Test Run

As he shot around the County cop, the man hesitated in surprise, then turned and bolted into the open door, accidently slamming it shut. The cop got the door open, jumped in, and tried to throw the car into gear without putting his foot on the brake pedal. Of course, the shifter wouldn't move. By the time the cop realised his mistake, the state trooper had arrived to find his path blocked by the county car pointing slightly the wrong direction. The trooper had to stop while the county man got his car in gear and spun around after the disappearing motorcycle. His tires spun in the shoulder gravel, throwing dust and rocks everywhere. The Trooper's windshield exploded into a mass of stars from the shower of rocks. Then they were both under way in pursuit, but the bike and rider were already out of sight.

The rider kept the throttle on, trying to rebuild the lead he had before Lenox, going over the details of the road ahead in his mind. A few miles ahead was hiway CC that would take him back to 63. Going straight would take him to the outskirts of Licking at hiway 32 on the wrong side of 63 for him. He would have to cross 63 at the 32 stoplight. So CC would be his best chance. He pushed himself and the bike to the limit, feeling the tires starting to sideslip on the curves, flying off the tops of rises. Every second of lead he could build up would help him now. If he could make CC and be out of sight before his pursuers saw him turn, he had a good chance. Then the turnoff was coming up, way too fast. He braked as hard as he dared, downshifting and swinging into the left lane to take the sharp right turn as wide as possible. He went into the turn leaning out from the already leaning machine, right knee and toe cocked out. Any stock bike would have lost it at this point. As it was, the tires were slipping and he felt his toe and knee contact the pavement. He went all the way across the road in a barely controlled slide, trying to keep the throttle neutral, tires screeching in protest. His booted toe and leather-padded knee dragging the pavement, he was suddenly on the very edge of the left side of the cross road, fighting to keep to the pavement and not slip off into gravel. He gave the beast some careful throttle and shot forward, regaining control of the slide to come upright and hurtling in a long straight line toward his own lane again.

The five or so miles to hiway 63 flew past till he was coming up to the stop sign at the corner. As he slowed, the scanner again came to life with the news that there was now a Trooper out there on 63 looking for him. The Trooper reported that he had just passed hiway K. This meant he was approaching the very road the biker was using. Luck was still on the side of the rider, though, because none of the officers knew exactly where he was. He slowed enough to check for cross-traffic, then shot out onto 63, headed for Licking. But there were flashing lights in his mirror now, the new trooper was maybe a mile behind him and there was traffic in front of him a short distance ahead.

Accelerating through the gears, he shot up behind the slower vehicles, saw the left lane blocked by oncoming traffic, and took the paved shoulder around the four vehicles in front of him at over 110 mph before any of them could react. Then he was clear and thundering up the straight hill at over 135 and still gaining speed. Another car and a pickup got passed on the right shoulder, then he was on the last gentle downslope coming to the Licking speed zone. Ahead he saw the flashing lights of the Licking Police cars at the hiway 32 stoplight. No time for games now. He kept the throttle on till the last possible second, then braked hard, downshifting and moving into the left lane. He took the right turn onto 32 as wide and fast as possible, barely missing one of the police cars and a truck stopped on 32 at the light. As he shot out of town, he switched the selector to radio priority and spoke into the mike, "I'm on 32, coming home fast. Get ready."

His Lady's voice came back at once, Ok, got it. Bringing company?" She was asking if he was being chased. They had planned for this.

"Sure looks like it. Open the door to the house for me."

"It'll be open. Be careful." He could hear the worry in her voice as she replied.

She was sitting in the sunroom by the radio, holding the microphone, knowing he was getting closer. They'd discussed the plan over and over and she knew exactly what she was supposed to do. This was IF the heat was on his tail, which they both knew it would be!! She wondered how the scene would play out. She knew he would enjoy every minute of it! Would they "cop an attitude" with him or would they find humor in it themselves? Well, she'd find out before much longer.

