(This tale of motorcycles, monsters and mayhem is dedicated to all my friends in the Yahoo motorcycle chat rooms in the UK and the USA)

Authors Note: For new comers to Bikernet fiction, I should point out that this story continues the adventures of characters created in my two previous stories; Down South and Swamp Story. Whilst this tale can be read as a separate adventure it might enhance your enjoyment if you were to read the other two first. K.L.

One: The Sycle Shack.

I coast to a stop and kick the side stand of the Sporty down. Rotate my neck muscles and flex my shoulders a bit. Been on the road all day, I’m stiff and a little weary. I step off of the Harley and take a look at the front of Pace’s shop. There is a curving line of script running in a semi circle around and above the doorway. Choppers for Chicks, Wheels for Women, Bikes for Birds. Across the top of the doorway, higher up, is another sign that reads; Shauna’s Sycle Shack.

The shop has only been here for a couple of weeks, I didn’t make it down in time for the opening, got caught up in some stuff back in New Orleans.

This place has been Shauna’s dream for a long time. Now with the help of her husband Pace it’s a reality.

I take the key out of the Sporty and walk past a couple of choppers gleaming in the afternoon sun. I’m in the southern outskirts of Miami. Great place for a bike shop. The ocean right next to you. The wind blowing off the water is warm. There’s a wharf and a marina full of boats on your doorstep. Lots of tourists, it’s a hell of a long way from the mean streets of the Bronx where Pace grew up. The double doors of the shop are wide open, and I step out of the bright sunlight of a pleasant Florida afternoon and right into shit!

It’s a little darker inside than out, but not too much so. There is certainly enough light to see the two guys standing toe-to-toe with Pace. Shauna is behind a glass counter; her face looks tight and strained. One of the men is growling at Pace.

“We fuckin’ warned ya, ya cocksucker, told ya not to open this fuckin’ pussy den. What, ya think we were fuckin’ kidding or something?”

Pace is a lot smaller than either of the guys standing in front of him, lot older too. He’s got a well worn kind of mug that normally has a slight smile etched on it. Not now though. Looks like he could spit 50.cal bullets out of his mouth at this moment in time. I see him clench his fists and take a deep breath, things are going to get nasty in the next second or so. The younger, bigger guys in his face, have been waiting for this, I watch the shoulder of the one on Pace’s right raise slightly. He’s a second away from launching a punch at the smaller guy in front of him.

“Who opened the zoo and let the chimps out?” I ask. That old expression; you could have heard a pin drop, seems very apt now. The pair turn and regard me. The one who was speaking to Pace takes a step forwards.

“Private business,” he says. This guy is bigger than me. Has the look of a power lifter. Not hard packed muscle, but thick chest and huge arms. My guess is he’s used to intimidating people by his very size. I snap two left jabs into his nose before he can move. His head jerks back. I slam my right fist into his abdomen. His mouth opens, he can’t get a breath, let alone speak. He slides to the floor in front of me. His partner has barely had time to do anything. His eyes are wide and his mouth is hanging open.

“You want some of this?” I ask politely.

He looks at me, then looks at the figure slumped at my feet. Shakes his head. Guy on the floor is making weird wheezing noises, still trying to get some air back into his lungs.

I step back and to one side. “Pick your buddy up and get the fuck out of here. Don’t make the mistake of coming back to this place again, y’all caught me on a good day. I was annoyed; you boys wouldn’t even be walking out the door.”

The two men have gone. I stood in the shop doorway until they roared off in a smart looking car, the one I had floored struggling to sit up straight in his seat. Pace is still inside the shop, hugging Shauna. I turn and walk over to them.

“So hows it going amigo?” Pace shakes his head and steps forwards. Throws his arms around me. Shauna follows suite. I kiss the top of her head and slap her hubby on the shoulder.

“Damn, you are a sight for sore eyes,” he tells me.

“My white knight,” says Shauna.

I lean back a little. “What the hell was that all about?”

