The full moon crested the harbor like an evil glow over Transylvania. The hue from the Los Angeles sky foreground turned the color of the perfect globe a dense, almost Harley Orange. It didn’t exude the aura of freedom and chrome, but maybe a darker spirit like Halloween. There was something eerie about the night.
It neared closing time and Dr. Feng and Melody chatted in the dark corner, thinking Olivia, his ex, might return, but suspecting the worst. His relationship with the Mermaid had only one constant. It was constantly tumultuous. Outside, the good doctor chain-smoked Canadian cigarettes, because they don’t contain the harmful preservatives blended into domestic cigarettes. Inside their cantina table, lit by only one small flickering table candle, afforded them just the right level of warmth, but there was something cool about Melody.
“It doesn’t look like your friends are returning,” Dr. Feng said. “Do you need a lift? Where do you live?”
Melody was extremely well put together, with a graceful air about her. She was polished and courteous. During their conversation, she mentioned attending Yoga classes, and her art/income at reading palms and facial features, maybe even telling fortunes. She recently lost her part-time dealership job, her only secure income. She only had two more weeks of regular pay before her time at the dealership was up.
Dr. Feng, intrigued by her stories, told of his own artistic endeavors with metal-art and the art district in downtown LA.
She owned up to living with her daughter in a single room in a Long Beach suburb, called Belmont Shore. It was sort of a yuppie enclave and upscale college student seaside area of narrow streets and ’50s Spanish homes jammed next to each other.
At over 50 years of age, she owned only one compact car with over 100,000 miles on the odometer. The doctor felt at ease with her story, since he owned a rat sailboat, his home, and several broke down vehicles, plus a blown up Ninja. She sorta fit. His only running vehicle was the 650 ATK.
“I’m having a problem with the woman who owns the home housing my daughter,” Melody said, and a sense of concern engulfed her features.
“What’s the issue?” Dr. Feng asked, reaching in his long trench coat styled jacked to check on his cigarette inventory.
“She’s sort of a bitch and wants me out,” Melody said and sipped her wine. The good doctor ran a tab for their dinner and drinks. She didn’t offer to help.
“Where am I taking you tonight, and what will the future bring?” asked the good Doctor and itched to light another cigarette. “It’s smoke time,” he said, slipping out of his seat. The good doctor was beginning to wonder if he might take her back to his large sloop.
Together they meandered out to his sleek street machine in the motorcycle only parking area. Doctor Feng sized up the tall maiden almost a foot taller than himself. He lit a cigarette and his calloused welder’s hand pawed at a Chinese good luck amulet hanging at his side. Maybe tonight.
***
Across town, three brothers rode their performance Dynas into a warehouse set up like a club den. The tin walls were scattered with old motorcycle movie posters, from Easyriders, and Run to the Sun, even and old Angels 69 poster hung from a rusting corrugated steel wall. A bar was built out of glass blocks and the open area was dark but spacious enough for a pool table, even a large pot belly stove rested on a brick platform for cold winter nights surrounded by antique wooden chairs.
The brothers rode right into their living space and shut off their bikes. Olivia was a blur, and they knew it. Two brothers swept her off the motorcycle and planted her in a swinging chair attached to a chain hoist, strapped her down and ripped her clothes off. It was party time.
There were three of them. Kraig was obviously the older, and the leader. He was also the biggest of the group with massive tattooed arms and his jet-black hair pulled into a ponytail. His two brothers stood on either side of Olivia and started to fondle her as Kraig ripped off his vest and threw it on the concrete deck as he began to unbuckle his pants and step between her long sequestered naked, silky legs.
Carl lowered her head slightly preparing for a blowjob as he fondled her supple tits. Kraig looked down at the strapped down nakedness and one of his eyebrows tilted skyward. His teeth gleamed as he licked his lips. “She’s going to love every minute of this or die trying,” he giggled slightly and then burst out laughing.
The brothers looked at him with a sense evil glee, and then concern. They rolled the sexual overloaded dice once before with their brother. The last girl didn’t make it and still resided in a shallow desert grave. Kraig didn’t trust women. His mother abandoned him and his brothers several times. “I just like to fuck,” she told the 8-year-old on the way to school one day.
