Harley Davidson Lawyer Ch. 02

The Harley Davidson Lawyer

Chapter 2

No one under the age of 18 has sex in this story.

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My powerful Harley Davidson had been disabled by the failure of a tiny piece of electronics. The desert heat had fried a ten-cent capacitor. Damn it! I had gone over every part of the beautiful machine and even gone to the extra precaution of having it checked by the best bike shops in Southern California.

Well, it doesn't solve anything crying over spilled milk. A couple of dilapidated buildings off in the shimmering distance offered shelter. As far as my eyes could see, there was no other shade from the broiling sun. Thankfully, most of the way looked downhill. I put the bike in neutral and coasted until a slight incline brought me to a slow stop. Now, I only had to push the 773-pound bike loaded with another hundred pounds of gear the last couple of miles. I removed my leather jacket and strained to move the heavy bike up what looked like a slight incline. By the time I got to the buildings, I was drenched in sweat and exhausted from laboring in the 110-degree heat. Somewhere along the way, my jacket had fallen off the back of the bike. I looked back down the road but didn't see any sign of it. I decided to get a drink before searching for it.

I parked the bike outside a weather-beaten wooden shack that claimed to be the "Deadman's Junction Bar and Grill." A dusty neon light blinking in the window claimed the bar was open. The deserted parking lot suggested otherwise. The only vehicle around was an ancient pickup truck parked between the bar and a small, equally rundown motel. The truck's hood was open, and its rusty cylinder head was lying in the dirt.

I pushed open the heavy door to the bar, and it banged shut after I staggered inside. My eyes slowly adjusted to the cool, dark interior, almost as shabby as the exterior. The small room smelled of stale beer, cigarettes, and wood that had been baked for the last century. For a moment, I thought I was in a black and white episode of the Twilight Zone, except the rickety, mismatched furniture would never have been shown on TV.

The room was deserted except for an older man who was sweeping the floor. The guy looked more weather-beaten than the building, but he claimed he was the bar and motel owner. He introduced himself as Ozzie and said he was also the mayor, sheriff, and sole inhabitant of Deadman's Junction.

I downed a couple of ice-cold bottles of spring water at five dollars a pop before ordering a two-dollar draft. Ozzie offered to fry up a hamburger, but all the water had made me too nauseous to eat.

I nursed my beer and asked about the nearest Harley-Davidson dealer. Ozzie pulled out an ancient and very dusty phone book. I would have searched on my cell phone, but there wasn't any service. I used some of the remaining charge on my cellphone to take a photo of the dealer's advertisement in the yellow pages. Next, I got a room at the motel next door.

#

It was the most enjoyable shower I've ever had, and I didn't want to get out. My body seemed to suck up moisture as I washed off the crusty sweat the sun had baked onto my body. I paid particular attention to the skin under my breasts, which are almost too big for my tiny frame. My underwire bra had combined with sweat and the desert heat to produce a painful rash. I wouldn't be wearing the pushup bra again anytime soon. I should have packed a change of clothes, but I had planned on buying a couple of new outfits with my anticipated winnings at the poker tables.

I took some time to wash my sweat-stained cotton muscle shirt and my thong while luxuriating in the refreshing shower. I opened the bathroom window and hung the garments to dry in the desert air.

When I finally got out of the delightful shower, I had to spend thirty minutes getting the snarls out of my long dark hair. I was shocked at the image reflected in the mirror. The sun had aged my face, and I no longer looked like a fourteen-year-old. I turned my head from side to side and grinned at my reflection. Now, I looked at least sixteen.

My panties were dry enough to put back on before I collapsed on the lumpy queen-size bed. I used the landline to make a phone call to the closest dealer some forty miles down the highway in Needles. They had the part in stock since it often failed in the desert heat. They were willing to deliver it for a small fee until I said I was staying at the Deadman's Junction Motel. There was a long pause, and I thought I'd lost the connection.

"Hello, are you there?"

"Sorry, we don't deliver there."

"Why not? I'm willing to pay."

There was another pause before he said, "It's too dangerous. My delivery boy won't do it. You'll have to come in and pick up the part. Goodbye."

He hung up before I could argue. I lay back and tried to think about how I was going to get my bike running again. I quickly fell asleep.

