Beer and Cigar

This is gonna hurt. Yeah, real bad I figure. Better rest awhile. Gather strength.
It's gonna hurt alright.

5 hours earlier.

I click on the send button. The last thing to do after making sure the ad says
what I want it to say. Pictures in place. And I wrote the two code words into the
box. Gotta do that for Craigslist. Now it is just wait and see who responds.

I get a beer and a cigar. Go back into the garage. Still thinking about the ad. I
believe that the heading, Knucklehead Chopper, will get some attention. The pics for
sure. My baby is gonna do right by me. Just like the last 10 years. Hate to sell my
pride. Have to do it. No job. No prospects. Damn idiots in Washington have ruined
everything. Bastards.

The first email response is a scam. Proves Craigslist is a scammers heaven. Bastards.

The next few emails are from wanna-be biker lawyers, accountants and such. Pretty boys
with money and no brains. Pocket book bikers. Bastards.

My baby is for real bikers. I wait.

3 hours later.

After 6 Ultra's (gotta watch my weight and carbs) and another fine cigar and numerous
goofy emails, the first real biker responds. Knows what a jockey shift is. Knows
that the left foot is the clutch because of the dog chain. Gets the drift of no
gages. We make an appointment to see my baby.

Real time.

The biker arrives with a friend. Big dudes. Tattoos and all. Beards and leather.
Tough characters for sure. Wearing the colors. Crap. Serious bikers these two. Best
be on my toes. The negotiations begin.

"Hey, bro. We're here for the knuck."
"
"Over here in the garage."

They follow behind me into the garage. Not comfortable with them behind me. Gotta be
done. They see the bike.

The bigger one goes over to the bike. Must be the guy gonna buy it. His partner stays
behind me. Not to close. Yet close enough.

"Bro," the biker at my baby says to the one behind me. "This is the real deal. Just like the
pictures. Only better. Man, she's real nice."

"Yeah buddy." his friend says. "Would make a big man's balls crawl inside and hide
beneath his stomach!" He grins and laughs. I chuckle nervously.


"How much friend?"

I say, "you read the ad. How much ya brung?"

"Enuff. Gotta a beer?"

Must have been a signal. His friend grabs me from behind. Pins my arms down to my
sides. I imagine he still has that grin. "In the fridge, friend."

"Good." He walks over to the garage fridge. He opens the door. "Ultra's. You diabetic?"

"Something like that." Small talk.

"Fuck. You want one?" I gather it wasn't for me. I don't answer. His partner says no.

He grabs a beer and twists the top off before closing the fridge door. He takes a
long swig. "Bitchin, it's cold. Thanks," and he tips the bottle in my direction.

"Anytime bro."

He walks over with his beer and stands directly in front of me. Man, this guy is huge.

"Well, here's the deal friend. I take your bike. You don't call the cops. You live.
And since I'm a generous sort, I'll send over a case of Ultra's from the store."

"Sounds mighty fine bro." I gotta get out of this hold. Then I can do some real
negotiating.

"Thought you'd see it my way. But, to make sure you follow through on your end we gonna
have to knock you out. Then we load the bike and leave. You wake up with a case at
your feet. OK?"

I whistle real loud. The garage door slams shut and the lights go out. Startled, the
biker holding me lets some tension off my arms. Just enough. I break free and stomp
on his right foot just before the ankle. He screams.

As I lunge off the screaming biker I force my head under the chin of the other big
dude. He loses balance and falls into the knuck. He lands on the floor and the bike
falls on top of him, temporarily pinning him down.

I whistle again, more softly. Out of the shadows my help emerges.

Yep, it's gonna hurt. I'll have a bloody mess to clean later. Hope I still have
enough Ultra's in the fridge. The man under the bike screams. My friend has started.