The Id and The Odyssey; Episode 6
“Get on down from there!” Rotten Teeth said.
Rich slowly slid from the bed of the truck and pulled the bike down also. He smiled fearfully and said. “What’s this all about?”
“Ya got some mon, son?” Rotten Teeth asked.
“Look, man, all I got is ten bucks,” Rich said and pulled his wallet out and opened it to them.
Baby Face said, “That’ll do.” He grabbed the wallet, took the money out, searched through it and tossed it back.
“Not so fast,” Rotten Teeth said. He reached down inside Rich’s pockets. “I’m not getting’ friendly so don’t get the wrong idea.” He removed Rich’s cap, looked at it and threw it to the ground. Rich picked it up and placed it on his head.
Rich was frightfully uncertain and waited for the slightest relaxation of their vigilance. If that happened he was going to run. He was confidant they did not stand a chance of catching me. Riche’s money was rolled up inside the handle bars of the bike. If he separated himself from the bike he would lose everything - except his life or the very least a good beating.
Rich reached inside his backpack that was strapped to the bike. Baby Face held up the wrench preparing to strike me. Rich held open the flap. “All I got is a few apples, potatoes, and a jar of tomatoes. You can have them.”
Rotten Teeth grabbed the apples and said to Baby Face, “Let’s go and do some drinkin’ tonight.”
Baby Face smiled, walked by Rich’s bike. He swung the wrench and hit the back fender. Rotten Teeth placed the two apples under the back wheel of the truck. They turned around in the road and as they passed by Rich, Rotten Teeth yelled out and laughed, “You got yerself some apple sauce back there.”
Rich looked at the smashed apples, smiled, and waved. A sense of relief came over me.
He used the trenching tool to leverage the fender away from the tire. He peddled back toward the highway. At the intersection of the dirt road and the highway he saw the tracks of the truck’s tires turned back the direction from where they had come. He headed back that way peddling fast and furious. Rich did not have a plan, but he wanted his ten dollars back.
Rich approached a Ford pick-up after about three miles. It was parked on the side of the road and a man was changing the tire. In the back of the tuck was a motorcycle (Harley-Davidson). The man was tall and broad. He wore a motorcycle hat with a wings on the front of it, cuffed jeans, and a black leather vest. His left hand was heavily bandaged.
Rich stopped and said, “Ya mind if I do that for you?”
“Thanks, but I got it,” he said.
“How ‘bout if you take off the lug nuts and I’ll take the wheel off,” Rich said. “I hate to go on by without giving you hand.”
“That would be appreciated,” he acquiesced.
“What happened to the hand?” Rich said.
“Wrecked my bike a couple of days ago,” he said. “Got about ten stitches.”
He loosened the leg nuts and Rich crouched at the wheel and helped remove them. Rich tugged at the tire, removed it, and placed on the spare. After the spare tire was tightened the tossed Rich a rag from the back of his truck to wipe hands.
“I appreciate it, pal,” he said and stuck his hand out. “I’m Glen Jones.”
Suddenly his mind raced. “I need a new name. My identity must be concealed. What name should I use. He spoke, “I’m St… err, Rich Larsen.” Rich gripped his hand.
“Well Steve or Rich let me give you a ride,” Glen said.
“Sure, but did you see a flatbed come by here a few minutes ago?” Rich asked.
“Yeah, a couple of jackasses yelled out the window, “’Hey, man, ya got a flat tire.’” Glen said. “Why, do ya know them?”
“You can say so,” Rich said and told him what happened.
“Do ya know how to find them?” Glen asked.
Rich smiled. “The sign on the side of the truck said, ’Ashland Lumber Yard Salamanca.’”
“Than let’s go to Salamanca,” Glen said.