How I Met Lisa Marie

My trip to Boston put me on Interstate 90 in Montana east of Butte. My Buick's cruise control was set a couple of miles per hour above the posted limit and I slowly crept past a single motorcycle rider that was in the right hand lane.

The bike didn't look like a Harley, but it could have been. The rider was definitely a curvy lady. Women just sit a bike different than men. I think it's because of their different hip joints. As I slowly passed her I couldn't see much of her face because of her full helmet.

I eventually pulled ahead of her and glanced up occasionally to kept sight of her in the mirror. I was about ready for a break and had already chosen the next exit for a pit stop.

I turned the cruise control off and lifted the handle for the right blinker. In my mirror I saw the lady biker turn on her blinker and follow me off of the highway.

The long downhill off ramp ended at a stop sign and there were two gas station/convince stores to the right about fifty feet.

I liked the brand of gas on this side of the street better so I pulled onto the island nearest the curb. The tank needed about twelve gallons of gasoline so I swiped the card and entered my ZIP (zone improvement plan) code.

Not being Oregon, I put the nozzle into the dark hole in the side of the Regal and pumped the gas myself.

The lady biker pulled next to the pumps across the street. I casually watched her but only saw leathers and a head of curly brunette hair. She looked like a normal sized person. You know, not too fat (well maybe a bit), not too short or tall.

As my pump dinged at nine gallons, I heard two motorcycles come off of the westbound lanes and stop at their sign. There were no services on that side of the freeway so they came under the overpass and pulled into the gas station across the street.

They were definitely lightly muffled big Harleys. I couldn't make out the logos on their vests, but I didn't think that I would invite them to my garage for beers.

The leather clad lady came out of the store with food stuff and straddled her machine. I saw the one guy from the Harley duo try to strike up a conversation with the eastbound lady but she didn't seem interested.

The lady biker put her refreshment into her saddle bag and donned her helmet. The shorter guy moved over in front of her bike and again tried to engage her in conversation. She started her two wheeler and backed away from the bearded bulging biker.

As she was turning onto the street from the gas station, the short fat dude, gave her the finger and a ram it up your ass, arm motion. The leathered lady carefully engaged the onramp and throttled up and onto the eastbound lanes and out of sight.

I laughed to myself and went inside to get something to eat and drink as well. As I came out, the two Harley bikers were heading up the east bound ramp at flank speed and maximum noise.

Shit, I didn't like the looks of that. Those two riders were headed west until they stopped for gas. I wondered if the lady biker had anything to do with their decision to change directions.

I opened my trunk and put the clip into my pistol. I laid the gun next to my eats on the passenger's seat. I didn't know what the local laws on carry loaded hand guns in the car was so I covered it with my map. Yeah, I still use a paper map, but I do know how to fold it back up.

The bright sun was near setting in the clear September evening. Normally I would put my marker lights on about this time, but decided not to under the circumstances.

The speedometer passed the seventy mark as I hit the top of the on ramp. As far down the road as I could see there was no traffic. No motorcycles. I set the cruise at 85 and kind of relaxed and started in on my Gala and Nutter Butters.

Calculating: She would be doing 65 mph, her speed when I passed her, they would be doing as fast as they could. I figured that I would catch them in a few to 10 minutes. My plan was to just bird dog her until I figured she was safely out of reach of the two scruffy riders.

Fifteen minutes later I saw the three bikes in what looked like close proximity. A gentle rise blocked my view for about twenty seconds and when I crested that next ridge, there were no motorcycles where there should have been three.

"Shit", I said out loud and pushed the pedal down for ninety five. As I sped into the still evening a small waif of dust gathered ahead on the right shoulder.

I braked hard just before the dust and pulled into the center median. I grabbed my pistol, and keys.

I put the keys on top of the left front tire and forced my adrenalin filled body to walk slowly toward the right shoulder.

I could see evidence of a disturbance in the gravel and looked real cautiously over the edge of the shallow but long slope. I had found my three motorcycles randomly bunched at the bottom of the grade fill.

The only person I could see was the back of one of the vested bikers. He was sitting and facing away from me. Out from either side of his waist were a set of black leather covered arms and hands. It had to be the lady biker.

