Page 54 of Rio's Release

I’m not back on the highway long before I feel the bike wobble, and ease to the shoulder to check out my tires. Dismounting, I squat by my rear tire and run my hand over the tread, and sure enough, I feel it.

“Goddamn nail. Son of a bitch.”

I stand, my knees cracking, and take my phone from my pocket. Before I can make the call to the club, a cargo van pulls up behind me. A guy climbs out of the driver’s seat; I don’t see anyone else in the vehicle. He’s got a blue work shirt on with alittle oval name patch over his chest pocket. It reads Stan, and embroidered above it readsRight Way Plumbing.

“You need a hand, mister?”

I’m always suspicious, especially when I’m riding alone. “I’ve got it.”

“You need some wrenches or sockets? I got some in the van, come on.”

Seems like he’s determined to help me.

I run into guys like him a lot. They’re fascinated by the bike and the life, and want to befriend a club member. I sigh and follow him. He’s chattering away as he walks to the rear doors of his van.

“I’ve got everything in here, man. All kinds of stuff. Every tool you could imagine. I used to be a mechanic, but my brother got me a job at his plumbing company. Pay’s good, but it’s a shit job.” He chuckles and spits a wad of chewing tobacco. “Get it?”

I hear a sound behind me, and before I can swivel my neck, my head explodes in pain, and everything goes black.

A strange hissing, cawing sound carries to me. It sounds like some kind of prehistoric bird. I feel a sharp poke and jerk my body, my lids coming open. The sun is bright, and I shield my eyes, then blink.

A dozen vultures hop around me, and more circle above. I fling out my arm, and pain sears through my body. My head pounds, and my face hurts. I reach up and find blood trailing from my mouth and nose. My right eye is almost swollen shut.

I groan and roll to my side, grab a rock, and hurl it at the closest vulture.

“Not today, motherfuckers,” I rasp.

They flap away, but don’t go far, like they’re waiting me out.

Glancing around, I see nothing but desert.Where the fuck am I?

And then I remember. Someone got the jump on me, like I’m some clueless fucking prospect. Goddamn it. I bet they stole my bike.

Digging in my hip pocket for my phone, I don’t find it. I must have dropped it.

Son-of-a-bitch.

I come to my feet, and damn, does it hurt. Everywhere.

Clutching my side, I wonder if they broke my ribs. It hurts to breathe. I study the sky and the position of the sun, trying to get my bearings. I have no clue where I am, but I head west.

It’s almost sunset when I hear a rumbling sound and see a dust cloud rising to my left. Changing directions, I head toward it.

Soon the form of a pickup truck takes shape. It’s coming rapidly toward me, bouncing over the terrain.

I wait as it skids to a stop in front of me, and my crew jumps out, some of them from the bed of the truck.

Zig flies out from behind the wheel, running to me.

“Goddamn, Prez. You okay?”

“How the hell did you find me?” I reply.

“We tracked your phone and found it on the side of the highway.”

“Was my bike there?” I hiss, holding my side.

Zig shakes his head and puts his shoulder under my other arm and helps me toward the passenger seat. “Come on. Let’s get you in the truck. What the hell happened to you?”

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