Bad Day

Ever have a day like it? I'm stuffed from working extra shifts and that final walk across the carpark is like a weight being removed from my shoulders. Behind me is fourteen hours of backbreaking bullshit and before me the requited love of my hog. In my case it's a 91 xlh, with forward controls, Paughco long-range tank and hypercharger. Each to their own as they say, but that fire breathing sporty suits my modest frame a treat. We come together like lovers and party like newlyweds!

I've just had the tank done. Hours of overtime spent on a neat custom mural my bro's designed for me. It's a wolf in brando jacket and shades cracking an ice-cold beer. Always makes me smile. Anyway my boots hit the bitumen as I get the oven strength blast of hot air from the afternoon sun reflecting straight up at me. And I'm disappointed.

I was expecting to see my bike sitting there, waiting among the other scoots. Instead there's a flatbed ute and a couple of guys there, blocking my view. Still that figures, nothing else has gone right today.

I must admit I usually mind my own business, a habit I picked up young that has always stood me in good stead. But I couldn't help but notice the Harley they were standing by. It's a big green Road King, this year's model with the new Harley motor. I'd noticed it when I rode in this morning and wondered who rode it. It's not such a big parking lot and I know most of the scoots and their owners to at least nodding acquaintance. Some I drink with and some I ride with.

But these three guys I haven't seen before. As I wander over I'm trying to work out which one of em owns the new rig.

The first one is a big kid, muscle turning to fat, bout 6'3. Hes wearing torn jeans and basketball shoes. Sure doesn't look like he can afford a brand new Harley. The second guy is bigger and leaner, shit he's a mountain walking! He's the kind of guy who looks halfbreed, but I'm damned if I can figure what he's got in him. Whatever it is its big and mean. He's a possible. The third is tall with long read hair and beard, solid and lean. For my money I reckon he's the owner, though I would have figured him for a softail rider myself.

The three see me wandering over and seem to size me up. The kid looks nervous, the rider gives me a stare and the big guy just looks big!

So what, I get that. I'm not a huge guy, bout 5'4 and lanky. But I got a crop of wild curly hair and bushy eyebrows and beard that earned me the handle BB (as in big bad wolf) spose some of the wildness of my soul shows in my eyes and the way I ride or something. But I'm kindov used to folks looking at me like I crawled from under a rock. Mostly I couldn't give a rat's arse what they think.

So anyway I nod at the rider as I go past to get to my sporty, and he nods back.

"Nice wheels" he says quietly.

I cast an appraising look at my scoot, her long sharp lines, the narrow front with its matt black fork brace and the twin disks I got at a swap meet.

"Oh yeah" I smile, slinging my bag on the back, "does me fine!"

I notice the big guy has picked up some seriously heavy duty bolt cutters and is starting to cut the chain that holds the Road King to the rail.

"Forget your keys mate?" I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

He gives me a look and redbeard explains.

"Little brother here went and lost the fucking keys, Davo's giving me a lift to the lock smith"

I look at the kid, and he looks kinda sheepish. But I wasn't born yesterday. I mean Harleys come with two sets of keys right? And I don't know, I couldn't see myself handing anyone the keys to a new scoot. Maybe I'm funny bout such things, but something's starting to ring warning bells at the back of my mind.

"You ain't got spares? I mean it seems like a waste of a chain?" I say suspicious as hell.

The big guy speaks out, "nah, this chains shit," he says, punctuating his remarks by cutting it like it was butter.

Now I got a bad feeling about this, you know the one. The one that tightens your gut and makes you feel a chill like someone just walked over your grave. For all I know they could be telling the truth, hell it shouldn't be any of my business if this dude wants to lend his bike to his idiot brother. But then again I had a bike stolen once. And I know what it feels like to come back to find your pride and joy reduced to an oil stain in a carpark. Hell I'm still paying higher premiums cos of it. But then any one of these guys looks like they could mess me up and I'm not a hero by nature.

I take a few steps backwards towards the back of the flatbed, figuring I might just note the numberplate. At least that way if the these three aren't on the level I can pass on the info. Well I look and let me tell you its not good.

There's a numberplate there all right, but its got mud on it and I notice a patch of tape sticking out on one corner holding it on.

And redbeard has reached into the cab and casually picked up a long screwdriver. Really casually in fact. You would almost imagine he meant nothing by it if you weren't a paranoid mongrel like myself.

"What're you doing?" he asks as the kid and his big mate grab either end of the Road king and struggle to lift it into the truck.

I'm keeping my eyes on redbeard, and that screwdriver that's sitting in his hand.

"Nothing, mate. Just thought I saw something stuck in your back tyre there, its nothing," I say, trying to make it sound genuine. Apparently I wasn't too convincing.

