by Todd Kirby
anyone was looking, and finding no one, he leaned in and gave Jamie a kiss she would remember. “Now you need to get home before your parents wake up and call the cops.” he said. “Come on, I’ll walk you to within sight of your house.”
As they walked the short distance to within sight of Jamie’s house, she reached over and took hold of Jeremy’s hand. He shook his head, but he allowed it. Once they got to within sight of Jamie’s house, she squeezed his hand and said, “Thanks again… for everything.” And she quietly snuck up to her bedroom window and crawled in. Jeremy just smiled, feeling oddly content at the events that had transpired over the course of the evening.
Walking back to the gas station alone, Jeremy got on his bike. Before he started it up, he heard, “What’s the other guy look like?”
Jeremy turned to see Ratchet sitting on his bike nearby. “How’d you know where to find me?” Jeremy said.
“I got a call from one of my boys,” Ratchet explained, “...said they were driving by and saw your bike here, but you weren’t on it.” Ratchet looked Jeremy over again and said, “Come on back to the shop and we’ll get you cleaned up before your mom sees you. Geez, kid, you look awful.”
The two rode back to Ratchet’s shop and parked their bikes out front. Once inside, Ratchet went behind the desk and pulled out a clean rag. Getting it wet, he tossed it to Jeremy and said, “Wipe the blood off first, so I can see the damage.”
Jeremy grimaced a little as he wiped the dried blood off of his mouth. In the process, he discovered a small cut below his eye and some various bruises. Once clean, Jeremy looked at Ratchet and said, “Well?”
Ratchet smiled and said, “Yeah, that’s not much better. Let me get some ice.” And he grabbed another clean rag and got some ice out of the freezer in the corner of the room. Wrapping the ice in the rag, he handed it to Jeremy and said, “Put this on your lip, it’ll help with the swelling.”
“Thanks.” said Jeremy.
“Tell me it wasn’t Ford.” Ratchet said, suddenly serious.
“Well…” Jeremy began, “it wasn’t just Ford…”
Ratchet’s jaw drew tight, then he asked, “How many of them were there?”
“Four or five, I think.” Jeremy replied. “But I got help from an unexpected source.”
“Who’s that?” said Ratchet.
Jeremy smiled a little and said, “Ronnie Murphy.”
Ratchet looked shocked and said, “Ronnie Murphy? Officer Murphy’s boy?”
Jeremy nodded.
“He’s a church boy,” said Ratchet. “I wonder what he was doing at the party…”
“How do you know he’s a church boy?” Jeremy asked.
“Well…” Ratchet began, “his folks are good friends with the Wilcox’s. Janet Wilcox and I went to school together, she still invites me to church a couple of times a year. She teaches reading or something at your school, you’ve probably seen her. Anyway, the last time I spoke with her, she mentioned the Murphys going to church with her.”
“I’m not sure which is more amusing to me right now,” Jeremy returned, “the fact that Ronnie Murphy evidently prays for me and then fights for me, or the fact that you know Ms. Wilcox.”
“Know her?” Ratchet furrowed his brow, “I dated her.”
“You dated a Christian girl?” Jeremy looked shocked, “That’s just wrong.”
Ratchet smiled and shook his head. “Kid,” he started, “there are two types of Christians in the world: those who follow God, and those who follow men. You can’t have any better friend than the ones who follow God, and you can’t have any worse enemy than the ones who follow men.”
“Good to know…” Jeremy replied. “So which one is Ms. Wilcox?”
“She’s a good girl,” said Ratchet, “she follows God. So does officer Murphy. Mrs. Berry always thought a lot of him and his family.”
Jeremy raised an eyebrow at Ratchet. “You seem to know a lot about Christians for someone who isn’t one.” he said.
“Yeah, well…” Ratchet said as his smile faded, “That’s a story for a different day.”
CHORUS 1
(The Brawl)
Jeremy’s high school graduation party was wild, and his 21st birthday party was the stuff of legend. In the years that followed, he only solidified his biker reputation with the fights, drugs and conquests that occurred on a regular basis. For the most part, he avoided being arrested, but when he couldn’t, it was only for an ‘overnight stay’. Even through all of this, Jeremy considered from time to time the Christians who kept showing up in his life. For some reason, he couldn’t outright dismiss them as easily as other bikers seemed to.
