Lou's Tattoos by Iris Chacon

Author:Iris Chacon [Chacon, Iris]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Delia Stewart via Indie Author Project
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

PART SIX

Chapter 27: SUNDAY MORNING

The sun's glow peeked over the desert horizon to see Randall asleep in the old van, in the parking lot of a closed, boarded-up Chinese restaurant (formerly "Wong Chow's Chow") on the bank of the Colorado River. He looked five times more like a bum than he had even the night before—and he had looked totally disreputable then.

A black 1991 BMW K 1 motorcycle, with red cardinals hand-painted on both sides of its fuel tank, glided into the same parking lot and stopped beside a 1994 red Honda GL

1500 SE 'cycle, about seventy-five yards away from Randall's van.

Mule had slept on the ground, leaning against his bike. The arriving cyclist, whose name was Byrd, left his bike and stepped close enough to wake Mule without making sufficient noise to arouse Randall. Mule got up, stiff and groggy, pointed toward Randall's van, and shook hands with the new man, acknowledging Byrd as Mule's replacement.

Mule left the parking lot with a minimum of rumble, and Byrd settled in to watch his quarry for the day.

At Nichols' Bed & Breakfast, Lou was up early and leaving the house with all her camera gear. As she walked to her rental car, she passed a pale, round, bald man asleep on his motorcycle. She gave him a friendly elbow nudge as she passed.

"Let's go, Moon. Sun will be up in twenty minutes."

When she drove away a minute later, a yawning Moon rode his black 1993 Honda VT 1100 Shadow Phoenix Edition Custom Cruiser in her wake.

Dawn was breaking over the dilapidated Wong Chow's Chow building when Randall woke up, stumbled from the van, and crossed a grassy verge to the riverbank nearby. He threw himself full length on the ground and scooped water at his face.

Byrd's booted foot came down on the back of Randall's neck, forcing his head under water and holding it there while Randall struggled.

Lou drove past the derelict Chinese restaurant, but she took no notice of the empty van and motorcycle in its weedy parking lot.

Moon, who was following Lou's car, and Byrd, who was standing on Randall's neck, exchanged a cheery wave and went on about their business.

Byrd stepped back at last, and Randall's head splashed up from the river bottom. He rolled, came to his feet, shook his hair from his eyes, and lunged for Byrd.

They wrestled closer and closer to the bank, then SPLASH, both men disappeared beneath the surface of the river.

Silence blanketed the river. The birds resumed their morning songs. Concentric circles rippled the water's surface over the spot where the men had submerged. The water, muddied brown by silt from the men's movements, reflected the clouds overhead. The men had vanished.

After nearly three minutes, SLOSH! Randall stood up in waist-deep water near the shore. SLOSH! His right arm yanked the unconscious Byrd's face above the water.

Randall waded ashore, dragging Byrd behind him, and flopped Byrd onto the bank.

All over the world, Galen Randall had faced bigger and badder creatures than any greasy, mangy, muscled, leather-and-spikes motorcyclist could ever hope to be.

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