Elizabeth A Mills

The Motorcycle Thief: Chapter 6 of 6

	Nat is still standing by the motorcycle.  She's pale, almost
green.  Her eyes are locked onto the blonde man's.  I notice that his eyes
are light gray-blue and very cold. 
	"Hi dad."  She grimaces.
	"Hello, daughter."  He has a British accent and his voice is very
calm and controlled.  His eyes are locked on hers. 
	I am still on the ground, hands gripping my gun, which is now
pointed at Nat's father.  He averts his eyes from Nat and takes notice of
	"Well, now, we can't have you pointing that weapon at me."  He
walks towards me, heavy boots crunching the driveway gravel.  All I can
see is a dark silhouette of his body as the sun is shining behind him.  I
look up, squinting into the light.  He squats down, the leather of his
boots and belt squeaking slightly, and takes the Glock from my hands.  He
inspects the gun, smiling a smile that doesn't touch his eyes.
	"Nice choice in pistols." 
	He stands up and throws it hard, overhand, to Nat, who catches it
with barely a flinch or glance and stuffs it in her belt.  She's still
staring at her father.  He turns to her again, meeting her eyes.
	"Well, looks like you've been up to some trouble, lass.  I, for
one, do not like bailing you out of these troubles." 
	He motions towards the dead man on the ground.  His men are
picking up the mess as he speaks, putting the body into a plastic garbage
	Nat's leg is still bleeding.  I claw my chin strap loose, yank my
helmet off my head and pick myself up off the ground.  I limp over to her. 
I touch the bloody fringe of her chap leg, where it's torn from the road,
with my fingertips, wetting them.  I hold my hand up, looking at her
blood on my fingers.
	"You're bleeding, it seems."  Her father observes, taking a folded
handkerchief out of his back pocket, wadding it up and tossing it at her. 
	I suck the blood off my fingers, tasting Nat's copper saltiness
and take the handkerchief from her to bind her leg.
	"I'll survive."  Nat grins as coldly as her father as I stoop down
to tie the cloth around her knee.
	"That you shall.  I have no doubt."  He grins back at her.  "But,
you must be going now, my dear.  I'll supply you whatever you need but you
must leave here."
	Nat nods.  "I know."
	I have no idea what is happening at this point.  The men have
finished cleaning up the mess and one is driving the dead man's car away. 
The others are turning over the stained earth with shovels.  Nat's father
makes a motion to a few of them and instructs them to take the Ninja and
get us two fast, clean bikes.
	"Japanese or Italian, please."  He grins.  "My daughter never
acquired a taste for your Harleys and her companion here looks like she
belongs on an old Motoguzzi."  He turns to Nat.  "Is there anything else
you need other than transportation?"
	"No."  Nat replies curtly.  She's still looking at him like she
wants to stick her knife in his belly.
	"Good.  As I'd be rather disappointed to see you at a loss for
resources, having to beg your father to bail you out."
	I take our stuff off the Ninja and a man wheels it away, crinkling
his nose at our rice-burning crotchrocket.  I smile and shrug at his
apparent disgust.  I drop our duffels on the ground in-between us and
Nat's father.
	"How long have you been keeping company with this one?"  He looks
me over for the first time.
	"A while.  She's a good thief."  Nat ruffles my windblown hair and
kisses my cheek.
	"Looks like a bruiser."  He grins at me.  "I'll call you Bruiser,
	The man who wheeled off the Ninja returns riding an Eliminator,
kind of a Ninja in a cruiser frame.  Very fast bike.  Another man behind
him, riding one as well.
	He has a faraway, grim expression on his face.  "Take care of
	I wonder which one of us he's saying this to.
	Nat and I bungee-cord down our duffels to the bikes and pull on
our helmets.  I straddle my motorcycle and start the engine.  It's a heavy
breather, low register engine sounds fill my ears.  Nat is starting her
bike now as well.  She revs it with satisfaction. 
	"Bruiser!"  Nat's father shouts over the noise. 
	I look up and he tosses me a box of 9mm shells.  I grin through my
helmet visor and slip them into my jacket pocket.  Nat and I ride off,
down the driveway.  I can't get her father's face out of my mind as I
follow her to wherever she's taking me now.  I wonder who that man was,
the one who her father killed.  Wasn't law-enforcement, I'm pretty sure. 