Jeremy also maintained his vocal skills. Granted, he only used them now to impress girls, but that was reason enough not to lose the talent. He would sing along with the radio, or occasionally serenade a waitress or biker girl. It seemed to be a rare talent among Jeremy’s group.
One typical Friday night, Jeremy and Ratchet were drinking at a bar, discussing business. It was a biker joint, so all of his friends were there. Skeeter kept his usual stool at the bar, keeping the bartender company. Jeremy and Ratchet were at a table not far from the bar.
“Hey kid,” Ratchet began, “have you had a chance to check out any of the new EFI systems yet?”
“Fuel injection?” Jeremy posited, “I know the rice burners are using them a lot, but Harley hasn’t made them production yet, have they?”
“No, but it’s coming.” said Ratchet. “They’re really temperamental right now…”
The room grew unnaturally quiet so the two friends looked up. A group of out-of-town bikers had walked in the door. The ‘Chupacabras’ were a long way from home. Their turf included big cities further south, but they had been know to expand northward for drug trafficking. Jeremy looked at Ratchet for guidance, and the older man held his hand out, palm down, as if to say, “sit tight.”
The newcomers surveyed the room for a moment, then the leader smiled and motioned for the others to spread out. Ratchet lifted his drink to his lips with his left hand, and slowly moved his right hand under the table. Jeremy slowly leaned back in his chair and put his hands on the edge of the table.
The leader of the Chupacabras walked up to the bar where Skeeter was sitting and told the bartender, “Shot of bourbon for me and my boys, house is fine.” As the bartender started lining up shot glasses along the bar, the leader spoke again. “You wouldn’t know where I could score some angel powder, would you?”
“Nope.” said the bartender.
“Well now,” the leader went on, “if there isn’t any available in this area, maybe me and my boys should start bringing it in.”
At that, Skeeter spoke up. “The man didn’t say there wasn’t any available, he said you couldn’t score any.” And Skeeter slowly turned on his barstool to face the leader.
“Well maybe me and my boys will start bringing it in anyway.” said the leader, as he downed his shot.
“I wouldn’t recommend it.” said Skeeter, now standing up slowly.
At that, everyone who was sitting down stood up. Brass knuckles and and switchblades became visible, and both Skeeter and the Chupacabra leader surveyed the room again. As a smile crept across the leader’s lips, he said, “I was kind of hoping you’d have a problem with that.”
Skeeter slowly reached for one of the shot glasses with his left hand. He downed it, then with one swift motion he set the shot glass down on the bar with his left hand and swung his right fist at the Chupacabra’s face, catching him off-guard with the distraction maneuver. As the leader tumbled backward, fights simultaneously broke out throughout the room.
A big Chupacabra pulled a chain from his belt-loops and swung it at Ratchet, but Ratchet had slipped on a pair of brass knuckles a moment before. As Ratchet held his left arm up in defense, the chain wrapped around his arm. Ratchet used the chain connection to pull himself toward the
newcomer, and the force of the lunge combined with the force of Ratchet’s fist to the man’s face provided a gruesome result.
As Jeremy saw another Chupacabra pull out a switchblade, he grabbed the bottle he had been drinking from. Jeremy was expecting a slashing move, but the man stabbed instead. Trying to deflect it at the last second, Jeremy caught the full impact of the blade in his left bicep. Jeremy swung the bottle up with his right hand and broke it across the Chupacabra’s face.
The Chupacabras had underestimated Skeeter and Ratchet’s group, they evidently thought that a bunch of country bikers were no match for them. They were mistaken. As Skeeter and Ratchet’s group took early control, any Chupacabras who were winning in their individual battles soon found themselves double- and triple-teamed. Eventually, the Chupacabras were stumbling out of the bar, bruised and bloodied, getting on their bikes and riding away.
Skeeter and Ratchet’s group began checking each other for damage. Most of it was minor, but Jeremy was bleeding pretty badly from his bicep. “Jimmy,” Ratchet called to the bartender, “gimme a towel, would ya?” The bartender threw a towel over to Ratchet, who wrapped it