His voice came from the radio. She replied, then frowned at herself as she hurried to get the door. She knew she had let her fear show in her voice, and she didn't want him thinking of her now when he needed to concentrate on the final bit of the run. There was no more need to hear from him now; she could hear the bike coming down the road when she got to the doors. They'd both known all along that he'd have company. At least now she could breathe easy. The riding part of the run was over, now the fun would begin. She'd already laid out his sandals and turned on the milling machine, and grabbed a pair of jeans as she rushed to open the doors and welcome him home. She'd show him later after the excitement with the law was over just how glad she was that he was back safe and sound.

Then he was braking for the turn for his road. He made it and shot down the half mile stretch to the gate, left, and down the driveway as fast as the twists and hills would allow. He figured he had maybe two or three minutes before the heat arrived. That was the price he paid for his wealth, he was too well known. He was sure the local cops would figure that the black clad rider on the black bike was him and be coming for a "visit". He had been seen on the stock XLCR, of course, and had even talked to the local cops at his house, showing them the various vehicles that he had built and collected. And there weren't any other bikers in the area that looked like him; even in the crouching stance that riding the cafe bike demanded, and in the black racing leathers, his tall, lean frame would stand out.

But on the plus side, he had a spotless license, and no one around here had seen the second XLCR. At least no one who would admit it existed. His neighbors all respected the things he had done for them, like paving the road, and other things. He had helped a couple of them over rough financial times, saying simply that that's what neighbors did, help each other. All the money loaned had been repaid, and they accepted the unspoken agreement that their silence about whatever they saw was all the interest they need pay.

The garage came into view, and she was there watching for him. Fifty feet from the garage door he hit the kill switch and coasted through the open outside walk-in doors, down the sloping hallway, and into the house itself. As he flipped the kickstand down and jumped off the bike, feeling the scanner jack pull free, he heard her closing the doors he had just come through. He got out of the sunglasses, helmet and jacket as quickly as possible, dropping them to the floor as he moved back toward the garage. He was unfastening his pants and boots when she met him with a pair of jeans in her hand. They could hear the sirens coming as he struggled free of the boots and pants and into the jeans. She pointed and he saw his sandals waiting for him. He slipped into them as the first cop cars came to a stop outside.

Still out of sight from the cops, they went into the garage through the inside hall door. He stopped to grab a beer from the refrigerator by the door, twisted off the cap and chugged over half of it while his Lady hit the switch to open one of the garage doors, the one farthest away from the house. As they walked toward the opening door, he noted that she had turned the milling machine on. He had left a small part he was making for the '39 Plymouth convertible sedan he was restoring set up in it. He picked up a dirty rag from the mill table and wiped his hands on it, smearing oil over them as he headed for the door. The gathered cops were standing just outside the door when he reached it. He smiled at the collection of law he saw there, two Licking Policemen, three Troopers, and a Sherrif's Deputy from the adjoining Dent County, where Lenox is located.

"Well, hi, guys. What's up?" he asked in greeting.

The older of the two Licking cops nodded to them and said, "Hello sir, ma'am. We're looking for a motorcycle we've been chasing. It looked like that black Harley of yours and the rider was the right build to be you."

"The CR Sportster? I haven't had it out in over a week. Did you see the bike turn down my road?" He knew they hadn't.

"No sir, we didn't. But we feel sure enough that it was you to ask to see that bike."

"Don't suppose you have a warrant, do you?" His smile grew wider into his wolfish grin, the one that showed his eye teeth.

"No sir, we don't. But if you have nothing to hide, I thought you'd let us have a look anyway."

The younger cop was visibly agitated. He said, "Fuck this. It was him, he don't want us to see how hot that bike is," as he moved to step around the rider.

