Beginning to Believe

by Sean Michael

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

  Torquere Press Publishers

  P.O. Box 37, Waldo, AR 71770.

  Bus Stories Copyright 2003 by Sean Michael

  Cover illustration by BSClay

  Published with permission

  ISBN: 978-1-61040-872-1

  www.torquerepress.com

  All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address Torquere Press. LLC, P.O. Box 37, Waldo, AR 71770

  Second Torquere Press Printing: February 2015

  Printed in the USA

  Beginning to Believe

  By Sean Michael

  Chapter One

  Tyler whistled along to the Eagles on KFOX, hands full of grease as he cleaned out the engine on a ‘59 Triumph TR6. She hadn’t been well treated, but with a whole lot of TLC, she was coming along nicely. Maybe too nicely to sell.

  He interrupted his whistling to chuckle. He was going to go broke if he kept keeping the beauties. He had the front and back doors open, a nice breeze coming in off the ocean, keeping the place cool.

  As the chorus of the song came on, he sang along with it. “Take it easy... take it easy....”

  He made it to the end of the chorus when he heard someone clear his throat. He looked up at a guy in jeans and a t-shirt, eyes shadowed by a ball cap. Dude looked clean-cut as hell, little brown beard and moustache trimmed, no hair peeking from the hat. “Evenin’. Jim at the Kawasaki dealership said I should come here and ask for a Tyler if I had questions about a bike.”

  “Well, cool, I’ll have to thank him for the referral.” He got up and grabbed the rag out of his pocket, rubbing off some of the grease. “I’m Tyler. What can I do you for?”

  “Kit.” He got a nod, the voice surprisingly southern, classy. “Pleased to meet you. I’m hunting a bike that is damned stable, that doesn’t fall over easily.”

  “You looking for a particular brand, or just the stability factor?”

  “Just the stability, really.” Kit shrugged and gave him a grin. “It’s just something I’ve always wanted -- a motorcycle, that is -- and I figured I’d see what my options are.”

  He nodded, impressed. Most guys came in and didn’t like to admit they needed help and knew nothing about bikes. “Well a low-rider might be your best bet. Stable ride, you don’t have to perform a high jump to get on it. Most bikes made these days though are pretty solid -- not like the classics -- as long as you don’t try and take corners too fast, you’re fine.”

  “No high jumping is a good plan.” The low laughter was soft, sort of wry. “And how about special modifications? Do you know anyone who does custom work on bikes?”

  He grinned. “Well, Kit. You just happen to be talking to someone who can help you with that kind of thing. I can tear ‘em down, build ‘em back up, add to ‘em, subtract from ‘em. You want a VCR and TV installed? I’ll make you sign a waiver, but I’ll do it for you.”

  That earned him another laugh and the man pushed himself away from the wall, moving toward him with a stiff, unnatural gait. “Sounds like you might be my man, Tyler. Can I see some examples of your work?”

  “Oh, I am always ready to show off my beauties. How much time have you got? ‘Cause there’s the five cent tour and then there’s the grand tour, but I have to warn you now -- you get me started and it takes a strong incentive to stop me again.”

  “I got time.” Kit nodded. “I like to know the people I do business with, know what I’m spending my money for.”

  “That’s a good old-fashioned sense of business that’s sadly lacking these days.” Tyler figured his hands were about as clean as they’d get, so he pocketed the rag and held out his hand. “Tyler Jenkins, motorcyclephile at your service.”

  A callused, square hand took his, muscles rippling in that arm. “Kit Keyes. Pleased as hell to meet you.”

  He smiled, enjoying the feeling of the warm skin against his own. “So tell me, Mr. Keyes, where are you from?”

  “Originally? Oklahoma, but I’m living a bit north of here these days.” From here Tyler could see Kit’s eyes, warm and rich, all greens and browns. “And it’s Kit. Mr. Keyes is my daddy.”

  “Cool. You can call me Tyler or Ty or T or hey you with the awesome bikes.” He gave Kit a wink and finally dropped his hand, leading the man to the far end of the long garage. Kit kept up well, the sound of tennis shoes sliding on the concrete echoing.

