Coffee. All she wanted was a good cup of coffee. Was that too much to ask? Apparently so. All she had been able to find in this little ditchwater town was oily swill that wasn't fit for human consumption. She made do with a Coke, she really needed the caffeine. She hadn't slept for almost 36 hours and it was beginning to make her a tad punchy. She leaned against the seat of her silent Deuce sipping the cold cola, knowing her stomach was gonna give her hell in about 20 minutes if she didn't add some food to soak up the acidity of the soda.

Her eyes roamed the quiet, narrow street. She became aware of eyes on her. Vacuous eyes from the cab of a decrepit Ford pickup. Two guys in greasy baseball caps. She averted her eyes, knowing in this jungle that eye contact could prove dangerous. No need to provoke the beasts. Time to go. She'd eat in the next town.

She slammed the last half of the Coke and pitched the can into a full, fly infested barrel that made do as a trash can at the classy roadside mercantile. Swinging a long leg over the bike, she settled into the Mustang seat that cradled her ass like a pair of loving hands. She thumbed the ignition and the Big 88 rumbled happily to life between her thighs. She forgot all about the piggish eyes watching her every move as she reveled in the serenade of the pipes. She toed it into gear and slipped out onto the street heading east. The Ford pulled out and followed.

The wind, though hot and dry, felt good against her face, drying the sweat that had begun to bead while she had been parked. The front of her leather jacket was open, allowing air to caress her body and dry her damp T-shirt. She glanced in her rearview mirror and was a little disconcerted to see the pickup behind her. Not a problem. She smiled and pressed the throttle. The Deuce responded eagerly, leaping forward, the needle pressing toward triple digits. She laughed aloud as the truck dwindled in her mirror. Her attention returned to the road -- long, straight and decently smooth. She could see a shimmering heat wave rising up off the asphalt. It was barely 10 a.m. and the sun was beating down with such ferocity that the asphalt radiated heat. If she didn't cover up she was gonna crisp up like a worm on the sidewalk.

She pulled off onto the side of the road, leaving the engine humming as she dropped the kickstand and started fumbling around in her panniers. Sunscreen, bandannas, her favorite leather vest to replace the jacket. She tied one bandanna around her neck to protect the white skin exposed by the braids. Another wrapped around her face, bandit-style. Goggles with UV lenses and her skid lid. She re-buckled the leather bags, rolled her jacket and strapped it to the small rack on the rear fender. She was ready now.

Unfortunately, her dawdling had allowed the jackals to arrive, sniffing around for road kill. She mounted her bike quickly but the truck pulled sharply in front of her, cutting off an easy escape. She rolled backwards, trying to steer clear of the animals before they could burst loose from their cage. It didn't work. The mass of the Deuce didn't move easily under human power on loose gravel. The passenger door slammed open, clipping the laced wheel of the big bike, nearly toppling it. A plaid-shirted cretin in a grungy John Deere hat jumped to the ground, his paint-spattered work boots crunching in the gravel. She could see she wasn't going to get out of this one too easy. Time slowed as she weighed her options. A quick escape wasn't in the cards. It was two against one. Neither looked too bright or particularly coordinated, but both were big. She dropped the kickstand to relieve herself of the effort of balancing the bike but she stayed astride. If all went well, she'd be back on the road in under a minute. Her hand went to the small of her back, easily finding the tidy little .25 semi-auto cradled there. In one easy movement, the weapon was in her hand and the safety thumbed off. The barrel was staring one-eyed into the face of the first redneck.

"I'd stop right there fucker or I'm gonna have to shoot in self defense," she spoke loud enough to know she was heard but in a cool, steady voice.

It worked, he skidded to a stop and the slack jaw dropped even further in a vapid look of surprise. He had stopped so suddenly that his buddy ran into him from behind.

"God damn it, Ralph, what the hell?" Even his dull mind could appreciate that the tables had suddenly turned.

"Get back in your truck, gentlemen."

Neither moved, she could almost see the slow gears of their minds grinding through the obvious turn of events. She smiled. Neither man liked what they saw in the smile.

"Gentlemen?" She inclined her head toward the idling pickup. "Slowly, please."

She saw their stubble-covered Adam's apples bobbing as they swallowed against their rising fear. Both began stumbling backwards toward the truck. As soon as they began climbing aboard, she pulled up the kickstand and rolled her Deuce backwards, ready to pull out of the situation before either man could decide to brave the blatant hostility of a tired woman with a gun. She maneuvered into position, then aimed carefully and fired twice, shooting out the front right tire. She tucked the gun into her waistband, waved at the two furious men and pulled back out onto the asphalt in a staccato spray of gravel. She grinned into the wind as she ran quickly up through the gears, wanting to put as many miles behind her as possible.

Damn yokels anyway. See a woman in leather and what iota of civility they have in their grim little souls turns a blind eye. Now that the assholes were miles behind her changing a flat, she began to fume. This wasn't the first time she had been confronted by such rapacious intentions, not the first by a long shot. She had taken to packing her little .25 just last summer after having to carve up the arm of an ape bent on hauling her into the shrubs for his own amusements. He didn't find the bone-deep gashes from her Gerber hunting knife amusing.

It was impossible for her to stay angry with the big bike throbbing beneath her. Only a few more miles under the wheels and her mood had returned to the normal high she always attained cruising open roads.

