Page 78 of Outcast
They cut the engines and pulled off their helmets. The Harley guys were older, grizzled, with unwieldy beards full of salt and pepper. The Triumph rider was a neatly groomed man of forty-something. I figured this was his midlife crisis because that bike wouldn’t come cheap, being so rare. The owner of the Indian Scout was the only woman in the bunch, and judging by her leathery face, she’d done her share of riding without a helmet back in the day.
“We heard you guys were doing bikes now,” one of the Harley guys said. “We’re heading out to Sturgis next week.”
“Oh, yeah?” Sturgis was the largest motorcycle rally in the US—and it took place only one state away in South Dakota. “That sounds like a hell of a lot of fun. Wish I could be going with you.”
“You ride?”
“Got a Harley V-Rod. It’s parked over by the house.”
“Sweet ride. A little tough on a long haul, but you should come for a cruise with us sometime. There’s some great scenic rides around here.”
“I might take you up on that. Thanks, man.”
“No problem. Always glad to meet another Harley man.” He extended his beefy hand, and I shook it. “I’m Hopper. This old coot is Rod, and that’s his brother, Clint.” He introduced the rest of the group to me, Sean on the Triumph and Ashley on the Indian.
“So, can you help us out?” Ashley asked. “We missed the rally last year, and we really want to make it up there this time around, but I know it’s short notice.”
“Just tune-ups? Oil changes? What do you need?”
“The Triumph keeps stalling during stops,” Sean volunteered. “Don’t really want to take it up to the rally and have it die on me. I get enough crap from these old-timers about being a yuppy poser.”
I chuckled. “I’ll make sure you’re not embarrassed then. It’s probably your carburetor or a problem with the clutch. I can diagnose it, then give you a call about the repair.”
Sean shook my hand. “Appreciate it.”
“Just standard servicing for me,” Hopper said. “I take care of my bike.”
“Me and Clint too,” Rod said.
Ashley glared. “Yeah, well, not all of us are perfect like these old men with nothing better to do. I work full-time, so I haven’t had a chance to get my bike in for a while. I have no idea what you’ll find when you poke around, but it’s burning through oil, and there’s been a knocking in the engine. Sometimes it’s a hard start.”
Crap. That sounded like bad pistons, and it was one of the more time-consuming fixes. But it wasn’t like I could afford to turn away their business.
I clapped my hands together. “Okay, well, it sounds like I better get started so you all can make that rally. When are you leaving?”
“We’re leaving two days ahead so we have some time to enjoy the trip before it gets crazy.”
So that gave me less than a week, then. My face must have given away my thoughts because Rod looked concerned. “If this is too much, we can head up to the garage we use in Omaha. We just figured we’d rather stay local.”
“No problem. I’ve got it covered.” Even if it meant working around the clock, I would get these bikes done. With a new loan payment coming soon, we could use the cash flow—and if I impressed these riders, it might bring in a lot more business in the future too. I couldn’t afford to pass that up.
Bailey emerged from the garage, wiping his hands on a rag. “I’ll take down some information so we have it on file.”
“Do you all need a ride somewhere?” I asked. “We could give you a lift.”
“Nah, my wife is on her way in the Jeep Cherokee,” Sean said. “We’ll be fine.”
We spent a few minutes shooting the shit while they waited for their ride, and then Bailey helped me wheel the bikes into the garage. Five bikes—and only one me.
“I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
“Can you really swing it?” Bailey asked.
“He better,” Holden said, emerging from the office. “Just got off the phone with Emory about the loan. We’ve still got to process some paperwork, but it’s a go.”
“I’ll get to work, then.”
I grabbed my toolbox—which included some specialized tools for bikes’ smaller parts—and crouched down next to the Indian. Might as well get the hardest job done first.
