Hard Ride Home (Tiger Snakes Motorcycle Club) (2 page)

There were few in town who were happy to see him. When the Snakes lost the support—or at least the tolerance—of the town, they moved their operations closer to Vegas, but the old clubhouse, and the old wounds, were still there.

Because no one in town would risk buying Snake property, the clubhouse was abandoned and rapidly decaying into ruin. Most of the windows had been broken out by high school boys trying to show their courage to their girlfriends. The big plywood snake above the door was still there, but the tiger’s head was gone, either removed by the club or taken as a trophy by one of the local high school youths.

“Why do you still wear that terrible vest?” his mom asked him one day. “It just reminds the town of what you once were.”

“It reminds me, too,” he answered. “It reminds me never to descend down to that level again. There are a lot of clubs out there, even one-percenters, who aren’t like the Snakes. Maybe one day I will affiliate with one of them. Until then, I wear a blank vest.”

“Not in my store!” she replied emphatically. “It will scare away customers.”

What more than two dozen bikers had been unable to do with brute force, his mother did with just four words. Ron Pilua was never seen around town without his vest, but when he was behind the counter of his mother’s store, the vest was neatly folded and sitting on the desk in the back room.

Weeks passed, and then months. Normally Ron did all of his own maintenance on his bike, but his tools were in a storage locker in Reno. And besides, in Melbourne he didn’t have access to the specialized computers and tools needed to work on a modern Honda engine.

There weren’t a lot of choices for mechanics in Melbourne, but Carlisle Brothers Automotive advertised that they had certified motorcycle mechanics for all brands. Ron had seen such claims before only to find out that the mechanics didn’t know a spark plug from their own tail pipe. Before he let some half-assed, shade tree mechanic work on his bike, he was going to check him out very carefully.

***

Amanda Davis was the only female mechanic working at Carlisle Brothers Automotive Repair. She was also their only motorcycle mechanic. She had a tech school degree in motorcycle repair and was factory certified for Honda, Harley, Moto Guzzi, and several other brands. When she married Brad, it had been their dream to open their own shop or dealership someday. But Brad’s excessive drinking destroyed that dream, and his excessive womanizing destroyed their marriage. Now all she had were her tools, her certifications, and a nine-year-old autistic son.

Amanda could easily get a much better job with better pay and better working conditions if she were able to move out of Melbourne, but Brad consistently refused to help with Tommy— financially or otherwise—so she had to stay close to her mom for babysitting help. She had looked into relocating to Vegas or Reno. In a larger community, she could get additional state help with Tommy because of his autism, but that would require at least a six-month wait while they re-qualified.

She had also looked into taking action on the lack of child support, but Brad hadn’t held a real job in several years. The lawyer she consulted told her, “We could get him thrown in jail, but that wouldn’t get you any money and you would have to take Tommy up to see him regularly at Indian Springs. I don’t think you want to put him through that.”

The lawyer was right; Amanda
didn’t
want to put Tommy through that. But as a result she was effectively trapped in Melbourne and trapped at Carlisle Brothers Auto.

Each time one of the other mechanics made crude comments or made a pass at her—or worse, when one of the brothers started playing “grab ass” after hours—she would look for strength in the calendar posted on the wall above her tools. Where the other mechanics had years’ worth of calendars in their bays showing scantily-clad girls sitting on cars, she had one calendar with one picture: a knight in shining armor sitting on his black and white steed.

“Someday, my knight will ride in here and rescue me,” she would say softly to herself when things got bad. On a particularly terrible day she would add under her breath, “That, or one day I am going to go postal and wipe out this whole damn place.”

She was in the middle of replacing the drive belt on a twenty-year-old Harley Sportster when she heard David Carlisle’s whiney voice. “You don’t need to talk to the mechanics. I guarantee we’ve got the best mechanics this side of the Rockies. And they all have the latest certifications.”

Crouched down behind the bike on its repair stand she couldn’t see who he was talking to, but then she heard a deep, firm voice say, “But you aren’t the one who will be working on my bike. I would like to check him out before I let him touch my 1300… And I’d like to see his certifications.”

Amanda stood up from behind the bike. Her thin T-shirt was clinging slightly to her body, so there was immediately no doubt that she was a woman. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail to keep it out of the way while she worked. Her face flashed with anger for just an instant as she looked at Dave, then softened greatly as she turned her gaze to Ron’s tall, muscular frame.

“Certs are on the wall,” she said matter-of-factly. “They’re all up to date and valid. You can check the numbers on the Honda factory website if you don’t believe me.”

“Don’t mind her,” Dave cut in. “She’s a little mouthy. Good mechanic, but the woman don’t know her place.”

“And what
is
her place!?” asked Ron. There was obvious anger in his voice, also apparent on his face. Dave stared at him for a moment and then harrumphed loudly and stomped back to his office.

Amanda took a closer look at the handsome stranger who was defending her against her sleazy boss. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him. In the background, through the open shop doors, she could see his ride. The black and white ST1300 stood on the asphalt in the sun like a powerful warhorse. “You even rode in on a black and white steed,” she said softly to herself.

“What?” Ron asked. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

Amanda blushed slightly and said, “What’s wrong with the bike? It looks pretty new.”

