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The
Deusenburg climbed through a worsening fog, then down into Freeland and neared
Karr’s. There it slowed, and took the winding road through the scrub oak and
laurel thickets of the Forest.
Whatever.
It saved his life. Still, that didn’t mean he had to like it. Benny cast a
nervous glance over his shoulder.
Old
man Ryan -
Benny
cursed, shaking with frustration and fatigue. Dammit, almost home. Almost
safe. Now this.
“God
hates me.”
He
kicked at the rocks. Then yiked as pain shot up his leg. Hopping back on one
foot, he rolled his eyes at the east and the dalonega
‘sun’ on which God sat.
“Thanks,
You -”
A
part of the cliff tipped, rumbling into the misty depths. Fearing the place
the motorcycle rested would be next, Benny cried out.
A
deep growl filled the air. Benny froze. It had to be some of Ryan’s war
dogs. He stared into the brilliant blue of a headlamp.
The
Gold Sun was as massive as its rider. The colors were black with silver chase
that seemed to swirl and shift when followed by the eyes. Benny blinked. The
rider himself wore his hair in a shaggy blond horsetail length Mohawk. A road
warrior, he was darkly tanned and battered of face.
The
motorcycle’s roar muttered to a lesser, not so dangerous level and she
rolled to a stop. The rider nodded at Benny.
“So
much for evolution, ain’t it, kid?”
The
man rumbled a laugh. “Generations of rug-rats,” the genial giant smirked
at Benny, “and you still freeze when you get caught.” With leonine grace,
he swung off the saddle.
Chrome
studs on the open jacket glittered at Benny. The motorcycle rumbled smoothly,
softly in the night. Benny scowled at the lamp. It looked like a giant
sapphire. The ragged tee shirt gleamed lime white. The jacket’s sleeves had
been torn off to accommodate the Rider’s massive arms.
He
threw a wary glance at the burly man. Couldn’t be one of Ryan’s. Ryan’s
war-dogs whored and doped like rednecks. They stank of death and unwashed
bodies. This dude smelled, well, cleaner than Ryan’s beef-brained thugs.
The
rider’s words drifted sluggish and thick into Benny’s weary mind. It would
be a while yet before it functioned on anything but the fact he had
survived.
“Ya.
Har-dee-har-har.”
He
flushed then, slightly ashamed. Totally and completely overawed by the man and
the terrible beauty of the Charger, Benny lowered his gaze to the bare feet of
the rider.
“You
doin’, kid?”
Startled,
Benny glanced up. the rider’s voice matched the Gold Sun’s rumble, but
there was something there . . . Love, maybe . . . .
Benny
gave a noncommittal shrug. He nodded at his Uohali.
“Wheel’s
caught in some rocks.”
Belatedly,
he raised his hand in the Eagle:Woman’s peace sign, index and middle fingers
crossed. He didn’t know why, but the guy reminded him of somebody. The big
dude had a face only a Mack truck could love.
“Most
folks just call me the Rider,” the man said into Benny’s silence. “To
friends and fam, the name’s Hank, little bro.”
He
gave the sign for peace, his fingers twisted in the ‘Warrior’ and
‘Brotherhood’ signs. Hank thrust out his hand.
Benny
took the hand, half expecting to lose his own in the other’s burl of a fist.
He felt scars and calluses that could only have come from hard fights and
harder labor, and wondered what pen this big dude had done time in.
“A
pleasure, kid.”
Squatting
by the front of the Uohali, the man
took out a small lighter and flicked it on. He flashed a grin and laughed.
“Bet
you cussed a streak, didn’t you?” More soberly he added, “But if they
hadn’t held, your ma would o’ been hosting another funeral.”
Squirming
a little, Benny shrugged, cool and defiant.
“Yeah,
well, Mom says all things work together for good, man. Tonight was . . . kind
o’ too much.” He could feel his face burning.
The
driver popped the clutch. Slowing only for the sharper curves, he raced
towards the old mining village of Sandy Run. Each for their own reasons, the
occupants hungered for the chase to draw to a close. Henri clutched a under
and prayed for the strength to finish his life’s work before the Spider or
Cindy could finish him.
“Blackman
Street Bar.” Hank chuckled and shook his head. The Mohawk tumbled down his
back and wisps of it lifted in the light of a coming dawn.
“I
was there, my man. Saw what happened. Saw old man Ryan, too, the bastar- uh .
. . I mean, old fart.”