She was mostly crying and screaming, "Get off me you bastards". I could hear two different male laughters.

I grabbed the slide and put a round in the chamber. I got on my knees and peered thought the short dry grass. I realized it had been a long time since I had done a low crawl.

My path down through the dead grass was planned so use the tall guy's body as a blind so the short guy would not see me. It was a different path than the cycles had torn down the slope.

I started crawling.

I was about thirty feet from the trio and the short and fat guy yelled at her, "Go ahead and scream bitch, ain't no bode gona her ya out hea." Both guys laughed.

She screamed again and flailed her hands and arms hard. They both laughed again.

She screamed again and must have landed a kick to the guy. He was mad, "Yu fuck'in bitch, kick me 'n I'll cut y'ur cunt lips off 'n fuck ya in da ass."

I saw him swing his fist and heard the crack as he hit her hard. That seemed to take the fight out of their prey. He held his knife up and then reached down and started to cut what I hoped were just her clothes. I did see the tall guy take the gloves off of her listless hands.

I narrowed the gap slowly. Using the tall guy for a blind, I covered the remaining distance and I heard what sounded like rythematic slapping. I figured she was getting fucked.

"Hang on sweetheart, I'm almost there." I whispered almost silently.

I got behind the tall guy's back and carefully pivoted around and pulled my feet under me. I put the safety on and swung the hand cannon, hard.

I hit him just above his right ear. He let go of her arms and rolled over on his left side and grabbed his head with both hands.

The short guy kept on stroking into the semiconscious lady's personal space.

"Take dat ya stu'k up beetch. Yu ain't so al hi 'n mighte now, 'r ya? I'm gonna fuck yu'r pussy n yur ass all nite, and den I'm gonna stake ya spread eagle 'n leeve ya for da coyotes."

He was holding her hips and thrusting hard into her. He didn't even notice his partner's lack of interest.

I couldn't afford to misread the injured guy, so I moved back up the hill out of arms range and announced my presence.

I took the safety off and pulled the trigger.

The muzzle blast from my .45 must have scared the shit out of him. The slug was aimed to just miss his head but he must have thought he'd been shot.

He started to yell and curse at his friend, but when he looked up he only saw the barrel of my High-Point aimed right between his eyes.

"O fu'k! Haay, dis ain't no 'a of y'ur bizness ass hool." He challenged.

I replied with defiance," First of all, asshole, it is my business. So get the FUCK off her and show me your fuck'n hands. I've already proved that I will pull the trigger. You have a chance to live. So don't fuck it up by being stupid."

He pulled up onto his knees and his pecker slopped out of the pussy he had been using with the owner's consent. His hands were even with his shoulders and his palms faced me.

His eyes were focused on the large muzzle pointed at him and he didn't see her right boot flash out and catch his cheek just below the eye. He went backwards and slid the final eight feet to the bottom of the slope.

She started to whimper from the pain in her own body and she collapsed back onto the ground.

The tall guy started to move and swear. I waited until he looked around and appraised the situation. It was getting darker, but he had no trouble identifying the barrel of a .45 caliber semi automatic pistol aimed at his face.

"You make a move that I don't like and I'll kill you! Understand!" He shook his head to indicated understanding.

The short guy had recovered and crawled onto his knees again. I said, "You, asshole! Get her bike up on its wheels and start walking it down that-a-way."

I pointed with my left had toward where the highway and the grade smoothed out about a couple hundred yards to the east.

"Now when you get down there, you'll be out of my range. But if you're too stupid to play it straight and follow directions. I will kill your buddy here then I'll run you down and kill you! Remember, you can still die out here tonight."

He pulled her bike up on its wheels and started walking it toward the place that I'd indicated.

I pointed my gun at his buddy. Neither one of them wanted any part of me or my .45. . The lady in chaps started to sit up and look around. I asked. "Can you crawl on your hands and knees?"

"I think so," was the weak reply.

I stuck my nose next to her temple and my lips compressed her hair into her ear and I whispered, "Start crawling up the hill. If you hear any shooting, keep going, don't stop! Got it?"

"Got it!" As she started up the slope.