	The sun is starting to set, turning the sky red on the horizon and
painting the clouds pink and purple as the sky rolls back towards the
east.  I realize just how tired I am.  My riding is disintegrating more
and more as we wind through the trees.  I can see Nat weaving a bit too. 
How I want to find a huge bed with crisp, white sheets to curl up in with
her.  I want to cry and cry.  Cry in her arms and get out all the tension
that has built up in me over these past weeks.  I want to rest.
	I have never seen Nat cry, at least when she's awake.  She cries
in her sleep, sometimes, and I wake up with her tears wetting my shoulder
where her head was resting.  I wonder if she's having nightmares.  I have
never asked her.
	It is dark now.  The sky is filled with stars.  I can see the
dusty band of the Milky Way.  The moon is just a sliver.  Nat signals to
turn off the highway and I follow her as she heads down a small road lined
with oaks. 
	There is a small house hidden in the trees.  Nat stops in front of
the house and I do the same.  We cut our engines and lean our bikes on
their stands.  We both groan and stretch our legs and backs and then we
free our bags from the bikes.  Nat walks up the steps of the front porch
and inspects the lamp mounted to the wall by the front door.  She opens
the little glass door you can get to the bulb through and fishes around. 
She pulls out a key and then tries the lock on the door.  The tumblers
fall into place and the deadbolt clicks back.  Nat pulls my gun out of her
belt, holding it in one hand and her bag in the other.  She uses the butt
of the gun to slowly push open the door.  The house is deserted, but she
doesn't want to chance it.  I am standing behind her with my duffel and my
Zippo in hand, ready to give light.
	Nat and I walk into the hallway.  She tries the light switch.  An
overhead bulb turns on and we jump.  Our faces are lit up and we look at
one another.  Nat's face looks like she hasn't slept in a week: eyes
swollen and red.  I must look about the same.  We start laughing and she
hands me the other duffel.  I set both of them down at our feet and kiss
her.  We kind of cling onto each other in the hallway for a while.  We
draw apart slightly.
	"This is my house."  Nat says.  "A friend of mine takes care of it. 
Keeps it from totally going to pot while I'm away."
	I can't resist asking any longer.  "Who was that man, Nat?"
	"Just someone from my past.  He got lucky and ran into us."
	I am silent, not wanting to ask further.
	"I was running shit for him.  He wanted me to fuck him.  I
wouldn't.  Then he wanted me to fuck his girlfriend and he'd watch.  I
told him to go to hell.  He tried to beat me up and I shot him.  Guess he
got over the physical wound but not the ego deflation ion."
	"Shit."  I shake my head.  "Sounds like some of the offers I'd get
at the Asylum."
	Nat looks into my eyes for a moment. 
	"Do you miss working and living in Sac?"
	I think for a few seconds.  I haven't considered it either way
since I left.
	"Yeah, I guess I do.  I miss the Bay Area too."  I had all sorts of
friends from Sac and San Francisco that I haven't seen or talked to in
almost 6 months. 
	"Just wondering."
	"I miss racing too."  I raced two-strokes on the amateur circuit
when I had time.  I built engines and helped a friend with his racing
bike.  He let me race it in return.
	"Are you ever going to finish school?"
	"I dunno."  I scratch my head.  "I think it would be cool to get it
done someday."
	"Hmmmm...."  Nat wraps her arms around me tighter.  I gladly return
the embrace and hold her to me.
	"I love you."  She mumbles into my breasts.  "You know that,
	"Yeah, I do."  I stroke her hair.  I am starting to feel frightened
by the things that she's saying.
	"Let's go to bed."  She sighs.  "I'm tired as all hell."
	We part and pick up our bags again.  Nat leads me to a bedroom and
flips on the light as we pass under the doorway.  There's a large bed in
the corner that's calling to me.  I drop my stuff and jump onto it.  I
start taking off my clothes.  The night is very warm and there's no need
to wear these soiled rags.  There's a mirror on the closet door, a
full-length one.  I strip down to my boxers and stand in front of it.
	"Jeeezzz."  I groan.  I have lost a ton of weight.  My ribs are
sticking out.  I drop my boxers and look at myself nude.  My hip bones are
poking out as well.
	"You're a skeleton, hon."  Nat is standing behind me.
	I grin and flex my muscles which stand out even more now that they
have little flesh to cover them.  My skin has taken on a translucent
pallor, making my tattoos look really pronounced.