The kid and the mountain have struggled under the weight but somehow got the Road King into the back, when the air is split by an alarm. One of those big silver disk locks that has a motion sensor built into it. Not a real reliable one by the look of it. Well they both jump, almost dropping the bike onto themselves, redbeard jumps too.

Me, I'm working on instinct, see I might buy the guy's story about the keys; but he would have to know about that fucking lock. So for my money things just changed enough to convince me that these were nothing but goddamn bike thieves!

Ever wonder how you decide things? How you weigh the situation, your abilities and work out what to do based on numbers and odds in under a second at times like these? Well I don't, cos I didn't. I just saw my stolen bike and felt the rage of that empty carpark again and shot a jab punch straight into redbeards hairy chin.

Now like I said, I'm not a big guy, my shot only brought him back to earth, and that screwdriver came straight at my throat like a mean metal snake! Thankfully when you're small you learn how to use what you've got. Years of martial arts training kicked in and I pivot, feeling the steel graise my neck, as I slam my right fist into reds face. This one has my body weight behind it and his head snaps back like a speed ball. He seems stunned, unsure of what to do, so I drive a steel capped boot into his nuts to decide the matter for him. It barely lifts him but his legs don't seem to work when his feet touch the bitumen again. The kid comes at me in a screaming rugby tackle and suddenly I've got problems. You see I cant afford to get tied down with this bloke, he has too much of a weight advantage. In a move born of desperation I grab one of his arms and throw myself towards the Ute! His momentum hits me hard in the guts, knocking the wind from me as we slam into the flat bed. I catch the tray across my spine and my jacket barely stops any of the impact, but lard boy is not so lucky. The bang of his head on it rocks the damn Ute! I slam him across the back of the neck with my elbow to break his hold and as he staggers back holding his head I take the opportunity to kick him in his downturned face. I feel his teeth give with a shattering crunch.

Not bad for a little guy huh? Well before you get the idea that I'm some sort of Bruce Lee avenger, you might remember the big guy? Well I didn't and let me tell you something my ol master used to tell me at training, "never take your eyes off a big man with bolt cutters grasshopper, or he will smash em hard over your stupid head!"

The insight of that lesson would be felt later, all I felt now was a smash to my head like I was hit by lightning. Shit that hurt like a sonofabitch!

I hit the bitumen as if I had been thrown into it, but tried to stagger to my feet. You don't go down in a street fight unless you want to stay there, but the ground isn't helping me anymore. Its swaying and the worlds going red and black. I can see mountain man coming at me with those damn cutters raised high and somewhere at the back of what's left of my head instinct takes over. I've pulled my buck knife from its oldtimers sheath in fluid action and driven it into his leg. Now its not a fighting knife, just a handy little 3 inch blade my brother got me for my twenty first birthday. Only ever been used on cardboard and packing tape before but I plunge it into his leg and drive it up for all I'm worth. Which is good and bad. Good in that it causes him to miss my head with those cutters and bad in that they thump into my back, dropping me to my knees a second time. The jolt and the new flash of pain is playing havoc with my head, the world swims again as I feel something grab me by my shoulders and throw me backwards. Now I knew this bloke looked strong, shit my head could testify to that, but I flew backwards like a leaf before a hurricane. My sporty hit me behind my legs and dragged me down. Guess what hit the deck first with a wooden thump? Yeah, and it bloody hurt! The sporty was knocked off its side stand and crashed onto me, trapping my body beneath it and my legs over its saddle like I'd just had a terrible accident, and for a moment in my dazed state I thought I had. Then I saw mountain man coming in with those damn cutters again, a look on his face like a mad bull. And somewhere that instinct at the back of my mind says "screw it man your on your own, your dead!"

Spose I figured I was, I was so smacked up remaining conscious was more of a challenge than I felt up too. So the siren came as a surprise. It cut the air searing into my beating head like a knife. I moaned in protest and obviously mountain man hurt too cos he stops, turns and leaps for the truck, grabbing the kid as he goes. I didn't see what redbeard did as I had this swarm of angry blowflies in my head feasting on blood and spraying technicolour pain about like nothing I'd ever known. It was all I could do to notice the squad car half-visible under my sporty. A face looked out from it, a strangely familiar face but the blowflies kept me from focusing too much on that.

"Bike thieves!" I tried to scream, but my voice came out a dark and ruptured croak. The truck shot past them and somehow the cop made a choice. Spinning his wheels he took off in pursuit leaving me there to drop blood and catch my breath.

I lay there till the blowflies settled down to a thumping buzz and I figured I could move without throwing up or passing out.

Getting out from under my bike was quite an effort, especially as I didn't want it to fall over and smash up the new paint work. Funny what you care about at times like that. Once she was back on her sidestand I picked up my knife and headed off. The Harleys starting bark rang around in my head stirring up an angry buzz from the blowflies as I eased her out of the carpark and made for help. One thing about a Harley, the more wasted you are the more they tend to carry you, like a faithful horse that knows its way home.