At one point in my slumbers, I thought I heard thunder. I rolled over and fell back asleep. I woke up ravenous around nine at night. I remembered Ozzie's offer of a burger. I hoped the bar was still open. I fixed my hair and put on makeup. I doubted Ozzie would care what I looked like, but it was an old habit. My ripped skinny jeans were dusty, but the sweat had dried. I pulled on my white cotton muscle shirt without the bra that had chaffed my tender flesh. I could see a hint of my dark areoles surrounding my protruding nipples in the bright bathroom lights. I didn't want to give Ozzie a heart attack, but I remembered the bar was dark. I figured I should be OK.

When I stepped outside into the dark desert night, I was overwhelmed by the beauty of the stars. The Milky Way made an arc across the sky. I heard a coyote howl in the distance, and one of his kin answered. I was so absorbed in the celestial display that I didn't watch where I was going. I almost stumbled over the line of Harleys parked next to mine. The big bikes explained the thunder that had disturbed my sleep. I laughed at my brilliant deduction. Maybe, I should add 'private investigator' to the list of skills on my business card.

This time the bar wasn't deserted. Six rough guys were sitting at the bar with two biker women. It was a good thing I'd gotten the message that it was muscle shirt night because I fit right in, except I lacked in the muscle and skin art departments.

As soon as the door slammed behind me, every eye in the shit-hole bar focused on me. A thirty-second staring contest ended when a short guy with a huge beer gut suggested I sit on his lap. Catcalls and rude suggestions followed his remark. Maybe I'd had too much sun because I walked past the knuckle-dragging assholes with one hand raised in an age-old salute.

I rotated the hand with the extended middle finger and said, "Perch and twirl dickheads."

It probably wasn't the most brilliant idea because I doubted I could take on more than one of them at a time. In the movies, the bad guys circle the hero and attack one after another. If a couple of the testosterone-fueled apes jumped me at the same time, I would be in serious trouble despite my brown belt.

I grabbed a barstool at the far end of the bar. Ozzie walked over and wiped the already dry counter with a grayish cloth that might have been laundered sometime in the last decade.

"What can I get you, sweetheart?"

"Is it too late to order a burger and fries?"

Ozzie laughed. "It's about twenty years too late to order fries. I never bothered to fix the frier. Glad to flip you a burger. I've got chips and a pickle if you want."

"Thanks, Ozzie. That sounds great. Can you cook it medium and bring me a bottle of Henry Weinhard's first?"

When he set the cold beer in front of me, I whispered, "What's with the Hell's Angels wannabe's?"

"Don't worry about them. Those guys were out in the sun for the last three days waiting for the wind to die. The sun and heat tend to reduce a man to his most primal behavior. They never give me trouble, and they're my best customers. Well, until you came along, they've been my only customers. They're out here every couple of weeks like clockwork."

He left to flip my burger and grab beers for the bikers. I watched the guys out of the corner of my eyes. A couple of them were leaning over the bar to whisper in the bartender's ear. I suspected they were quizzing Ozzie about the petite Hispanic chick sitting at the end of the bar. I hoped they weren't going to be a problem.

In the middle of the pack was a younger guy who was the only one who should ever have been wearing a muscle shirt. His body was ripped, and his bulging biceps were covered in colorful tattoos of devils and saints. He looked like a jacked version of Liam Hemsworth from the Hunger Games. In other words, he was drop-dead gorgeous. Too bad the beautiful man was probably as dumb as a rock. Still, I knew he wouldn't give a little Hispanic chick like me a second glance.

When Ozzie brought my burger, I said, "Is there any way I can get to Needles and back? I'd be glad to rent your car."

Ozzie laughed, "I don't have a car. They're too much trouble. However, I get everything delivered on Friday. Too bad you just missed today's delivery. Of course, you're welcome to my truck if you know how to fix it, but then you'd need to get to Needles for parts."

I was glad Ozzie thought my predicament was hilarious. I racked my brain while I devoured the juicy burger. Deadman's Junction couldn't exist in complete isolation.

"Who cleans your rooms? Maybe I could get a ride from them?"

"Maria comes in once a week. I'm sure she'd love to earn a couple of extra bucks. I'll ask her when she's here next Wednesday."

I had a court appearance scheduled for Tuesday. It was for my first client since I'd left the Public Defender's office. If I wanted to build up a private practice, I couldn't afford to screw up my first case.

