Chapter 7
Elijah
I put the phone down and looked out from my office window. Fuck it. I’d had enough. My trades are doing well, and I can't fucking be here a minute longer. My eyes are blurry from the screen of my computer.
I grabbed my jacket as I headed out from the office. I stared at the main door and just walked, with my gaze fixed on the exit sign. I was in no mood for “Are you coming back today?” or “Can we reach you if needed? Mr. Hanson?”
I headed home. I just needed some down time to myself. The business had become boring to me lately. I was bored by it all, and I couldn't explain my feeling of melancholy.
When I got home I poured myself a double bourbon and slumped on the couch, I laid there with my feet up and didn't move. I looked at all the items in my huge living area and my latest purchase the LED flat screen with the smart home technology lights that can be controlled from my cell. The furniture was covered with natural bison leather, everything had cost a fortune, and I sat all alone in my expensive and lonely house.
I poured myself another bourbon and took a big swig, even this was expensive, and it was the one thing that did leave me feeling satisfied. I filled my glass and walked from room to room; I looked at all the things I had bought and thought about what they did for me. I had a love affair with things.
I found myself in the garage, the one place I did feel at home. I loved my vehicles, and none more than my bike, my pride, and my joy. My beloved Triumph Thruxton R. A modern-day take on a classic British café racer, retro styled and as mean as they come, in a silver ice color finished with chrome. This beauty was all steel and muscle. It was like sex on the road. The fast and furious kind.
I sat on my tool box and stared at her. She was a thing of beauty. I felt free as the wind when I rode her, with no one to answer to but me and the winding road. I looked at the lines of the bike, and I decided to take her for a spin.
I picked from my jacket collection. I ignored the Givenchy Star Patch jacket and went for my trusty bad boy look. I looked like a real bad ass. I was sexy as fuck when I rode. The perfect chick magnet and conversation starter.
I hopped on, and I started the 1200-cc engine, and instantly I felt the vibrations between my legs. I wheeled her out of the garage and headed down the driveway then I opened up the throttle and let her rip. It was perfect. The wind cleared the fuzziness that the bourbon had started to wash over me. I was glad I had left work.
I headed down the highway, the hill beckoned for some real riding, but for now, I wanted to see if I could reach top speed. I pulled back on the throttle, and the engine lurched forward with an almighty roar... 40, 50, 70 and still she climbed… 100, 130. Yes! The trees blurred into a mat of green, the engine whined as she was close to her limits. I glanced at the gauge and could see I needed gas, so I slowed to a more sedate speed until a garage appeared in the distance before me.
I filled the bike with gas as the sound of music caught my attention. I looked up and could see an open bar across the street. I decided to relax for a while before I headed out further into the hills.
I entered the bar, the stench of beer and bourbon filled the air as the jukebox blasted out the sounds of some fucking asshole singing a sad country tune. I headed toward the bar. Stuffed animals adorned the walls, their glass eyes followed my every step. It was like I was in red-neck heaven.
“Beer,” I said to the fat woman behind the bar.
“Comin' right up,” she replied with a country tone.
I glanced around. It was full of days gone by cowboys and rodeo riders, with denim and Stetsons everywhere. The alcohol went down well. I needed it more than I knew.
I turned back to the bar and glanced to the side of me, and there was an old man sat alone with his beer. I could see he was dressed differently to the others; he must be a stranger in these parts like me I imagined.
“That bike sure is pretty Mr.,” he said as he raised his bottle to his lips.
“It should be, it was expensive enough,” I replied as I showed little interest in joining his conversation.
“Sure, it’s a nice bike, but it takes more than things to make you happy,” the old man said as if he was talking to himself.
“I do okay. I've got more than enough money,” I replied as I faced him and faked a smile.
I felt compelled to talk to him, but more for being pissed, rather than because I wanted to listen to what he said.
“Money ain’t the route to happiness,” he went on as he pulled on his long gray beard in contemplation.
“It gets me what I want. You name it, I can get anything with money,” I said waving my empty bottle to the barwoman who was eating salted crisps.
“Is that so?” asked the old man.
“Take the bike. It cost me 13 grand, which is a drop in the ocean. I could spend that in a day on dinner,” I replied as I raised my bottle and had a drink.
“You young ones are all the same,” the old man retorted looking at me like he was insulted.
“How would you fucking know?” I asked the old man feeling pissed off with his so-called 'know it all' attitude.
“Ah, that is my secret. My you are really the next generation, aren't you?” he commented as he looked past me like I meant nothing. What a idiot.
“Yeah, you’re talking horse shit. You know nothing,” I raised my voice. “You're just like all these old timers, clinging onto the past like an traditionalist.”
I turned my attention to the TV, and the news was just informing the weather. Unexpected rain was forecast which made no sense at all being summertime.
“That’s a nice bike you have there Mr. it would be a shame to lose it,” the old man piped up again as if to goad me more.
“You said that already, are you a bit senile?” I said as anger rose in my body.