The biker stepped in front of the cop and the woman saw his grin become fixed to his face as his hazel eyes shifted color from grey-green to glittering steel grey. She held her breath; she knew he had been Marine Recon during Viet Nam, fully trained in hand to hand combat, knew how dangerous he could become when she saw that look. Then the young cop put his hand on the butt of his pistol. The biker stepped forward, crowding the cop, their bodies less than a foot apart. She could barely hear his voice as he softly said, "Pull that thing, sonny-boy, and I'll see that you can never get a job worth a shit again. Hell, I might end up owning the whole town after my lawyers get through." The cop's face went pale and the biker saw the other cop step toward them from the edge of his periphal vision. He turned to face the other cop and said, "You want to see the bike, ok, look around the garage. But that's all. I'm doing you a favor letting you look that much without a warrant. You've been on my land since you passed Mr. Edwards' driveway. The county even sold me the road from there on with the stipulation that I wouldn't shut off access to the old cemetary. Just remember you're technically tresspassing, cause you said you never saw the bike come down here. Mind your manners and we'll get along just fine." He waved his hand at the other cops, but stood in front of the young one, making him step around him to enter the garage. As the cops entered, he winked at his Lady and signalled with his eyes. He saw her relax and breathe as she moved toward the hall door, turning to stand in front of it while he followed the cops.

They went quickly to the stock XLCR, squatting down next to it. One of the troopers carefully held his hand next to the motor then touched it, and moved on to the exhaust pipe. He looked up at the other officers with a baffled expression and said, "It's cold!"

"I told you, I haven't started it in over a week," the rider said.

The cops stood, looking around. Their gaze fell on the only other black bike in the garage, the Vincent. Built in the fifties, it looked nothing like the Sportster, other than it was a V-twin. But the officers walked to it and examined it anyway. Of course, it was cold, too. They stood looking around, not sure what to do next. They moved around the garage, looking between the cars. The biker noticed that the space where the racer had been was now occupied by several boxes and the whole floor looked recently swept. His Lady had been busy while he was gone, and he mentally applauded her quick thinking.

Then the young cop walked to his Lady and said, "Step aside, I want to look in there." She stood up straight and crossed her arms in front of herself, looking past the cop at the rider who had walked quietly up behind him.

Her eyes never left the biker's as she said, "That's the door to the house. You've been told that you're not going in there. I'll NOT have you traipsing around my house, nosing into my things."

The officer reached to move her, but he never touched her. The biker grabbed his forearm and spun him, throwing him off balance by the suddenness of the movement. The cop's hand went to his gun again and the biker stepped in close as before. "I warned you about pulling that toy once, sonny-boy. You're going to feel awfully funny trying to shit around it after I stuff it up your ass!" Without taking his eyes off the young cop's face, he raised his voice and said over his shoulder, "All right, I've co-operated and you've had your look. This little punk just tried to lay hands on my Lady and then tried to threaten me when I stopped him. That's it. Get out and get the fuck off my property. I'm through being pleasant. You Licking cops and that Dent county boy are out of your jurisdiction, and none of you can claim hot pursuit. The last time I looked, 32 crests about fifty or seventy five yards past my road. That bike could have been out of sight before you even turned. If you all aren't out of here in thirty seconds, I'm calling my lawyers. I keep a whole law firm in Rolla on retainer and I think it's about time they earned their money." He reached past the young cop and picked the cordless phone from its wall holder, stepping aside and sweeping his other hand in a gesture for the cop to go.

The collection of officers looked at each other for a second, then turned and walked out the door to their vehicles. As they climbed in, the young cop said, "This isn't over yet...."

The biker interrupted him and said, "For somebody who's on the verge of losing his job, you don't know when to quit, do you? It had better be over, boy. Now, GIT!"

They stood and watched as the cops started their cars, backed out, turned and slowly made their way up the lane, out of sight. As they disappeared, his Lady smiled up at him and said with a smile, "Hungry?"

He smiled down at her and replied, "Not really. Let's go to bed."

She laughed. "Oh, tired from all that riding, then?"

"Nope, not at all. I thought we could play a while."

"Good, cause I want to show you how much I missed you."

They turned, arms wrapped around each other and walked into the house.