“Routine maintenance,” he answered. “But I wanted to check out the mechanic before he—or she—worked on the bike.”

“So,” she replied, “do I check out?”

Her smile told Ron that the double entendre was intentional. Ron coughed slightly. “Yes, the mechanic checks out. I would trust you to work on my bike.” Then he returned her smile and added, “The woman checks out, too.” After a pause, he asked, “What’s your name?”

“Amanda. What’s yours?”

“Ron,” he answered. “Ronald Pilau.”

“Oh,” she said as the recognition showed on her face. Her voice was much less bright as she continued, “You were a couple years behind me in high school.” She looked down at the ground and then back up at Ron and asked, “You were one of the Snakes, weren’t you? The one the police let go?” She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled as she realized that her hopes, which had just been raised so high, were once again crushed. “Do you still ride with them?” she asked.

In answer Ron turned to show the blank back of his vest. “According to them, I never did,” he said flatly. “At least that’s what they said when they threw me out.” He laughed slightly. “I haven’t been able to join up with anyone else since then. Clubs I would like to affiliate with are afraid of my Snake background. And the clubs that
would
welcome a former Snake aren’t exactly what I’m looking for. I went down that rat hole, or should I say snake hole, once before. It wasn’t for me then and it isn’t for me now.”

“So,” she began, “have you come back to your home town on your good guy bike as The Lone Ranger trying to right all wrongs or as Don Quixote coming to rescue the Lady Dulcinea?” Her voice was somewhere between sarcasm and hope.

“Actually,” he answered, “I came here because my dying father asked to see me one last time. And I stayed because my mother begged me to help with the store until she can get it sold.” He then met her gaze directly and continued evenly, “I don’t have a mask and I left my lance in storage in Reno.”

“But you defended Dulcinea against the dragon,” she replied. The brightness and hope was back in her voice.

“Is that how you see yourself?” he asked.

“I have a drunken ex who won’t pay child support, a nine-year-old who lives in his own autistic world, and… well, you met Dave.” She shrugged and began wiping off her tools. “I have three bikes ahead of you,” she said. “Should be able to get to yours late tomorrow or the next day. You want to leave it now, or will you bring it back in tomorrow?”

“I’ll bring it back in,” he replied. “I need it tonight to pick up my date for dinner, if she can get a sitter for her son.”

“Oh,” Amanda answered. Disappointment showed through her voice. “Who’s your date and where are you going?”

“You,” he said with a grin. “And I’ll let you choose the place.”

“Dave will have a fit if I leave on time—or as he calls it, ‘early,’ but today, he will just have to live with it. I’m supposed to get off at five.” She set the cover plate in place on the roadster as she continued speaking. “Tommy is at my mom’s. I just need to call her and tell her what is going on and then stop by to tell Tommy what is happening.” She looked up at Ron. “He is on a very consistent schedule and gets easily upset if there is any change. It should only take a few minutes to get him to understand.”

“I’ll pick you up at your place at six,” Ron replied. “Just tell me the address.”

“The old Swan motel,” she laughed. “They converted the rooms to small apartments. There isn’t really an address. Nobody uses addresses in this town anyway. It’s over on Fourth near the highway. Apartment seven on the second floor. I’ll hear you coming and meet you at the base of the steps.”

“Where would you like to eat?”

“Gombardi’s has the best Italian food in town,” she replied immediately.

“See you at six,” Ron said as he walked back to his bike. Maybe his stay in Melbourne might not be so bad after all.

***

The sign in front of the Swan Motel had been cheaply repainted to read Swan Apartments. It was obviously not top of the line in accommodations, but it fit Amanda’s obviously struggling economic situation. She was standing at the foot of the steps to the second floor balcony when Ron turned his bike into the parking lot.

“I talked to mom,” she said as he pulled up. “She’ll watch Tommy for the evening, but we have to stop by so I can explain things to him.” She then got on the bike behind Ron and gave him directions to her mother’s home. It was an older, cottage-style house with all of the little signs that there was no longer a man around to do the minor maintenance that every home needs.

“You didn’t say anything about your dad,” Ron said as they walked toward the front door. “Is he out of the picture?”

“He died four years ago,” she answered. “He was around long enough to see that his warnings about Brad were right, but at least he didn’t have to see how bad it really became.”

Ron started to ask more but Amanda’s mother opened the door as they stepped onto the porch. “Mandy,” she said brightly as she ushered them into the living room, “this must be your knight in shining armor.” Turning to Ron she said with a smile, “You can call me Martha. Mandy said your name is Ronald. Do you prefer that or Ron?”

“Call me Ron,” he replied with a laugh.

“And this is Tommy,” Amanda said quietly, gesturing toward a young boy sitting on the floor with several decks of cards spread out in front of him. “He is always playing with those cards,” she said, “but only he understands what game he is playing with them. I’ll explain to him that the routine for tonight is changed.”

Ron held up his hand with his index finger raised and mouthed, “Give me just a minute.” Then he sat down cross-legged on the floor in front of Tommy.

It was more than a minute. Actually it was almost ten minutes that he sat there silently as Tommy arranged and rearranged the cards on the floor in front of him. Finally Ron said, “Is it OK if I talk to you, Tommy?”