She had gotten about five feet or so up the hill and I caught up to her and again whispered into her ear, "There's a green car in the center divider and the keys are on top of the driver's side front tire. If you make it that far and I don't, take that car and get the hell out of here. Go hard and fast!"

She nodded as she slowly clawed her way up the slope. The short guy was returning from where he had parked her bike on the edge of the asphalt.

"You two guys go through the willows, climb that fence and head over the rise away from the highway. If I get this close to you again, I'll shoot your knees n balls off. You will die! Comprende Amigos?"

They were starting up the field when I put my knife blade into each rear tire. The sound was satisfying because it was a safety measure for me.

I dug in hard to reach to top of the slope before the slow moving crawler. It was a draw. I put my left arm across her back and under her left arm. My lift moved her to a partial walking position.

We made it across the two lanes to my car and I put her gently into the passenger's seat. I grabbed the keys from on top of the tire and pulled the green coupe across the interstate and stopped at her bike. A Yamaha.

I looked at her and she didn't seem ready to ride. I needed help. I opened the hood so the supercharged Series 11 engine was visible.

I turned on the hazard flashers and hoped they wouldn't attract the two idiots.

About three cars and a several 18 wheelers later a pickup truck with an older rancher and his adult son stopped and asked if we needed help.

I told them, "Yes. My sister spilled her bike and is afraid to drive it. Could you load it up into your pickup and store it until she can send her husband for it?"

"What about the car?" the young man asked. "Just a signal that we needed help."

They liked my ingenuity. And agreed to haul and store the bike in the barn at their ranch. I grabbed the saddle bags and threw them into the back seat behind my new passenger.

I helped them load the 650 cc bike into their 4X4. It took all three of us and a 2x12 ramp to accomplish our task.

I got the rancher's address, the Five Lazy K's ranch, and contact phone number, the local barber shop, and slipped them a fifty for gas.

They didn't want to take any money, but finally the son took the money and promised that the bike would get proper storage in the barn and under a canvas. He said that they would unload the bike with the tractor.

I thanked them and slid into my comfortable leather driver's seat.

I pulled the Regal out onto the eastbound lanes, turned the headlights on and accelerated hard up to maximum cruise speed.

I looked at her and saw that her jeans had been sliced from inseam to belt buckle, twice. Once on each side of the zipper. Her panties were pulled out and cut and her fur bush was clearly visible.

Yup, the carpet matched the drapes.

I don't know if I'm a typical male scum bag or what, but the lady just escaped a bad situation and here I am checking out her bush.

Sometimes it ain't easy being me. OK, so give me five minutes in the penalty box! WTF!

The bruise and knot on her left cheek bone was the result of getting hit hard.

Her left hand clearly showed the signs of being married to someone with a lot of money to spend on diamonds.

Three miles later I asked, "What do you need first, a doctor and or a cop?"

"Nothing! I'm FINE!" and she made it sound definite.

The word "Fine" from a female is the end of any reasonable discussion. I've learned that's the time to switch topics. So I did.

I couldn't imagine where she was emotionally. But I had a plan. I had been mentally working on this for several months anyway so I started recalling ,out loud, a collection of the simple and good things from my life.

The freshness of a crisp fall morning. The smell of hot pepperoni pizza. You know the one, just before you take a big bite and burn the shit out of the roof of your mouth with the hot sticky cheeses.

I filled in as much detail as I thought necessary and moved on to the next memory. I didn't want to bore her with too much detail.

The road was smooth and wide and we traveled comfortably at the legal limit. I remember the days when traveling through Montana there was no upper speed limit.

I asked her if she wanted any food or water. The reply was always just a headshake for "No".

I went back to the story of my life's sweetest memories.

The smell of newly mown alfalfa, orange blossoms so sweet that you could almost taste the scent. Freshly plowed earth. The heavy smell of rain just before the clouds bust open.

The sight of an oncoming ship at midnight in the middle of the north Atlantic. Yeah, I was there, a troop ship. The USS Patch.

About 9:50 were her first words, "I thought you were going to kill those two guys."

I replied, "Was never my intention. I just wanted to get to you and give you an option."