  “You’ve got a bit of a limp there -- I take it that’s responsible for the need for a stable bike with special modifications?” He wasn’t one to pussyfoot around a man.

  “In a way, yes.” Kit stopped and he turned to see the jeans’ legs lifted, exposing two steel rods disappearing into the sneakers. “I’m pretty damned stable, but I don’t want to get caught because I’m stiff.”

  “How far up do those go?”

  “The left one has three inches below the knee. The right has an inch and a half above.”

  No embarrassment there, no fear. Just cold, dead truth.

  “You can ride then. Without any knees, you might have run into problems. Hell of a thing though.”

  “Yeah. I don’t recommend it, as a rule. Have you modified a bike for something like this before?”

  “No, I can’t say I have. We’ll fix you up though.” He gave Kit an easy smile. “If you decide to go with me that is. Now let me show you my beauties. Also known as my babies.”

  He pulled the tarps off a half a dozen bikes, each one restored to dealership shine. Just like new.

  “Damn, those are fine!” Kit let him take the man through each one, listening and asking pertinent questions. Just from talking with him, Tyler could tell Kit knew his way around a motor, wasn’t a stupid man, and had done some research.

  Once he’d finally petered out, he offered Kit coffee. “Any man who can listen to me go on all afternoon about these babies deserves a cup of my best. There’s a little patio out back, we could talk about what you’ll need done.”

  “That’d be appreciated, thank you.” Kit followed him out, settling carefully into a cast-iron chair with a soft sigh.

  Tyler found a couple of mugs and poured his half-day old coffee into them. “Milk, sugar, black?”

  “Black with sugar, please. Thank you. How long have you been working on bikes, Tyler?”

  “Pretty much since I was fourteen.” He made up the coffees and brought them over along with an old bag of Peeps. “I couldn’t ride them yet, but I discovered that nothing set my father’s blood pressure higher than bringing some raggedy old bike home from the dump and working on her in the garage.”

  Kit chuckled, turning down the Peeps with a grin. “Now there’s a goal I can respect. My daddy’s still telling people his boy’s a welder in El Paso.”

  He chuckled, dipping a peep into his coffee to soften it up. “And what’s the truth?”

  “The truth?” The man grinned. “I’m in the music business. I own a little label, record independent artists, that sort of thing.”

  “Independent? The big boys haven’t driven you out of business? Cool.”

  “I worked with the big boys for a while. We have a good relationship. Some of my folks go on to get big deals with the big boys.” There was a hint of regret somewhere in that voice.

  “Yeah? Makes you sad to see them go?” He wasn’t one to leave a mystery alone.

  “Oh, no. The kids deserv
e their shot in the spotlight.” Kit shook his head, smiled. “Somehow I doubt you’d be interested in hearing the young’uns I record. All country music, barring a touch of folk.”

  Tyler chuckled. “Oh, I don’t mind a bit of country -- ‘s long as it’s not too twangy.”

  That earned him a nod. “I hear that a lot. The old twangy stuff’s dying out. So, you reckon you could make me a bike that I could learn to ride, Tyler?”

  He grinned, noting the change of subject. “I reckon I could, Kit.”

  “I would like that. I take it you need to come up with specs and an estimate and then I’ll cut you a check.” Kit leaned forward, rubbed his knees, shoulder muscles working.

  He nodded. “That sounds about right. I’ll do you a couple of estimates -- one with a brand new bike, another with a second hand one, something I can build up myself. The advantage of a brand new one is going to be durability, but your cost will come down a lot if I build it up from scrap. I won’t try and tell you that one I build is going to be as durable and steady as a top of the line new one, but I do a fair job, even if I do say so myself.”

  “I’m less worried about the money than the quality. It’ll have to be good before the insurance company will cover it.” Kit nodded. “Sounds good. I’ve always wanted a bike, even before the accident.”

  “Good for you for sticking to your guns and not letting a thing like that derail you. There are lots of people who would.” He liked Kit. The more he talked to the man, the more he got a good feeling about him.