"Oh God, Ozzie, I've got to be back in Los Angeles by Tuesday morning."

"Well, maybe you could ask one of the fine gentlemen at the other end of the bar?"

I'd already thought about the bikers and rejected the idea, but there was no alternative unless Prince Charming pulled into the parking lot riding a bright red Ferrari.

Well, I knew how the heroine gets her way. I'd watched enough movies to understand the technical details of seduction. Unfortunately, I didn't have the weeks or months it took in a Hallmark Romance. I would have to cut out a significant number of steps. Well, I wasn't good at small talk anyway.

My problem was that the only time I had consumed hard alcohol, I had gotten drunk and lost my virginity. It was the first and last time I'd had sex. Although I wasn't technically a virgin, I was shy and an inexperienced young maiden. I've never even had a boyfriend, let alone remembered being kissed.

Because I feared the loss of control, it was also the last time I let myself get drunk. I still like the taste of beer and often have one with lunch or dinner, but I hadn't touched hard alcohol since that night. The incident left me with a strong association between hard shots and sex. They always seemed to go together in the movies. How else do you get the beautiful young heroine receptive to close physical contact with the hero often played by an older actor?

I should have known that I wasn't thinking straight thanks to an overdose of the desert sun, but hell, I was out of options. Besides, I'd always promised myself when I was cramming for an exam that I would start dating once I had my law degree. I'd postponed the whole boyfriend thing again while I was working in the public defender's office. I told myself that once I won a big case, I would enter the social scene. Well, I had won my big case. It was time to deal with my problem with men. I justified my plan by telling myself I needed practice. What I was about to do didn't mean anything. It was just a rehearsal for the real thing.

"Ozzie, can I please have a shot of tequila with a slice of lemon?"

I downed the shot quickly, licked the salt from my hand, and bit into the lemon. I made a face and shuddered as I remembered the one other time I had done tequila shots.

"Ozzie, another, please."

I had been watching the bikers in the mirror. I was pretty sure the short, fat, balding man who had greeted me with a rude suggestion was the leader. The tall, heavy-set, bleached-blond woman with a thick muscular arm draped over the leader's shoulder was his woman.

The tall skinny brunette seemed to be playing two guys. She alternated between sitting in the lap of a lean man with his gray hair in a ponytail and making out with a big bruiser with massive Neanderthal eyebrows and long greasy dark hair. Two other guys without female companionship pretended to be watching a mixed martial arts fight on the TV while casting glances at me in the mirror.

The gorgeous guy was splitting his attention between the TV and the group's leader. Their conversation went in fits and starts. Even from twenty feet away, I could hear the tension in their voices. The pretty boy had to lean around the bleach-blond woman to make his point. Whatever he was saying, the leader didn't want to hear it. Finally, the boss man turned away and ignored the younger man. The fake-blond must not have liked talking to her man's back. She got up and grabbed the other woman for a bathroom visit. That was when the gorgeous young man caught me looking at him. He grinned and winked. My stomach did a flip.

I threw back my second shot and stood up before I could lose my nerve. I kept my eyes locked on the gorgeous hunk's sparkling blue eyes as I walked over. I climbed up on the now vacant stool next to him and knelt on it so I could reach his mouth. He was still grinning as I leaned over and put my tiny hand on the back of his muscular neck. I pressed my lips against his.

If I'd ever been kissed, it had been while I was unconscious. This was a first for me. I remembered a video I'd studied on French kissing and opened my lips. I was about to push my tongue into his mouth when he slipped his between my open lips. His warm tongue tasted of whiskey and charbroiled steak. He held me gently with one hand in my hair and the other caressing the bare skin of my lower back.

I was still analyzing my unexpected and intense physical reaction to my first kiss when I felt a third hand on my ass. Fat fingers slipped through a rip in my tight jeans and squeezed my bare ass cheek. I spun around and grabbed the offending hand. The big boss man screamed and fell to his knees as I applied pressure to a wrist lock.

"You ever touch me again without permission, and I'll break every bone in your filthy hand. Understand?"

"Oh, fuck, yes!"

The two biker women had returned from the bathroom in time to witness the whole episode. They broke into howling laughter. The rest of the bikers joined in the laughter. Everyone was smirking at the sight of their leader kneeling at the feet of a little girl.