Hank
winced and a reddish mark appeared in his right ear lobe, in the shape of a
woman’s finger nail. The left was too full of gold and jet earrings. A small
gold slave loop and a red cedarwood cross dominated them.
The
light flared, a bright blue glow.
“She’s
OK, kid. Nothing bad. Let me see if I can move one of the rocks.” The light
wisp out. There was a sharp crack. Then came the dying clatter of stone
falling from a great height.
“Grab
the bars.”
Hank
picked up the front end and heaved.
Clinging
hard to the bars, Benny stumbled backwards at the unexpected force of the
man’s shove.
Mumbling
his thanks, no man likes being beholden to another, Benny climbed into the
saddle and stuck out a hand.
Careful
of the injuries, the rider shook it.
“Sorry
I couldn’t help ya at the bar, Grey-Wolf. I was kind o’ in the middle of
one of my own. ‘Sides, it was only three against you.” He chuckled. “And
you did all right. For a kid.”
Bruises,
contusions, and abrasions. Elated, Benny flushed with pride. Yeah, he was
still kicking, still alive, so he did OK.
Knowing
in his heart that this man would have helped if he could, Benny nodded. Funny,
but if this dude really had been into it, he knew he would have seen him.
Riders know riders. Probably ducked out the back the minute it ended. More
than likely he was on parole and didn’t want to go back to the slammer.
“Don’t
matter.” Benny shrugged. “It happens, bro. Now it’s over.”
“Till
next time,” Rider said with a lazy grin. “Ain’t never over, kid. Not by
a long shot. Not on this side the Veil of the Sun.”
Benny
caught the Rider’s irony and realized they were talking about two very
different things.
Hank
nodded at the motorcycle. “Try her. If she vapor-locked, I’ll stand you a
ride home.”
Benny
glanced at the black charger, his eyes wistful. With a groan of longing, he
stood, kicking hard. The motorcycle puttered and died.
He
snarled, impotent to do more. Benny ducked his head. His legs were weakening
to a dangerous level and he trembled.
“Let
me try.” Hank swung on behind Benny and kicked. The old Night Sun roared to
life. And died. Hank kicked again and she caught, held. And muttered away.
“You
rotten old - Yowch.”
Benny
glared over one shoulder at the Rider and with gentle fingers touched the
place he was certain the man had cracked open his skull.
“What’d
you hit me for?”
Hank’s
face was deceptively mild.
“You
kiss your mom with that mouth?”
Hank
bared his teeth at the spirit of the old motorcycle. A jolt shuddered through
the Night Sun. She roared and kept on roaring.
Still
rubbing at the concussion he knew he must have, Benny hastened to turn back
the accelerator before the Night Sun flooded. He squinted through the gray
light of dawn at the big man.
“Uh,
thanks . . . I think.”
“Any
time, kid.”
Hank
pulled a pack of Indiana Slims from his jacket pocket and lit one with the
glowing blue lighter. He offered one to Benny. Benny took it, inhaled the
fragrant smoke and grinned. Cigarillo clamped between pearl white teeth Hank
stalked to his charger, and swung his leg over the back of the saddle. He
smiled a wolfish grin around the cigarillo. “Any time. I’m here for you.
See ya’ ‘round, li’l-bro.”
The
Charger moved off.
“Hey,”
Benny yelled. “Wait up, bro. Do I know you?” Benny scowled through the
gloom at the giant. The dude looked real familiar. Like, you never forget the
Mack truck that smeared you like a road squirrel . . . yeah. Benny rubbed the
bruise on his head. Real familiar. But from where?
With
an easy grin, Hank nodded. “Sure, bro. I knew you all your life. Ming:O is as Ming:O dies,
like the folks down around Sleeping Woman Mountain say. And who don’t know
who in the Valley?
“You
watch out for that bim, Leda. She’s up to her old . . . ah, no pun intended, tricks.”
He chuckled and winked.
Benny
watched the Gold Sun shoot off onto a dirt track that twisted around deep,
nightmarish pits and mountains of coal mine tailings, and was awed. Man, but this dude was a real rider. How else could he go so
fast and still miss all those holes and rock?
A
set of amber lights burst through the fog.
Whistling
an old Rez tune, Benny flipped the bird at the Deusenburg. He tapped the shift
and slid down through the misty dawn to the safety within the shadowy Forests
of the Valley of Death.
It
never ends
And never, never, back down
Dohi:yi, kid,
With love,
Mom-Eagle
©2002 StoriesByEmail.com
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