Insistent chiming stirred Roach to semiconsciousness. Reaching out to stop the annoying sound, he felt a pair of legs wrapped around his torso. Still half asleep he tossed last nights fender bunny off his leg while reaching for the damn phone on the nightstand, knocking his whiskey bottle to the floor, finally grabbing hold of the offending item. He pulled it to his ear, and grouchily mumbled, "What?" After listening for a few minutes, Roach growled, "No problem Bro."
He slammed the phone back on the receiver while exiting the bed. He turned and shook the perky little redhead awake, "You gotta get up and scoot on home. I got things to do." The tone of his voice told her it wasn't a request. She jumped out of the bed and grabbed her things while dressing on the run and exited the house without saying a word.
Groggily he stepped into the bathroom and fumbled around the sink, bottles fell and clattered to the floor. A large powder container dislodged itself in a semi-arc hitting Roach squarely in his crotch, nearly causing Roach to double over holding his jewels. "Son of a bitch!"
Slapping the faucet handle to wash the resulting white cake off his hands, he bent the silver ring on his finger. He pulled his hand toward his face to see what was pinching his finger and stepped back onto a stray bottle on the floor, launching him into the nearby tub. The resulting pressure on the shower curtain caused the plastic holders to snap one by one until the whole rod and curtain crashed down on his head. Roach ripped the ring off his finger and threw it out in anger. The bathroom mirror shattered.
Extricating himself out of the tub Roach reached the door jamb and exited. Staggering down the hallway while pulling his jeans on, Roach bumped his shoulder in the door jamb muttering to himself, "Goddammit!" He pulled his boot on while hopping one-legged and smacked his other shoulder on the kitchen counter, "Fuuucck!" Yanking his vest off the kitchen chair caused it to fall over and crash to the floor.
Thoroughly agitated Roach kicked open the door to the garage, embedding the handle in the wall. Slapping the garage door button caused the overhead lights to flash on, illuminating the well-worn knucklehead marking its spot on the floor. The screeching chain overhead dragged the garage door open. Roach threw a leg over and shoved the kick-start down twice before turning the ignition switch on. Another kick resulted in a loud bang resounding through the shop knocking tools and cans off the shelf before the knuckle settled into its familiar loping idle. Kicking it into gear, releasing the clutch while twisting the throttle stood the bike up on its rear wheel while the engine bellowed out to the night air. Leaning hard to the right at the end of his driveway the rear tire broke loose for an instant, skipping sideways and grabbing traction the old knuckle squatted down and shot forward slamming Roach back and he found himself digging his clenched fingers into the grips to stay on the bike.
Kicking up the gears brought the speed to well over a hundred within a thousand feet of his house. Turning onto Main Street Roach hunkered down on the tank, rolled the throttle over to wide open and shot past the local gendarme patrolling the bakery parking lot. Looking in his rear view mirror Roach could see the cop toss his coffee and donut and race toward his cruiser.
"Aw, shit...here it comes." mumbled Roach.
Blue lights bounced off the storefronts gaining in intensity as Roach braked, sliding into a hard left turn onto Central Street. Another set of blues coming from the side street ahead told Roach his evening just got a whole lot more interesting. Turning a hard left down the next alley, Roach no sooner straightened upright when the front wheel struck an overturned garbage can. Trash flew up, struck his face and nearly knocked him off the bike.
Pawing the slop off his glasses while avoiding more obstacles, Roach aimed for narrow gap between the brick wall and an overfilled dumpster. Grinding the end caps off his hand grips the bars bent slightly inward as the knuckle shot loose. The screeching and clanging sounds from behind told him at least one cruiser was out of the nights festivities.
Down-shifting and throttling up Roach headed for the relative sanctuary of the nearby industrial park. Bubblegum blues gaining in intensity told the story, the boys in blue were still on his trail.
Aiming for the forklift ramp into the warehouse, Roach went airborne onto the loading dock, riding along knocking stacked pallets loose as the dockworkers scrambled to get out of his way. One worker in his haste ran in front of Roach for nearly thirty feet before tossing the box he had been carrying and diving headlong into a half empty trailer. Roach saw his longtime bro Shakey pointing in his direction and doubling over in laughter. Throwing a one-fingered salute Roach shouted, "You still owe me a beer, Fucker!" Shakey, too flustered from trying regain his breath, just smiled then responded with a single digit wave of his own, using the finger to activate the loading ramp ahead into the upright position. Roach went skyward off the ramp, clearing the chain-link fence into an open field.
Landing hard, Roach's legs flailed behind the knuckle as it bounced along trying to stay upright.
Distant fading blues signaled the fence had done it's job. Rapidly putting miles between himself and town, Roach settled in for the remaining ride to his destination.
Kicking through the gears, Roach became aware of a burning sensation from his seat, briefly pondering the cause. Roach's mind flashed back to the earlier bathroom fiasco, "The fucking bottle was Blue!" Realizing the significance of the bottle's color he suddenly stood on the bike's binders and brought the knuckle to a screeching halt alongside the nearby canal. He dropped the bike and jumped feet-first into the waters screaming, "God-damned medicated foot powder!" Waving water into his crotch to wash off the offending burning sensation only amplified the unpleasantness before finally providing cool relief.
Lying along-side the canal Roach loudly cursed the night air, "Un-fucking-believable!" Slowly getting up and uprighting the knuckle on it's side stand, Roach struggled to throw a water-soaked leg over the bike. After successfully smacking his leg on the sissy bar several times the deed was done. Kicking the knuckle to life, he tore out along the gravel heading for pavement arriving at his intended rendezvous point several miles later. The knuckle was silenced and Roach dragged a wind-dried stiff leg off his mount and shuffled along the pavement to a brother sitting nearby next to his scoot.
Reaching into his pocket, Roach procured a shiny new masterlink, handing it over. His Bro asked, "Any trouble?"
"No problem, Bro. No problem at all."