She knew she was nearing her final destination and her eagerness began to build, erasing any hint of fatigue. Only an hour to go. Her eye watched the needle on the speedometer creep up, clicking miles off the odometer a little faster. She kept it at a smooth 85, all her attention focused on the pavement before her.

Rounding the curve, she was confronted by a sight no biker is too thrilled with. The white body of a state trooper's cruiser loitering on the shoulder of the road, running radar. She backed off the throttle instinctively and hoped she squeaked past. She kept her head forward, but her eyes followed the movement of the cop behind the wheel. He was going to nail her. She slowed and watched in her mirror as he pulled out behind her. She didn't have long to wait before the red and blues flicked on. Damn.

She pulled onto the wide shoulder and killed the engine. It sat ticking quietly beneath her as if scolding her for her carelessness. She watched in the mirror as the cop called in her plates and sat in the dark air-conditioned interior of the squad car. The heat rising off the asphalt was burning through the thick soles of her engineer boots and drying out the lining of her nose. Sweat trickled down the small of her back as well as off her forehead and into her eyes. She pulled the thin wallet from her hip pocket and sat waiting.

She wondered if the cop was dallying on purpose, letting her cook for a bit before ticketing her and sending her on her merry way.

"Fucker," she whispered, still watching him in her mirror.

Finally there was movement. The tall, broad shouldered man unfolded from the confines of the car and settled the Smokey Bear hat down firmly over his close-cropped blond hair. He walked with long, slow, measured strides. She turned her head to watch him approach.

"Ma'am," he greeted in a soft, deep voice sweetened with a Southern accent, "could you step off your bike please?"

"Sure." She swung a long leg over the seat and stood looking up at the man.

She was tall, over 6 feet in her boots. But this guy must have stood 6-foot-6 and tipped the scales at a solid, muscle-bound 275 or more. Despite the circumstances, she couldn't help but look into the crystal blue eyes set in the well-tanned face and wish she could have stumbled across this guy under different circumstances, like maybe naked in a hot tub.

"You were clocked at eighty-seven miles an hour, ma'am. I'm afraid that's a little fast. Could I see your license, please."

So enthralled with the soft voice and blue eyes she almost didn't hear the request. "Huh? Oh yeah. Sure. Here you go."

Brilliant. Fucking brilliant.

He took the proffered ID and read the name and number into his shoulder mic. He pulled a pad from his breast pocket and flipped through it to a new sheet. But he didn't start writing. His eyes were on the Deuce.

"Nice Deuce," he smiled a little, showing a brief flash of straight, white teeth.

"Thanks. I just got him last month. I've been riding a '68 Shovel for the last five years or so. Finally decided to get something with a little less vibration. You ride?" She had to ask.

The smile flashed again briefly, "Yeah, a '99 Softail Standard."

"I would have thought Road King or Electra Glide, you're a big boy," she teased before stopping to think just who she was teasing. She blushed. "Oh, sorry officer."

This brought out a laugh. "No apology needed. I am a little tall."

As a tinny voice spoke from his shoulder, he sobered and responded.

"Well Ms. Morrison, there are no outstanding wants or warrants on you, your bike isn't stolen, and other than the handgun you got stashed in the holster at the small of your back, I'd say you were a fairly upstanding citizen."

Her cheeks turned crimson at the mention of the gun. She began to stammer, "I have a permit and it's registered."

"I'm sure it is. But you really shouldn't shoot out truck tires, you know."

The heat in her face changed rapidly from embarrassment to anger. "Those sonsabitches tried to attack me," her voice trembled with remembered rage. "I'm lucky I'm not lying raped and half dead in a ditch somewhere."

His face was calm, his voice calming, "I figured as much. They called in a complaint. I'm going to pretend I didn't pull you over, all right? I really just wanted to check your story. Really."

Her defensive posture relaxed, realizing she wasn't going to get hauled in for protecting herself. "Uh…thanks. I really wouldn't have shot them, you know. I've just had some close calls the last year or so. It's getting so a woman isn't safe anymore."

"Been that way for a long time I'm afraid. Well, I won't detain you any longer, it's hotter than hell out here. Ride safe, all right? And slow it down just a bit."

"Sure, thanks bro."

She watched the broad back as he walked back to the waiting car. Swinging back on her bike, she thumbed the ignition and was back on her way in a minute. Again, the hot desert air dried the sweat from her face and her damp shirt. She was beginning to get hungry now. The Coke was sitting unhappily in her stomach, sloshing violently in the empty space. She glanced down at her odometer and tried to remember how much further to the next little town.

Her mind was just distracted enough from lack of sleep, lack of food and too much excitement that when the coyote stepped out from behind a bush and into her path, she overreacted. Her right foot and hand were hitting the brakes even as she swerved. Realizing her critical error a split second too late, she was sliding before she could correct her own stupidity. The bike slid across the melting asphalt, throwing a shower of sparks into the kiln hot air. She managed to keep the wheel turned into the slide, preventing a flip that would have tumbled her down the road with potentially fatal results. Instead, the rear wheel caught the soft shoulder and spun her into the ditch. Her body pulled free from the bike, she had a flash of sage and rock before darkness claimed her with a sickening thud and blinding pain.

Continued on Part 2