BG96 s2 - Strangers

You and Stef look ridiculous. Your Winona Ryder haircuts are supposed to be low-maintenance, but after some frenetic boning in a car, they’re a mess. Your bikini tops and Daisy Dukes are sweaty and gross and Stef is barefoot.

That doesn’t stop you both from hurrying around the side of the shop to see what’s going on. Two huge motorcycles pull into the lot, followed by a black pickup truck. They are incredibly loud, and the men riding them are a lot to look at. They’re burly, tanned guys. Hairy and with plenty of tattoos. They climb off their bikes looking tough and walk toward the pickup.

You and Stef stare as Mr. Gibson emerges from the shop, drawn by the noise.

The bikers are pulling down a ramp. There’s a bike in the back of the truck, and it takes both riders and the driver of the truck to roll it down to the gravel. They’re all wearing black vests, and one of them reeks of weed so hard that you can smell it from twenty feet away.

You heard about this. Some biker gang bought an old bar at the other end of town and they’re trying to open it up. They sell **** or something. You never expected to meet them.

“Holy smokes,” Mr. Gibson says, walking toward them. “Is that a 74?”

The bikers look impressed. They shouldn’t be; Mr. Gibson knows more about stuff with engines than all other humans combined. You lean toward Stef.

“A what?”

“That’s a Norton,” Stef mutters. “Commando.”

“Is that cool?”

Stef is making a face as she looks at the greasy bikers. “Actually, yes,” she replies, looking annoyed.

You try to look at the motorcycle that way. It’s… kind of cool looking, you guess. It sure is a black motorcycle. The ones the other dudes are riding look better to you, but they’re obviously much newer and a different kind.

“OK, start it,” Mr. Gibson says, folding his arms. He’s been talking to the guys. One of them starts the bike’s engine and stands there to hold it up. Mr. Gibson nods as though he understands.

“What’s wrong with it?” you ask Stef. The bike seems to be running.

“You don’t hear that? Way too rich. Probably the oil line,” she says, biting her lip.

The bikers cut the engine.

“I’ll take a look,” Mr. Gibson says.

You watch curiously as the bikers do a weird little shuffle, changing places: one of the guys who rode a bike is now getting into the truck while the driver of the truck is climbing onto a bike. He notices you. He’s around Mr. Gibson’s age, with a wild beard and a tattoo of some kind of bird on his neck.

“Hi there,” he calls out over the rumble of the various engines.

“Hi,” you reply, waving halfheartedly.

The biker glances at his friends. They’re all looking at you now.

“You girls look bored,” he calls out.

You and Stef exchange a look.

“We’re not,” you assure him. You wave again.

He grins. “You sure?”

“Yup.” Stef gives him a thumbs up.

“You heard them,” Mr. Gibson says.

The biker gives him an unfriendly look, but Mr. Gibson doesn’t seem impressed.

“Besides, aren’t they a little young?” he adds.

“Don’t look that way to me,” the biker replies, then he revs his engine to deafen everyone and pulls out, throwing one last look at you and Stef over his shoulder. Mr. Gibson has to raise his hand to protect his face from the smoke and gravel.

Scowling, he shakes his head and wipes his hands on a rag as the noise of the convoy dies away, heading back toward town. You and Stef hurry over to him.

“Who are they?” Stef gushes.

“Bunch of assholes,” you tell her.

Mr. Gibson sighs. “You’re not wrong about that. I guess they sell ****. I heard they got run out of wherever they were before. Trying to lie low here.” He sighs, gazing at the road. “I guess Gurlberg’s a good place for it. Nothing ever happens here. Or at least, it never used to.” He looks down at the key in his hand. You look as well. The keychain has a strip of rough leather with some letters burned onto it: FREE BOIS.