Eventually, the big blond stopped laughing. She glared at her man and said, "After she gets done fucking up your hand, I'll rip your nuts off. Understand?"

The tall skinny brunette smiled at the man I'd been kissing and said, "Be careful, Matt. She may be small, but those fangs look venomous."

I took her warning as an introduction. I batted my eyes at the big man and said, "Matt, maybe you could buy me a drink, and we could talk at the other end of the bar where your friend can't grope my ass?"

Matt smiled. "Well, I'm not going to turn down a pretty girl who kisses so enthusiastically. Besides, you'd probably put me in an arm bar and use my body mercilessly if I refused."

I was surprised he deftly tossed off words with more than two syllables. My estimation of his intelligence went up a dozen points. Maybe he wasn't a knuckle dragger after all. He was right about my intention to use him but perhaps not in the way he hoped. He headed to the other end of the bar with a smile on his handsome face.

As I started to follow him, the buxom blond stopped me and said, "Be nice to him, sweetheart, or you'll answer to Big Bertha. His last girlfriend badly mistreated him. Sherri and I won't stand by and watch another bimbo fuck with his heart."

I smiled at Big Bertha and said, "No worries."

Well, I did worry, to be honest, as I walked over to join the big lunk. I had planned on using Matt to get to Needles and dumping his gorgeous ass before he knew what happened. Bertha made me realize that I might have to play a more long-term strategic game.

As soon as he sat down, I hopped onto his lap sideways. My giggle caught both of us by surprise. His mouth found mine before I had a chance to introduce myself. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed kissing. His gentle hand entwined in the hair on the back of my neck made me feel excited. I jerked when his other hand cupped my breast. I forced myself to relax as he softly caressed my perky breast that was separated from his strong fingers by only a thin layer of ribbed cotton. I moaned into his mouth as his thumb rubbed across my nipple, which was now hard and pointy. He laughed at my reaction and rubbed harder. I squirmed in his lap as our tongues danced together. I felt something hard pressing into the side of my thigh.

I forced myself to break from the intoxicating kiss. I had a plan to follow. I needed help from Matt if I didn't want to stay in Deadman's Gulch for the next four or five days. I was breathing hard as I leaned back with my hands on his broad chest. Damn, Matt was jacked.

"My name is Alyssa, but please call me Lyss. That's my Road King in the parking lot. I fried some electronics, and I'm stranded. There's a shop in Needles with a replacement part, but they won't deliver. I was hoping if I asked real nice, maybe you could give me a ride to the shop and back tomorrow?"

I saw a flash of annoyance cross Matt's face after I openly declared my motive without any attempt at pretense. He quickly recovered and put on a poker face. He could have dumped me on the floor and gone back to his buddies, but instead, he decided to see what card the dealer would throw him next. Maybe, he'd enjoyed kissing me and caressing my breast as much as I did. I wonder if he knew the odds against filling an inside straight?

Matt yelled to the bartender, "Ozzie, can we get set up with tequila shots?"

I had to be careful. I'd already had two shots in less than an hour. Three shots were going to be dangerous. Four shots would probably put me out. I wasn't interested in sleeping through sex again, especially not when it was likely that Matt would share me with his fellow bikers.

As Ozzie brought over two shot glasses, Matt asked, "Did you check this little lady's ID? I can't afford to be caught with a minor."

Ozzie laughed as he wiped the bar. "You're kidding. I'm the law here. Why would I card a sexy lady who smiles and pays cash?"

I pulled my wallet out of the back of my skinny jeans and removed my California Enhanced ID. One of my new business cards fell out, and Matt quickly snatched it from the dark wooden bar.

He read the card loud enough to be heard by everyone in the room. "Sofia Stamford, J.D., Criminal Defense, and Corporate Law. Sweet Jesus, a lawyer."

I'd dropped my first name because of all the ass jokes associated with my initials and decided to go with just my middle name. Besides, Sofia made me sound older. I didn't have any corporate law experience, but that was what I wanted to do. Unfortunately, every business interview started with being asked about my family background and any influential people I knew. Did I mention I hate rich kids who were born with a silver spoon in their tight asses?

"It's my mother's business card. You can keep it. You can call her if you do something naughty and need a hotshot attorney."