	"I look cool.  Like the undead."
	"Like one of the woodland folk."  Nat grins.  "One of the faerie
	There's a bathroom connected to the room.  Nat leads me into it. 
There's a bathtub on little claw feet.  I stand there as she opens the
faucet and tests the water.
	"Damn.  Water heater is still good too.  I have to hand it to my
	Nat lets the tub fill as she roots around in the cabinets under
the sink.  She produces soap and shampoo. 
	"Think she's been using this place as a crash pad." 
	The tub is full and she turns off the water.  I dip my finger into
the water.  It's very hot but we're very grimy and are in need of a good
soaking.  I slowly place one foot and then the other into the tub and
lower myself into the water, groaning.  Nat laughs at me and starts
pulling off her clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor.  She gets in
very quickly, wincing just slightly from the heat.  I grab her and we rest
together, me lying on my back and her on top of me.  I can feel the
tension releasing itself from my body.  Nat seems to be relaxing as well.
	We soap each other up and slide around like two little kids,
giggling.  I clean out her wound with a toothbrush, getting out all the
gravel.  She washes my hair for me and I do the same.  We then lie
together for a long time in the tub, until the water is lukewarm.  I am
almost asleep, holding her in my arms.  She shakes me slightly and we both
get out of the tub and dry off with towels that are a little musty but
clean.  I wrap her scrape in some gauze we have left over from my hand and
leg disaster.
	We go back to the bed.  The sheets are dusty but we'll survive.  I
lay down on my back, groaning because it still aches slightly.  Nat has a
strange look in her eyes.  I don't really take too much notice.  She jumps
on the bed and stands over me, with my body between her legs.  She leans
down and straddles me.  I feel a deep shiver within me, a stirring that I
haven't felt in a while, as I touch her, running my fingers from her
collarbone, down the curve of her right breast, tracing the line of her
belly down to her pubic hair.  She leans down to me and I take her right
nipple into my mouth and bite her hard.  She moans and her body arches,
her fingers finding their way into my hair and pulling it.  Her mouth
finds my shoulder and she bites into my flesh, drawing blood.
	I feel like an animal, something not quite human as we struggle
with each other.  My mind and soul are entirely filled with the primal
urge of sex, as if it were a holy pagan sacrament.  I bury my face into
her.  Nat screams in her orgasm as I have never heard her do before, 
tearing at my skin with her fingers.  I feel like my eardrums are going 
to blow out when she makes me climax later on. 
	We are panting, sitting with our legs intertwined.  Nat reaches
over and produces her knife.  She places it in my hand and holds my hand
so the dagger's point is pricking her breast.  I know innately what she
wants me to do, although she has never asked me to do this before.  I cut
a small slit over her heart, deep enough so the blood flows freely.  I
drop the knife and take the cut into my mouth, drinking, tasting the salty
metallic taste of her life.  Nat then takes the knife and cuts the palm of
my left hand open and places the wound over her chest.  Our blood mixes
together as we look into each other's eyes.
	"I will never be without you now.  My love, my angel,"  She
murmurs.  "You must go home and I must hide."
	I am silent.  We kiss softly, allowing the taste of our saliva,
juices and blood to mix in our mouths. 

	When I wake up the next morning, she is gone: her bike, her stuff,
everything but my methadone pills and my own personal stuff.  She left the
Glock and its ammo as well with a roll of hundred dollar bills the size of
my fist, wrapped up in a rubber band, next to it.  There is no note.  She
has gone out and picked wildflowers and strewn them on the bed around me. 
There is a pile of them on the bed stand by my Glock.
	I cry and cry as I ride away from the house, onto the freeway and
out of Ojai.  I can't seem to find any way of making the pain dull.  A
million needles pierce me, I feel so empty and alone. 
	Later, I ride somberly up the I-5, towards Sacramento, going home. 
	For some strange reason, I feel as if something heavy has been
lifted off of my heart as I get closer and closer to Sac.  My apartment
should still be there with my stuff.  I sent the landlord rent for the
whole year and had her keep an eye on it. 
	When I get to the apartment, I decide to call a friend in San
Francisco and see if she's up to having me over for a while.
	I feel like I'm waking up from a dream as I ride across the Bay
Bridge in the afternoon sun, the wind blowing in my face. 

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