A kid in pajamas and no shoes ran across the parking lot while I was filling up my car at a Shell station. There were military symbols and skulls on my leather vest.
The boy quickly ducked behind my Harley when a big truck rushed around the curve behind him. Like a leaf in a storm, his whole body shook. Accessories for Harley
The man who got out of the truck didn’t have a beard and was wearing a polo shirt. He seemed like a good suburban parent, the kind that goes to church and coaches Little League. But the boy’s fear spoke for itself.
“Where is he?” The man walked up to me like he had never been told no before. “Where is my son?”
As I filled up my tank, the child knelt behind my bike to attempt to blend in. I answered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Different parts of a motorcycle
I pointed to the dumpster and added, “You should know that you can throw away phones.” “Kids these days are smart.”
At that point, three additional bikes arrived at the station. I departed early for the same ride that night, and my brothers from the Widowmakers MC were on their way back. Tank, Preacher, and Ghost were all Vietnam veterans who had seen enough horrible things to know what they were right away.
“Do you have a problem, Hammer?” Tank asked as he got off his bike. He is six feet four inches tall, weighs 300 pounds, and possesses arms that look like tree trunks.
I said, “The man here lost his son,” very carefully. “I just told him to go look somewhere else.”
The man was in a completely different mood. When four big bikers went up against one suburban mom, the math didn’t add up for him anymore.
He tightened whatever he was covering by hand and continued, “This is a family matter.” “I don’t want any trouble at all.”
“Neither do we,” the preacher answered, obscuring the man’s view of my bike as he proceeded to the other gas pump. “Just got home after getting gas.”
The man stood there for a long time, doing math. Then he went back to looking at his truck. Tell him that his dad is looking for him when you see him. His sister wants him to come back home, so tell him.
He drove away, but not too far. I could see that the truck parked in the McDonald’s lot across the street was keeping an eye on me.
I whispered quietly, “Kid, he’s gone.”
Tyler crawled out in his torn and soiled clothes. He is not my biological father. He married his mother two years ago. He wounded her tonight. Very terrible. She told me to go and find treatment. But when I turned around… His voice cracked.
Tank bent down, and his face was soft. “Where does your mother live, son?”
Tyler gave it to Ghost, who then used a burner phone to call 911 and report a possible case of domestic abuse and ask for a welfare check.
I said to him, “We need to get you somewhere safe.” “Police station?”
“No!” Tyler almost screamed. They’re his friends. They came over to our house to cook. They won’t believe what I say. They never trust anything I say.
I looked at my brothers. In the past, we’ve all seen the system let down folks who needed it the most.
The preacher said that there was a diner about six miles away on the road. It is run by my cousin. is always busy, has a lot of people who can see it, and has security cameras.
I said, “I’ll take the child.” “Stay with us so we don’t get caught.”
Tyler seemed afraid. “On the bike?” Clothes and parts for motorcycles
Tyler suddenly thought, “My phone.” “He can follow my phone!”
Tyler’s mom was still alive. She nearly got away with her life.
All because a scared boy ran to the scariest-looking guy at a gas station and asked for help. Games that everyone can play
That stranger became the boy’s hero when he absolutely needed one.
That’s what people who ride bikes do. We speak up for folks who can’t speak up for themselves.
Even if they are six-year-olds running away from animals that appear like respectable men while barefoot and in torn pajamas.
Especially back then.