  “The option is getting back up on the horse or lying down to die, I guess. I’ve had a few years to get used to things. Believe me, I wasn’t near as gracious -- or graceful -- at first.”

  Tyler nodded. “Yeah, I had a friend who didn’t take the same option as you. Damn shame, the man was beautiful and talented enough to get a rise out of dead man. The wheel goes around though, doesn’t it?”

  Kit nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that. I... I was damned lucky. Ten of the twelve of us on the bus died. Rick and I... we don’t talk much anymore.”

  “Oh man, I’m sorry.”

  “Shit happens.” Kit nodded, stretched. “Enough of the sordid and morbid. Can you recommend a place to get a beer and a burger? I’m starving.”

  “Sure, Kelly’s just down the road. Has a great balcony out back, too. Stools in the sand, practically on the beach.” He weighed his options, gut telling him he liked this man, wanted to get to know him better. His gut usually wasn’t wrong. On the other hand, Kit was a customer, and one who was going to be paying him a hell of a lot of money at that. He decided to drop a little hint and let the winds blow where they would. “It’s my favorite place. You tell Vera Ty sent you and she’ll give you a piece of pie at half price.”

  “Sand, huh?” Kit gave him a quiet look. “How about this? You make sure I don’t go ass-first into the dirt and I’ll buy a round of beers.”

  Tyler grinned, pleased with the winds. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Kit. You give me a couple of minutes to close up shop and I’ll join ‘ya.”

  “Cool.” Kit stood, moving stiff, but steady, and headed toward the front, giving Tyler a nice long look at a strong back and tight little ass.

  He had a feeling he was going to need to see a lot of Kit to get this bike just right. At least he hoped so.

  Chapter Two

  Kit followed Tyler down the road a bit, fighting a groan as he swung his legs out of the truck. He’d had the legs on for damned near twelve hours; he was pushing his personal record as it was, much less after adding supper and the drive home.

  Still, Tyler was interesting and not bad to look on. Kit chuckled at himself as he stood, steadying himself on the truck door. Rednecks did not look upon tattooed, longhaired, surfer-type motorcyclists with desire. It was in the handbook, under Cowboy Fags 101 -- Thou shalt lust from afar after bull riders and ranch hands in denim.

  By the time Tyler walked over to him, Kit damned near had himself cackling, his tiredness fading with the laughter. Thank God for teaching him that on those long nights on the road. Laughing kept him awake.

  Tyler had a warm smile for him, walking loose and easy. Now there was a man comfortable in his skin.

  “You do all right for yourself,” Tyler said, nodding at his truck.

  “She’s a solid little thing and my chair fits in the back, just in case.” He patted the hardtop. “Smells damned good.”

  Tyler grinned. “Yep, there’s nothing like the smell of onions and heavy grease.”

  Ty lifted his glasses up onto his head as they went in.

  They were met by a large woman wielding a coffee pot, her hair about three feet high if it was an inch. “Ty, baby, how you doing?”

  “Cool, V. You got room out on the sand for two?”

  “For you? I sure do. Go on and find yourselves a spot. Your friend wanting a menu?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I am.” He nodded politely, pulling off his sunglasses and popping them in his pocket. “Thank you.”

  God, how many kick-ass places like this had he eaten in on the road?

  “Oh, polite. I like this one, Ty-baby.”

  Ty rolled his eyes and grabbed his arm, leading him out. There were about ten tables out the back with chairs, looking over the beach.

  He managed the sand pretty well, settling into a chair with an audible sigh of relief. “It’s a mighty fine view.”

  “Yeah. I grew up on this view.” Tyler looked out at the beach and then back at him with a grin.

  Vera came out with a couple of glasses of water and a menu for him. “Now you want something you don’t see and I’ll have them make it for you,” she told him.

  “Now wait a minute... You look very familiar.” Vera pulled out a chair and sat down. “Don’t tell me -- let me see if I can remember.”

