s Note: Okay, to anyone still reading I am back after some serious upheaval in my life. I am going to post every day for a while here to get back on track so be sure to check back frequently so you don’t miss out. I apologize for the 2 months of skipping!