At least the cool air helped clear my head a little and rhythm of the Harley started to soothe my sore body. By the time I rolled into the local hotel I felt almost alive again. I pulled her up in front of the bar, reaching for my helmet straps only to find I'd forgotten to put my lid on. Oh well, too hell with it. I got up the stairs with effort and staggered into the bar. Silent bob was living up to his name and had my usual beer and whisky chaser ready without a word being spoken. Till he saw my head.

"Shit BB, you get hit by a truck?" he asked.

"Yeah," I croaked as I reached for the much needed brew, "the Doc in?"

Bob nodded and yelled over my shoulder "hey Doc grab your stitch kit!"

Doc, for those of you who don't know him, was a promising doctor before he decided that his mind was better suited to pickling then medicine. Still he was a useful guy to know and he doesn't ask too many questions. He is also a lot cheaper than the medical centre.

The old timer weaved unsteadily over with breath that reeked like a brewery and could anaesthetise a buffalo.

"Hmm" he mused "that looks like a triple"

I nodded gently and stuck a twenty on the counter as Silent Bob started pouring shots of jack into a beer glass. Doc knocked it back as if he had been doing it all day, which he probably had.

"Perhaps some anaesthetic for the patient?" doc asked threading what looked like a huge upholstery needle with some thick black cotton.

"Sure" I grumbled and shot back my whisky as I tried to pretend I was somewhere else for the next twenty minutes. There's an old Zen trick where you try to put all your consciousness into just one part of your body, but I was hard pressed finding somewhere that didn't ache like a bastard!

It seemed forever when doc finally stopped yanking that pin through my scalp and announced, "Well BB, I think your going to live!"

"I sure don't feel like it" I grumbled "but if that's your medical opinion."

"Oh gods no!" the oldtimer announced appalled "I'm too drunk give a medical one, that's based on experience!" he said tapping his nose as if we shared a secret. I almost managed a smile, was still working on it when the bar went quiet.

Now my local isn't a skittish place and the crowd isn't prone to sudden silence, in fact there were only a few things I could think of that would make them do that and I wasn't up to any of them.

Doc made a hasty exit to the left as I swivelled my barstool. A patrolman had entered carrying a bottle of Jack Daniels.

I recognised him instantly. Ted and I had played on the same football team at high school, he was a forward, I played winger. We had never been mates as such and with our divergent lifestyles we weren't now. But we would exchange nods and the odd word now and then. Still I wasn't exactly happy to see him.

"G'day Steve," he said using the name no one else does.

"Hows things?" I asked keeping it polite.

"Busy afternoon, caught three grubs in a stolen Ute with a Harley on it, red handed. Lucky I spose"

"Good," I said honestly "Fucking bike thieves should be shot!" I had a head full of stitches and whole lot of resentment behind my words.

He nodded in quiet sympathy, before silencing a murmur of agreement from those in earshot with his wandering look.

"Yeah well, we're charging them for two counts of vehicle theft and assaulting an officer. Got the bike back to its owner too. An old bloke, recently retired, buying his first bike so he can see a bit of the country. He was mighty relieved."

I nodded, content to let Ted do the talking, after all, silence never did anyone harm in court.

"He wanted me to give this bottle to the guy who tried to save his bike, but it's a funny thing."

"What?" I asked hoping that the ringing in my head was only concussion and not a warning bell.

"Well you see the guy stuck a blade in one of the goons, and as you know carrying a knife in public isn't legal. Neithers using it for that matter. The maggot wanted to press charges but by the time we got back there the other guy was gone"

I focused carefully and watched my words "that's too bad, still spose those are the breaks"

Ted looked at me closely, " yeah, well he used a knife much like that one you used to have, you know the one?"

Yeah that bell was ringing so hard it made my head throb!

"Nah" I said in a voice I hoped sounded casual "I lost that old thing at a rally a few weeks ago, don't know where it is anymore."

The lie felt all the worst with it sitting in its pouch behind my back, staining my flannelette shirt with blood.

Ted gave me a searching look before continuing. "Well probably for the best. You see this guy were looking for, I didn't get a good look at him. He was under a bike so I suppose without the knife there's not a lot I can do" he said looking closely at me. Pausing for a moment to grace me with another searching look he placed the bottle on the bar in front of me.

"Since I've given up booze for lent you may as well have this Steve, looks to me like you need it." As he turned for the door I breathed a sigh of quiet relief, but it died in my throat as Ted's voice carried from the door. "Strangest thing; We only got there in time because some old lady rang to say a biker was picking on three guys in a Ute. Funny how things work out huh?" The door swung shut behind him with a bang as he left.

"Yeah real funny" I agreed out loud, "Personally I'm laughing my fucking head off!"

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