Pace steps back. “I’ll get us a couple of cold ones out of the fridge, tell ya all about it.”

“ We had barely arrived here when a fancy looking guy in a three piece suit showed up and offered to buy us out,” Pace is telling me. “ We declined of course, his offer wasn’t that generous anyway. A week or so goes by and he comes back, same offer, more money. We told him no again. Then about ten days ago those two goons show up and inform us we either sign the place over to them or nasty things might start happening, exactly what sorta things they didn’t specify. Brings us up to date, you arrived just in time. I think things were going to go bad real fast this time.”

Shauna shakes her head. “I don’t like to think about what would have happened if you hadn’t walked in the door Wade.”

I’m leaning on the main counter; I reach across and pat her hand. “Nothings going to happen sweetheart, those guys even give you a dark look and I will have words with them.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t change do you Wade, still living up to your Ghost Rider image.”

I shrug. “Too old to change babe.” I run a hand over my shaven head. “I am kind of curious though guys. I mean you got a nice shop here an’ all, but those two certainly weren’t bikers. What’s the attraction in them wanting this place? And who do they represent anyway?”

Pace and Shauna glance at each other. Pace shrugs. “You better tell him honey.”

“Tell me what?” I look at Shauna.

She takes a deep breath. “We don’t just own this shop Wade. We own the whole marina!” I blink, struck dumb for a moment. She continues before I can think of anything to say. “You know I was raised by step-parents after my Mom was killed and Dad couldn’t cope. You know how he never kept in contact with me all these years? He was just a faint memory to me, someone I barely remember. Five months ago a Lawyer turns up on our doorstep, tells me he represents my now deceased Father’s estate. A guy I never met, a Father I never knew,” she waves her arm around, indicating the shop, the wharf, the marina. “He left me all this Wade, the whole package. It all belongs to me!”

To say I am stunned is an understatement. I manage to ask a few intelligent questions. They hired a business manager to run the marina. Their dream had always been their own bike shop. Combining the two had seemed the perfect idea.

Apart from just the marina it turned out ‘Dad’ had also had quite a bit of money squirreled away.

“Who was your Father?” I ask.

She shrugs and shakes her head. “I still have no idea, part of the deal, the lawyer explained to us, was that his identity remain a secret. I gather he was something of a recluse in his last years. It took me days to come to terms with all this as you can imagine. We were so looking forward to starting up here, the marina is doing great business, profits are fantastic, but it’s the shop we really care about, I could do without the rest.”

When I’m thinking hard I need a smoke. I walk over to the door way and take a cigar case out of my vest pocket. Dig my Zippo out and light it. Pace and Shauna join me outside.

“Know what you’re going to ask,” Pace informs me. “We been through it all a hundred times ourselves. Who would want the marina and why? Plenty of other marina’s around Miami, hell some of them are for sale even as we speak. Makes no sense someone is so fixated on this place.”

“There’s a reason,” I reply. “We just don’t know what it is yet. You told the cops about your visitors?”

They nod. “Wanted us to call them if those guys came back again. Not much they can do until they can talk to them I guess.”

“We have a couple of great security guards who patrol the marina for us,” Shauna says. “Paul and his partner will be really pissed they weren’t around to meet our ‘visitors’. They don’t start till this evening. Speaking of which I had better ring Paul and tell him what’s happened. Just in case those guys come back tonight and try to damage the shop or something.”

“I don’t think those two will be back while they think I am around doll, but you go ahead and call your security people. Better safe than sorry.” I turn to Pace. “We made a mistake here amigo. If I had known you don’t know the identity of the man behind these ‘offers’ you been getting, I would have made the skinny fucker talk.”

Pace shrugs. “It don’t matter Wade. You set them moving right along. I don’t reckon they will be back again now.”

I don’t share Pace’s thoughts on that, but keep my mouth shut. I been in the enforcement business a long time myself. I know how it works all right. First you send the pleasant, polite guys to negotiate for you. If that doesn’t work you send a couple of low rent thugs, like the two I met today. If that fails to encourage people into doing what you want; then you send the A team along; the professional leg breakers, arsonists, extortionists and, in extreme cases, executioners.