“Not me, I'm full of wisdom, I spent years being just like you. I feel sorry for the man I used to be.” He looked at me, his face covered by deep weathered wrinkles and eyes as dark as coal.
"Just like me?" I was pissed with this fucker. He thought he knew it all.
“I earned my money. It didn’t come from an inheritance,” he said as he spoke his truth.
“Who says mine is inherited?” I asked. I wanted to punch him to the floor for being a mindless cock.
“Seen it many times. Soft hands, and no sign of hard work,” he said as he laid his palm out on the bar to show me. “See that? It's from work. Real work, blood, sweat, and tears made these hands.” He clenched his fist and rubbed his hands together to warm them.
“You still haven’t told me how you know all this?” I asked as I tried to act like I cared.
“Let me just say. I have more money than you ever will, Sonny!” The old man saluted me with his bottle. He raised it mid-air and took a swig and grinned a wide smile.
“Now I know your talking shit,” I replied. “Touché, old man. I nearly believed it.”
“I could buy you twice or thrice over and still have change left over,” the old man went on. “Check mate young man.”
I finished my beer and decided to head out. The old man was starting to talk gibberish as if he knew something about me. As I slipped into my jacket, the old man started talking to me again.
“All your money won’t stop you being alone in this world. Mark my words,” he said pointing his finger to make a point. “And then one day, just one day, you could be having this conversation with some punk ass kid who knows it all.”
I headed out of the door, the stale smells and sounds that reverberated off the jukebox began to fade out.
I climbed on my bike and started the engine, I dropped her into gear and shot off toward the hills, toward the twisting and turning roads that were a joy to behold. The rain was fast approaching, and I felt alive and ready to take my melancholy out and burn it off by the ride.
I hit the hills, the roads twisted and turned; I weaved in and out of traffic, all of my thoughts a blur. I was in the moment, no thoughts of the past, and no thoughts of the future either. I felt I was at one with the bike. I leaned and the bike responded, I twisted the throttle, and her speed increased like the perfect unison of man and horsepower together.
I rose to the top of the hill and stretched before me was blacktop, perfect and straight. Fuck, it looked as if it was a couple of miles long. I decided this was the ideal place to test her top speed, and with little or no traffic to consider, and no real obstacles in my way. It was like they had closed the road for me, I thought as my adrenalin kicked in.
I adjusted my gloves and loosened my shoulders, I dropped the clutch and shot off like a rocket. The gauge hit red and then changed gear. I had my head down as I approached 100. I could see nothing around me only the vastness of road stretched out, almost like I was flying. This would be my moment of glory.
I checked the gauge, I was up to 130, 140 and the bike was shaking. Then 142 and holding. I had reached maximum speed. I basked in the glory. I’d done it! With the top speed achieved, there was another I could tick off my bucket list.
"Woo hoo!" I screamed out under my helmet as I felt invincible.
I looked in front of me. I could see what appeared to be small balls hitting the road, it was, oh shit, my mind quickly replayed the past events. The news had forecast a downpour of rain and... fucking hail. I lifted off the gas and started to slow, I entered the hail storm at well over 100, and the noise inside my helmet was deafening as the hail continued to pummel me like I was a trash can that toppled over and clanged.
I touched the rear brake, and the wheel slid to the side, and as I corrected, the bike high-sided me. I spun as I flew through the air. I hit the road with my shoulder hard and fast, and then my ragdoll body cartwheeled. I landed on my back and slid toward the trees.
I felt a thud in my back as I hit the grass curb, my body flailed as I was thrown against the road sign. I could see behind me. The bike had slowed and ground to a halt, with a shower of sparks flying from the hail covered road as she finally came to a momentous rest on her side.
My visor misted up as my breath filled my helmet, I couldn’t lift my arms to open it. I could just see the day was slowly falling into dusk, and then lights came, and the first sign of traffic approached. I closed my eyes. I could hear voices.
"Over here," someone shouted.
I regained consciousness. I was fading and wanted to speak, yet I had nothing in my body left to mutter anything. My eyes opened and closed, the white lights changed from flashes of blue to red.
Then as I drifted back into and out of consciousness, there was something around my neck. It was stiff, and then my helmet was slowly removed. I could see the ambulance, with the lights flashing through the unrelenting hail. The lights looked like angels dancing as they flashed, in the dark gray sky.
I could see the outline of a man, as he stood there and watched me.
My mind went back to the bar, "Mark my words,” I pictured the old man saying. "You don’t want to lose it all." I pictured him raising his bottle again.
My eyes closed as I could my body being lifted onto the stretcher, then I floated. The lights flashed, and the dance became quicker in my tired mind. I turned my eyes and looked toward the voice, was I dreaming or was that, was that the old man? I wondered.
The doors of the ambulance opened in a haze of lights, hail, and a cloud of memory that flashed in my sore head. I was slowly being wheeled in.
From behind me, a voice said, “Nice bike you got there, Mister.” Just as the doors closed, the voice continued, “Checkmate.”