  Kit’s cheeks flared and he ducked his head. Didn’t happen very often anymore. Once every few months maybe, somebody would give him that ‘didn’t you used to be somebody’ look.

  “V...”

  “Now hush, Ty or I’ll threaten to take out your baby pictures.”

  That made Kit chuckle, low laughter filling the air. “That’s quite a threat.”

  “Works every time, too.” Vera gave him a wink.

  Tyler sighed. “Kit, this is my Mom. Mom, this is Kit.”

  “Oh! Kit Keyes! The country singer, right? I never forget a face!”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He held out a hand and shook it. “Mighty nice to meet you.”

  “You were a real up and comer when that accident wiped out most of your band, weren’t you?” Vera patted his hand. “The universe sure has a strange sense of humor, doesn’t she?”

  “It does at that.” He offered her a smile, a nod. “So tell me, what’s the best thing to eat here?”

  “Ty grew up on the burgers, so that might be a mark against them,” she told him with a wink.

  “V...”

  She chuckled and pet Tyler’s knee. “I’m going Ty-baby. I’ve got tables waiting on me. This one is real nice, you might want to hold onto him.” She turned back to Kit. “You try the chili and see if we don’t get it right. Cornbread’s an old secret recipe, too.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” He nodded, cheeks burning to beat the band.

  “Sorry ‘bout that,” Ty said after Vera’d gone. “She’s usually a little busier and not quite so... well -- you were polite to her, she likes that.”

  “She seems like a sweet lady.” Kit chuckled, fingers fiddling with the silverware. “And very fond of her son.”

  And wouldn’t he just give his eyeteeth to figure out that ‘hold onto him’ thing?

  Ty grinned. “She’s a good lady -- always here when I need her.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” He chuckled and relaxed back into the chair, opening the menu. “What tickles your fancy, this evening?”

  “I’m going to have the meatloaf -- it rocks on Tuesdays.” Tyler gave him a warm smile. “And after that... we’ll have to see.”r />
  “Meatloaf, eh?” Kit blinked and grinned back, just long enough to realize what he was doing and look back down at the menu. “I’m thinking I’ll go with the chili, myself.”

  Surely the guy wasn’t flirting. One -- surfers didn’t flirt with cowboys. Two -- nobody flirted with a gimp. Christ, he was getting desperate in his old age.

  Ty chuckled. “Like you’ve got a choice.”

  Kit’s laugh rang right on out. “You might have a point there, Ty.”

  “You’ve got a great smile and a good laugh,” Ty said. “Honest.”

  “Thank you, Ty. That’s kind to say.” He nodded over, holding Ty’s look a little longer this time. “You grow up ‘round here?”

  Ty nodded. “We had a little apartment a few blocks over. Mom’s worked here as long as I can remember. Dad used to be the line cook.”

  “Used to?”

  “Yeah, he passed away a few years ago. Cancer.”

  “Oh, that sucks.” Kit shook his head. “That’s a damned shame. I’m sorry.”

  Ty nodded. “It’s a hell of a way to die. We were all pretty happy when he finally went in the end.”

  Vera came back out with a pair of beers. “Hey now, why the long faces -- Ty-baby, you aren’t telling him about your misspent youth are you?”

  “No, V. We were just talking and Dad came up.”

  “Bless his soul.” V crossed herself and gave Tyler a kiss on his forehead, earning her an eye roll.

  Kit did like her, very much. “He was a lucky man to have y’all, if you don’t mind me saying, ma’am.”

  “Why thank you, Kit. I don’t mind at all. Now have you two decided?”

  “I’ll have the meatloaf, V.”

  She nodded. “I knew you would -- Danny’s already got your plate half ready -- I wasn’t sure if you’d go with your usual fries or have the mashed and gravy today -- bettern’ usual batch done up today.”

  “I’ll do the mashed.”

  “Good boy. And you, Kit? You gonna give our famous chili a chance?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I believe I will, and a dinner salad, if you don’t mind.” He offered her a grin. “Greens, you know.”

  She chuckled. “I’ll bring one out for Ty, too, so you aren’t made to eat alone.”