“Hey,” exclaims Pace suddenly. “I forgot to tell you. Travis Morgan is here, he arrived a week or so ago, with a strange girl. Beautiful but strange.”

I glance at Shauna. She nods. “Leah is a wonderful kid but there’s something not quite right about her. Like she knows almost nothing about anything the rest of us take for granted.”

I look at her. “Don’t follow you darlin?”

“We put some hot dogs in the microwave to warm them,” Pace tells me. “And she was just stunned, I mean absolutely awed man. Claimed she had never seen or heard of a micro oven. And that’s not all, she speaks kinda funny, hell I can’t rightly explain it. We promised Trav we’d meet them down at the Cracked Lobster tonight, you’ll have to come along, he be damned happy to see ya.” The thought warms me immensely, Travis and I go back a long way.

I look at the two others in front of me. “I need to sack out for a couple of hours, then shower and put some fresh gear on, been on the road all week.”

Shauna comes around the counter and takes me by the arm. She has long, straight blonde hair in a heart shaped face, topped off by wonderful green eyes. Full red lips and a light complexion make her a woman men always look twice at. Her slim, athletic figure in skintight jeans and a form-hugging singlet do nothing to detract from her image.

“We’ve got an apartment above the shop, you can sleep in the spare bedroom, what time would you like us to wake you?”

Showered and shaved and much refreshed, I slip into the only pair of clean jeans I have left, and pull a dark blue t-shirt over my head. Shauna has cleaned and brushed my black leather riding vest. There is a patch sewn onto the material but it bears no rockers or names, just the grinning skull of the Ghost Rider, haloed by flames. The same picture is tattooed on the back of my shaven skull in bright, luminous ink. There are other unusual badges and small patches on various parts of my vest. Some of them match the other tattoos that run along my shoulders and upper arms. 1%, FTW, FTSL. The numbers and letters blend in with the eagles, snakes and more mythical creatures that are drawn on my body.

I stamp my feet into my newly polished Johnny Reb boots and pin my silver skull earring through the lobe of my left ear. Damned if Shauna has not cleaned that as well, the little trinket is now brighter and shiny than it has been for months. It comes as no surprise therefore, to find she has wiped all the accumulated road grime off of my expensive, cat-eyed sunglasses. I wrap a faded red bandana loosely around my neck, and pick up my soft leather roping gloves. Slide my shades into place. A last check, in the big mirror that hangs on the wall of my room. Damn, I’m beautiful. I chuckle to myself as I leave the room and walk downstairs to the shop area.

The Cracked Lobster is set on a quiet backroad, well away from the main highway. It’s a bar with a restaurant attached. Normally frequented by locals, few tourists ever find their way here. Pace, Shauna and I had all ridden our own bikes out here. Their two gleaming choppers kind of put my stock standard Sportster to shame. Pace had queried me about why I was not riding my Ghost bike, the one that Wizard had built for me up in Canada. It was a story I had promised to tell him later.

Pace and Shauna ride matching custom choppers. Both have huge S&S motors in them, both are raked and stretched, making them long and lean. The bikes are works of art as much as riding machines. Pace’s is gleaming, crows wing black, orange pin striping flows along the lines of the frame and swirls around on the tank and rear guard. Shauna’s bike is the opposite. Hers is done in stunningly bright orange, her pin striping black. Both have solo seats, high, chromed sissy bars, and slightly curved drag-bars on six-inch risers. They appear to be rigid framed but actually have mono shock suspension hidden beneath the rear of the bikes. The short cut shotgun pipes sound awesome.

Like myself, Pace is dressed in faded jeans and t-shirt. He doesn’t wear a vest. Shauna, on the other hand, looks like an advert for sexy female riders. She’s wearing a form fitting leather riding suit. Orange and black, it matches her bike. On the back of her jacket is the legend “Shauna’s Sycle Shack” While Pace builds and works on the shops bikes; Shauna has taken to designing leather clothing for herself and her female customers. And it looks great too. There is no doubt in my mind, that their dream of owning their own bike shop, much less an entire marina, is going to become an extremely profitable endeavour as the years go by.

