Maxine's New Life Ch. 05

The fact that there was no shade was going to be a problem, if Marty took too long to come back or if someone didn't happen along. I got my ass painfully back to the trailer and the water bottle. I propped against the overturned trailer and drank the water.

I was thrilled when I heard the buzz of Marty's engine several minutes later. Even though my injuries weren't life threatening, they did hurt. Not only that, I needed to get out of the sun. Heatstroke was a possibility for sure.

"Are you alright?" Marty asked, standing over me.

"I'm more embarrassed than anything."

"What the hell happened," Marty asked. He obviously had no idea what to do.

"I swerved to avoid something that looked like a dog. Probably a coyote," I said. Marty just stood there still lost in thought. "Marty get on that fancy phone of yours and call AAA."

"Of course, do you need an ambulance?" he asked.

"No, but I need a place to clean up. They can take me and the bike to a town with a motel."

"Motel, my ass, you are going to a doctor at the very least." Since Marty had climbed out of his stupor and began playing 'Man in Charge, ' I let him.

"They are just scrapes, but I could use some painkillers, so okay." I said.

Even with the fancy phone, Marty had to do some gyrations to get to a tow truck. It took almost an hour for the truck to arrive. We got a ride into El Centro, CA. The bike went to a recovery yard there, and I went to a Doctor's office.

"Ms Stone, since I don't have your medical records are there any drug you are allergic to?" the nurse asked.

"I can't think of any that I react particularly badly to. Some of the new antibiotics give me the runs."

"I noticed that you were having a problem walking, could you tell me the extent of your injuries you are aware of at this time."

"I banged up my ribs, but I'm not sure what that is. I have a large scrape on my arm which is covered at the moment. Something is going on with my knee, but I haven't been able to see what it is. Mostly, I expect, I am one giant bruise."

"That sounds like a pretty good diagnosis. Let's get those jeans off and see about the leg."

"Usually, when people suggest I take my jeans off, they buy me dinner first," I said, trying to smile.

"At least you seem to be in good spirits. I'll make a note of dinner just in case," she said smiling. It was not a sexy smile; it was more a co-conspirator smile. She might have fixing me up with her brother in mind.

As I had expected the knee was bloody. It too looked like a scrape about the size of a dollar bill. I was going to have some real issues with that scrape under my jeans.

"You are one lucky woman," the doctor said, when he examined me.

"If I was really lucky, the coyote would be here instead of me." I did smile when I said.

"True, but you could be very dead. From what your friend tells me, you were doing about thirty miles an hour on a bicycle. That is risky behavior at best."

"Sex with a stranger is probably more risky," I replied.

"You could always use condoms," he suggested.

"Do you think a condom would have saved any of Ted Bundy's victims?" I asked. The doctor gave me a stern look. Obviously, his sense of humor was weak. Shame, because he really was a cute younger man. I outranked him by well over ten years, and that hurt more than the ribs. God, getting old was a bitch, I thought. I mean I was having sex when he was still sucking his mom's tit, and I was looking to him for drugs. Life was so unfair.

Even before they had all my scrapes cleaned and covered, I had Marty out buying me clothes. I left the doctor's office dressed in new jeans and a way oversized sweatshirt with the arms cut off. I had used the nurse's scissors for the amputation of the sweatshirt sleeves. I probably would not have bought a red sweatshirt, but it did look good on me. I was walking reasonably upright as we left the small town clinic.

Marty led me to a car. "Crap, Marty, I didn't realize I had been in there long enough for you to find and rent a car."

"The towing guy had a friend who sells used cars. He rents them now and then as well. According to the driver, that isn't unusual at all."

"Damn," I said, as I had a jab of pain break through the drugs the doctor had shot me up with.

"You okay, Max?"

"I've been better, but I'm just uncomfortable, not in any danger. I do need to find a drugstore; I have a couple of scripts."

"Of course," Marty said.

I knew Marty was too decent a guy to bring anything about the trip into the conversation, so I did. "So how's my bike?"

"Those things are the tanks of bicycles. It didn't get more than a couple of scratches."

"I can't believe that. There were things hanging off of it."

"Yeah, the throttle is busted and the kill switch is broken, but that just BS stuff."

"So you can have it ready to go tomorrow?"

"You aren't getting back on that bike. The trip is over."

"My ass, it is," I said, angrily. I had been expecting to hear that from Marty, but I wasn't going to buy it. "We did not travel this far and this long to stop a day short of the end. It's your trip, so if you don't want me to ride your bike to the end that's fine, but you are going to finish and I am going to be there, even if it is driving this car behind you."

"Well, I don't trust that bike with you on painkillers piloting it." Marty said thoughtfully. "You could easily kill yourself. Especially since the last day we are going to be in heavy traffic."

"Then I'll follow along behind you in this coffin, but we are going to finish this trip together."

"Alright, there is a bike builder up in Bakersfield who will come get your bike and ship it back across the country for me."

"Did you get my pistol from the trailer?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied, simply.

"After the drugstore, we need to find a post office." Marty gave me a curious look, so I added, "I need one of those 'if it fits it ships' boxes they advertise on TV. Just before we get on the plane home, I'm going to have to drop the .38 in the mail."