Tate

Crip, Pee Bee, Cholo, Smokey, The Nut, Stretch and I rode to Chula Vista for Mexican food. The hour-long ride was well worth it, giving us plenty of time to talk, share stories, and enjoy some of Southern California’s finest tacos.

Crip and I stood by the building and waited for Stretch to get done pissing. After a few minutes of waiting while the rest of the fellas goofed off, I glanced at Crip. “I can’t believe the old man came out today. It’s hot as fuck, and he doesn’t like the heat. Must have really wanted some tacos.”

Stretch was the oldest member of the club. At 57, he was far from old, but he wasn’t in the best of health after a lengthy battle with pneumonia he simply couldn’t shake. To see him out during the hottest part of the day wasn’t typical.

Crip glanced at the rest of the fellas, who were standing beside their bikes, and then looked at me. “We’re going to have a meeting when we get back.”

The tone of his voice was such that I knew something was wrong. We hadn’t come to Chula Vista because Crip wanted a taco. We made the trip for another reason altogether, and I had a feeling it was about Stretch’s health.

“What’s up?”

“We’ll talk when we get back, Meat.”

“Maybe I want to talk now.”

“And, maybe I don’t.”

“There’s four of us left. You, Pee Bee, me, and Stretch. I got a right to know. There’s something going on, I know it.”

“I said we’ll discuss it when get back,” he growled.

“And, I said I wanted to talk about it now. Stretch has been around since the beginning of this, Boss. Tell me what’s going on.”

He clenched his jaw, looked at the other men, and then locked eyes with me. “For now, this stays here. I’m telling Pee Bee later. I doubt he’ll take it well.”

“What?”

He let out a long sigh, and then looked at me. “He’s been HIV positive for some time, He’s got AIDS.”

I suspected I reacted the way most people do. I denied it.

I shook my head. “Impossible. He needs another doctor to have a look at him.”

“They have.”

I crossed my arms. “I’ll find a good one.”

“I’ve had him at the best, believe me.”

“He’s sure?”

“Positive.”

“HIV or AIDS?”

“AIDS.”

It made me ache to hear it. I had no idea with modern medicines how much time he may have, but I hoped it was a decade or so.

“God damn.” I looked at the restaurants entrance, and shook my head in disbelief. “How much time does he have?”

“Doubt AIDS will kill him, Meat. It’s the complications with everything else. He ain’t doing too good.”

“How much time? Years, months?”

“Might be months. Might not.”

“Son-of-a-bitch. Does he know how he got it?”

“No. Don’t know that it matters. They said he could have had it for ten years, and not known.”

“Fucking scary.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Makes a man think about wrapping his junk, huh?”

“Suppose so.”

“You and Bobbi going at it yet?”

“I don’t know that’s much of your business, Boss.”

He chuckled. “Always been the weird fucker, haven’t ya?”

“It’s not weird to be a little respectful.”

“Suppose not.”

Stretch came outside, rubbing his stomach as he walked through the door. “Took about ten shits in there. That goat cheese tastes good as fuck, but my belly don’t like it.”

“You ready, old man?” Crip asked.

“Ready as I’m gonna get.”

I looked him over, trying to find something about him that gave hint to the fact that he was dying, but found nothing. He was still the six-foot-three-inch one-hundred-and-sixty-pound old man that he always was. Convinced he’d somehow pull through it, I slapped my hand against his back and gave him some advice.

“Blow the cobs out of that old Shovel, and it might run better.”

“Runs better than that Evo of yours.”

He sauntered to his bike, grabbed his helmet, and shot me a glare. “I say ‘prove it’.”

“Race is on, motherfucker,” I said.

“Won’t be much of a race.”

He coughed a few times and then shook his head. “Not if you’re on that piece of shit Evo, it sure won’t.”

“Stretch and me are racing,” I said. “You others can catch up once we get on the 5.”

“Can’t wait to see this,” Pee Bee said.

“Place your bets, fellas.”

The group, entirely, bet on Stretch.

We got geared up and started our bikes. Then, Stretch and I pulled out onto the two-lane highway that led to highway 5. While Crip and Pee Bee watched for cross traffic, the two of us tried to get side-by-side in a manner that wouldn’t give either of us the benefit.

I seriously doubted I’d beat his hopped-up Shovel, but racing him would put a smile on his face, I knew that much.

After we agreed that neither had the benefit, Crip stepped to the center lane between us.

“You fuckers ready?” he asked.

We revved our engines in response.

He raised his arms.

While I waited for him to drop them, Stretch released his clutch and shot off like a rocket. In a matter of seconds, he disappeared over the hill. The sound of his exhaust faded into the distance. It get lesser and lesser, until we heard nothing.

Shocked, we all sat on our bikes and waited for him to return, but he didn’t. After half an hour, we decided to call it a night, and ride home.

We were damned near to the Del Mar fairgrounds exit on the 5 when we hit the traffic. I knew in my gut that something was wrong. Crip must have, too.

He signaled to split traffic.

We rode between the cars that were at a standstill on the highway until we saw the flashing lights. Two ambulances were parked in the center of the freeway, half a mile ahead.

Crip lowered his left hand and gave the signal to stop.

Reluctantly, we complied.

We didn’t find out what happened for another hour. After the coroner pulled away, we watched as they loaded the carcass of his bike onto a flat-bed truck.

Considering the fact that he’d ridden almost thirty miles without turning around, and that he was one of the best riders I’d ever met, I assumed he committed suicide. The look in Crip’s eyes told me he believed the same thing. Without saying a word, the two of us decided to take Stretch’s secret to our graves.

As many times as he’d driven us out of harm’s way, we owed him much more. But that was all that was left to give.