One Light Coming: a Biker's Story by Edward Winterhalder

Author:Edward Winterhalder [Teatum, Edward Winterhalder and Marc]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BookBaby

CHAPTER 19

The ride to the bar went smoothly for Jake and the Skuldmen; not one of the bikers broke the pack formation along the way. Years of group riding experience translated into smooth acceleration, smooth deceleration, silky turns, and steady breaking. A consistent side-by-side pattern was the modus operandi of this bunch. Even in the encroaching twilight, the Skuldmen rode with confidence—but they were not overconfident. Like any seasoned rider, keeping a constant eye out for other motorists, especially those in the four-wheeled vehicles, was par for the course.

The Lobster Shanty was a small wooden structure plunked down in a marketplace at the edge of town; the shopping center had been created during the urban renewal craze of the late sixties and early seventies. Unfortunately, just like a farmer’s cash crop that didn’t flourish, the area it was in never quite thrived. It was one of the longest-surviving businesses in the pint-sized commercial village, which counted all of ten buildings—other tenants had come and gone every year or so. As they rode into the parking lot, Jake noticed that four of the buildings were empty; another one, Larry’s Bait & Tackle, had a hand-painted going-out-of-business sign taped to the glass front door.

The Shanty, as the locals called it, was one story tall and had several sliding glass patio doors running along three sides of the building. On warm nights like this the owner of the joint opened the patio doors, alleviating the need to invest in air-conditioning. Placed outside were half a dozen plastic patio tables surrounded by plastic chairs, with folded Miller Lite shade umbrellas stuck in the center.

Although it was a warm night, no one was enjoying the great outdoors. Jake and the Skuldmen rode up on to the cobblestone surface, which permeated the marketplace, and carefully backed up their Harleys to the side of the building that didn’t have any patio doors.

When they entered the bar, which wasn’t licensed to hold more than ninety people, not including the patio, they became the business rush for the night. A lone pool table, basking under the glow of a triple hanging light bar, stood at one end; a postage-stamp-sized stage was nestled into a corner at the other end. There was no band or standup comic gracing the stage tonight, just the sound of an evening television talk show host greeted them. The décor, not surprisingly, consisted of some old lobster traps, a harpoon, what looked like a plastic marlin, and a fishing net tacked on one of the walls, to which were affixed some seashells and starfish.

There were four patrons inside when the crew arrived—two middle-aged couples enjoying what Jake assumed to be the specialty of the house, lobster. When Jake and the Skuldmen entered, the diners looked up but quickly returned to their meal, not wanting to make eye contact with the bikers.

The beer flowed like a brisk breeze through flowering fruit trees on a spring night. Jake was engaged in small talk with Moose, while Oilcan and Mad Dog were watching Big Keith and Little Jimmie play pool for five bucks a game.

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