The Lobster is about half full. A midnight black Harley is already parked out front, in a section reserved just for bikes. A couple of Japanese sports bikes and a huge BMW Paris Dakar are also parked there.

The BMW is dirty, covered in mud and god knows what else. It looks like its already been around the world a couple of times.

To see the custom made steel panniers, crash bars and assorted attachments that are bolted onto the machine I would guess the guy who rides it is a veteran longrider. I follow Pace and his lady into the well lit interior. Pace is immediately embraced by an Italian looking guy and dragged off towards a table at the rear of the premises. Shauna follows along but I head over to the bar and ask the cute blonde in the tight t-shirt for a JD and coke. I pay for my drink and take a cigar out of my vest pocket, wondering if they allow smoking in here, lots of places don’t now.

A voice with a strange accent booms out at me. “You still smoking those bloody things mate?”

The guy who approaches me is about my height but leaner. Clean-shaven with crew cut short hair, bright eyes in a sun browned face. He’s dressed in jeans and a fancy looking leather riding jacket.

“Bar,” I exclaim. “Godamn Bro it’s been a long time.”

Baron “Crowbar” Kincaid takes my outstretched hand and pulls me towards him, he gives me a hug then stands back and slaps my shoulder.

“Yes matey, been awhile. Did Pace forget to mention I was here?” I look over towards the rear of the restaurant to see Pace and Shauna laughing at me.

“Yeah, they did kind of forget to tell me.” Crowbar and I go way back. We’re almost in the same business. Well sort of. While one could certainly say I work in the mainstream security field, Bar is right at the outer fringes of it. Some might even call him a mercenary. He’s one of the most well travelled guys I’ve ever met. He has spent years soldiering in countries most people have never even heard of. He spends a lot of time on the African continent I know that. So much so that his accent has become a strange mixture of exotic tones. To look at him one would never guess what sort of work he engages in. To most he appears a pleasant, easy going guy, with a constant smile at the corner of his mouth and a wicked sense of humour. I know from past experience however, that my friend is, in reality, an extremely dangerous man.

I hold my cigar up. “Can we smoke in here?” Bar jerks his head in the direction that Pace and his wife have wandered off to.

“We’re on the porch out back, you can smoke out there mate. Travis and his new lady are with me.” I glance around to make sure no one can hear me.

“I hear Trav’s girl is a little odd, is that right?”

Bar grins. “Come find out for yourself.”

I shrug and motion for him to lead the way.

Travis Morgan looks almost the same as the last time I saw him. A big guy, younger than me. Dark wavy hair down to his shoulders, tanned skin, ice blue eyes. He’s dressed in a black t-shirt and faded jeans. One of the most beautiful women I’ve ever had the pleasure of gazing upon is seated close beside him.

Seeing me he jumps up from his chair and circles around the table. We clasp hands and grin at each other like a couple of loons.

“Been awhile Wade,” he says.

“Too long Bro,” I agree.

Keeping hold of my hand he pulls me around the table until we are standing in front of the young woman. She can’t be more than twenty or so. Long, tawny hair and a figure to die for. She’s dressed in skintight jeans and a form-fitting, sleeveless blouse. Cool grey eyes stare into my own.

“This is Leah,” Travis informs me.

He lets go of my hand and I reach out to shake Leah’s. A lot of guys never seem to greet women this way but I always do, been my experience women feel more accepted when I greet them the same as a man.

When they first lay eyes on me most females are a little, well no, lets be truthful, are a lot wary of me. I don’t fit inside their framed picture of the perfect man. But this young girl hardly seems to notice.

She raises an eyebrow for a moment, then takes my proffered hand and clasps it gently in her own.

“Nice to meet you Leah,” I say. “My names Wade Gage.”

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