Kraig was the older one of the three and the one who kept drunken boyfriends away from the kids on party nights. He took the brunt of mom’s over-sexed behavior, and the majority of the psychological trauma, while he shielded the younger siblings whenever he could. There were a bunch of offspring and most had to find their way in life in their very early teens. Some were forced to live with strangers and start work by the time they were 13 years of age. But mom collected the welfare checks and occasional child support until they were all 18. Helluva retirement program.
Kraig pinched Olivia’s inner thigh as he dropped his shorts. “Wake up beautiful,” he grinned. “I want you to enjoy this as much as we will.” He slapped his cock against her spread pussy as her eyes flickered and opened.
Olivia was no saint, but she had never endured a gang rape, either. As a younger woman, she was almost too good looking and took advantage of her looks whenever she could. But she was beginning to fade away from the hot appearance department.
Her eyes opened as he poured 60-weight over his cock and her lips and slid inside.
***
Dr. Feng stood beside his ATK and lit another cigarette. “What are you going to do with yourself?” he asked Melody who neared homeless status.
“You live on a yacht?” Melody asked, investigating her options.
“I wouldn’t call it a yacht,” Dr. Feng said, “but it’s my 42 foot steel sloop.” He began to see her mind working. She sized him up like she was about to buy an expensive exotic car with no money down. “Here’s a photo.”
He showed her a shot of his ratty rusting, mast-less, sloop scattered with junk and metal art. Her mind turned as if she flipped the pages in a Robb Report and was terribly disappointed by the condition of her expectant Ferrari purchase. She looked at the photo, the good doctor’s ratty leathers, his less than a wild Harley custom, motorcycle and came to a shopping decision. He didn’t cut it. At her ripe age, she was on the hunt for a rich benefactor.
“I’m hoping to meet someone from Beverly Hills,” she said as if her statement answered all the questions in life.
Dr. Feng lit his filtered Canadian cigarette and crossed his grubby mud-strewn boots as he sat on the edge of his parked motorcycle. He studied Buddhism, Feng Shui, and Chinese astrology. He reviewed her appearance, attractive, tall, and statuesque. Her make-up was still perfectly in place and she had freshened her lipstick recently. Her eyes were blue and still bright after a few glasses of her favorite wine and the lines of meth. The form-fitting denims accented her supple hips and that tight gray sweater made her considerable boobs dance in the moonlight. She looked good enough to eat beside a warm fire, but something was missing, a heart.
“Where can I drop you?” Dr. Feng asked.
“That’s okay,” Melody said sizing up his less that Harleyesque motorcycle laden with dirty welding gear and old laundry bags. “I’ll take a cab.”
“Marko will hook you up,” Dr. Feng said and bowed slightly. “He’s security in the Cantina.” He turned to his reliable ATK and grabbed his full-faced helmet. Tossing his spent cigarette under the bushes next to the Cantina, he donned the tight helmet and reached for his gloves.
“Can you help me with the fare?” Melody didn’t blink at her request. It was sorta matter of fact like.
Dr. Feng, who often worked laying in slimy mud under oil rigs, saving their performance by fabricating broken pipe fixtures and welding them securely in place to keep operations underway, reached under his coat and grabbed a Chinese amulet for compassion and patience. He was silent for almost 30 seconds of mindfulness. Then his hand slipped into his denim pocket to where he kept all of his finances, receipts, license, you name it, like a single pocked filing cabinet.
There were no credit cards or bank accounts, just an ever-changing wad of cash, insurance cards, registrations, you name it. He pulled it clear, accessed it and while trying to grapple with this massive tattered paper wad, peeled off a twenty and handed it to her.
“Thanks,” she said dryly, leaned forward, kissed him on the cheek, spun on the heels of her designer Harley boots and disappeared back into the Cantina.
Suddenly, Dr. Feng needed some wind in his full face hair, miles under his Avon tires, and separation from this less than attractive experience.
He wondered what happened to the disaster he arrived with. He tried to turn the evening into a positive learning experience. As the motorcycle warmed, he was glad to be alone and free from any less that positive encumbrances. It was all good…