'What? What option?"

"Well, riding here with me or being off in a ditch with those two."

"I'd rather be riding my own bike and never have seen those two bastards. How did you know where I was?"

I recounted to her the events as I saw them. "You were riding alone toward Minnesota. Your bike's plates told me that. They were headed toward Idaho. After the fuel stop and you not wanting to be sociable, the short guy gave you a couple of impolite hand gestures as you left the station. And the fact that they headed up the eastbound ramp like Ghost Riders."

With a slight head turn toward me," Ghost Riders?"

"Yeah, rid'n hard."

"Ok, I understand that, but did you see them run me off of the road?"

"No. I had seen all three of you from a distance, but when I dropped into a dip was when you got run off the road. I saw some dust on the shoulder and that helped me pin point your location."

"So you were looking for me?"

"Yes I was. I didn't like their change of direction. So my plan was just to just stay close to you until they tired of their game."

The pause was almost twelve minutes when she asked, "Would you have killed them if they didn't do what you said?"

"Yes, but they left me an out, so I didn't have to."

"Are you a cop or something?"

"Nope. Just a guy named Jack."

"Well I'm just a gal named Lisa Marie."

I dug into the door pouch and pulled out one of my custom business cards. I folded the info for her Yamaha next to it and offered it to her. She took the card and looked at it. Without comment the card and bike info got put into her leather jacket's breast pocket.

Now my business card is unique. It is the size and shape as a playing card but on the face it has two different characters morphed together at the middle.

The back is blank so I can hand write current information for specific occasions. There is no printed information on the plastic coated card.

I continued the narration of my life, well just the great parts of it anyway.

A bit after midnight we came to a small business district just off the freeway. There was a nice looking motel and I told Lisa Marie,

"Hey, I need to get some sleep. I"ll get us separate rooms and I suggest that you rest up too."

She started to say something, but accepted my offer. Again without comment. The night clerk was still up watching TV and gave us two rooms on the third floor. I walked Lisa Marie to her room and told her, "I'll see you in the morning."

I handed her the saddle bags and she closed the door without looking back. I heard the chain get engaged.

I went out to the front parking lot and moved my ride around behind the building. I put it down a gravel road so it couldn't be seen from the motel parking lot or the highway.

I slept until about 08:37 and the shower felt good. I went to Lisa Marie's room and knocked. No answer. I went down stairs to the light breakfast bar set up in the lobby. The clerk came over to me and handed me a note. I opened it and read:

Jack, Thank you for all that you did for me yesterday. I will always remember the genuine kindness of a stranger. I'm glad that you did not have to kill those men.

I am OK, and Thank You very much. Sincerely,

Lisa Marie

The penmanship was perfect and the lines were parallel on the blank note paper. It was written this morning because she referred to yesterday's events.

I tucked it into my pocket and asked the clerk when she had left.

He replied, "About an hour and a half hour ago."

"How did she leave?" I asked

"She had me call her a cab from town."

"Do you know where the cab took her?" I asked.

"Let me make a call and see what I can find."

A few minutes later he came back out of the office and said, "Marty took her to the Chevrolet dealer. Then about an hour later he saw her driving a new Silverado off of the showroom floor and headed toward Interstate."

I thanked him and finished my waffle and orange juice. I retrieved my Buick form its secluded parking place and headed into the midmorning sun. The sky was blue and the scenery pleasant.

I thanked my guardian angle for the new day and slumped back to enjoy the drive. I set the cruise control just under the limit and headed for my next stop, the Little Big Horn river.

My thoughts drifted to Lisa Marie and the events of yesterday. I wondered who she was. I sincerely hoped that she was physically all right. I also wondered how she was able to get a new pickup truck from a dealer in under a couple of hours. I was impressed. She must have some financial pull somewhere. Maybe she traded her diamonds for the truck. I wished her well.

I never saw her again nor did I see the two guys that came close to getting killed that night in that empty ravine next to the interstate

Several Years Later

The cops had just arrived and put me in handcuffs. My shoulder was hurting from the bullet that apparently hit me. I was put in the back seat of their patrol car and was told the EMT's (emergency medical technicians) would be here soon.