Tangle

Tangle

With the first light of dawn, Tangle was awake. This was the third sunrise he’d seen in as many days on the road. He rose from his bedroll, shaking out his boots before putting them on, then went to the small pile of wood he’d collected when he found this spot last evening and got a small fire going with the dried sticks, some pine needles, and his Zippo. In the blind of branches next to his head, his bike had stood silent sentinel throughout the night. Uncovering the big v-twin Harley, he rummaged in the saddlebags for the makings of his morning coffee. Once the fire was strong enough to start heating the canteen water he poured into his travel pot, he turned his attention to the bike.

He’d put some pretty hard miles on the bike in the last few days and he smiled to himself when he thought of how nothing had gone seriously wrong the whole trip. This morning, though, he unrolled his tool pouch and got after replacing those darned pushrod tube corks with some neoprene seals so maybe he’d use less oil. For a shovelhead, it wasn’t losing a whole lot of oil, but every bit helped on a tough run like this. Especially when you’re riding alone a thousand miles from where you started from. Especially when others are counting on you to make it.

 He had his seals in and was just about to run the valves when he remembered his coffee. Man, working on his bike was hypnotic at times. Surrounded by nature without much taint of humanity to be seen, alone with your thoughts and the work before you. The simple beauty of nature combined with the simple beauty of the task at hand. He’d planned a lot of his days in this way. He’d also burnt through a few cheap travel pots letting his thoughts go and becoming absorbed in whatever maintenance he was performing on his bike. But, his bike carried him wherever he was needed and he more often than not had his coffee. This was one of those times.

Tangle drank coffee and smoked while looking over the land. To the west,  down about a mile of old fire road, was the two-lane highway that brought him here. To the east, the land fell away to a valley he figured was maybe 15 miles across if the early morning light wasn’t playing tricks with his eyes. He thought he could see what looked like a tractor making its way through a field in that valley and could imagine a woman up and cooking a breakfast for the man behind the wheel of that tractor to come back to. A real home tucked off somewhere amongst the fields in that valley.

Tangle had no such ties to any kind of home and often wondered what kind of home he’d have had if life had gone that way for him. Closest thing he had to a home was whatever clubhouse he found himself invited to, the temporary comforts of a brother’s home, or better yet, finding himself going to the home of a woman when he spent enough time in one place to catch her eye. The address on the license in his wallet was that of a girl he’d spent three weeks with a few years ago. But holding a nine-to-fiver for “The Man” wasn’t his idea of a life. He always managed to have enough money to get by and his needs weren’t much beyond romping with his brothers, the occasional favors of a lady friend and taking care of business.

 Taking care of business was how he got tagged with his roadname. He was good at solving people’s problems when it came down to force. Most times it didn’t come down to it, but but he’d done whatever was necessary whenever it was asked of him.  He didn’t mind getting dirty when things got out of hand. The more force required, the more discretion he used. Tangle was a “fixer”.  As a result, he had a reputation and a long list of brothers who owed him. He never lacked for a meal or spending green when he could ride into town, look up some bros and be hooked up. And anyway, he’d rather be seeing the countryside through the steam over the rim of his tin coffee cup than seeing the traffic on the highway over the rim of the steering wheel of some cage every morning. Even if it meant no home.  But someday…..

He swung his gaze to the rise off to the north. Over that rise was the town he was riding for and in that town was a dead bro and a sister in need. He poured the remaining drops of his coffee on the smoldering ember of his smoke and went back to running the valves. It was quick work that he must have done a couple of hundred times over the years. Once done, he repacked his tools, squared away his bedroll, wiped the morning dew off the seat and fired the shovelhead up. While it sat there warming up, he scattered the fire and stowed his coffee gear. He could wash up and change when he got where he was going. A meal was definitely in order, too. He swung a leg over and sat on the bike, zipping his jacket as he did. In the chill morning air, he made his way down the fireroad to the highway.

It was 15 years ago that Tangle left the only real home he ever knew. He’d grown up around the club and the brotherhood. His parents had “disappeared” before he could remember them, leaving him in the home of his uncle “Preacher”, the chaplain for the club.

Tangle was brought up to respect his elders, the word of god, the hand that fed him and precious little else.  He was riding Harleys by age 11 when he would ride Sportsters in the rodeo rallys to the amusement of the patchholders. Under the eyes of the brotherhood, he ate a lot of dirt in those days, but learned to ride hard and get off easy when he had to. By the time he was building his first big-twin, there was not much he couldn’t do with a bike.

 As a youngster, there were places he could get in and out of that the adults couldn’t. This taught Tangle stealth and a thing or two about “breaking and entering” as the charges would have read if he’d been caught.

Through his youth, Tangle would do things for the brotherhood that raised him and do them with pride. He was no one to balk at a little blood shed for the brothers. After all, he knew they’d shed enough putting a roof over all their heads and him over the years. This gave Tangle a purpose and drew him closer to the brotherhood. In fact, the day before he had his highschool sophomore picture shot for the yearbook, he’d gone into the office of a bodyshop run by a man who owed the brotherhood big money for “services rendered” and hadn’t gotten around to paying for several months. Tangle slid through the window grates with a tire iron for “Fido” or whatever the name of that fangs-with-fur thing was he’d been warned about. Wearing the blood of that little mess, he was confronted with the shopkeeper who lived upstairs of the office and had heard the commotion. Seeing his pooch on the floor and Tangle in his cashbox, he went for the gun that Tangle hadn’t seen hanging on the wall in a gunbelt. This showed Tangle the importance of always checking your surroundings. He never hesitated as he rushed headfirst into the man’s big gut. One whoosh of air and the man was on the floor, the business end of his own classic Colt revolver staring him in the face. A second later, the man was laid out from that same barrel across the temple. Tangle had the money in his bros’ hands 30 minutes later. He didn’t understand the looks on their faces until he looked at his hands and saw them coated in blood and holding a gun. It wasn’t until Tangle had told the full story of what happened and they knew it wasn’t his blood, that they all relaxed and had a laugh. Tangle had shown some class on this one. A couple of the bro’s would ride by tomorrow and warn the man against pressing charges. They never had a problem after one of their “warnings”. Anyway, he’d asked for it.

Not every day was filled with such business. Most days would find Tangle in school with the “normal” kids if not romping in town with the brotherhood or hanging out at the clubhouse working on bikes with an eye towards building his own when it was time. He’d already started collecting the pieces he thought would make the perfect ride.  His pan cases were given to him by the brothers the night of the bodyshop incident. The straight-leg rigid frame came on his last birthday. The shovel jugs and wide-glide he bought with his own money. Piece by piece, he built his ride under the watchful eyes of the brotherhood until, one day, it was time to ride.

The years as a prospect went by in a blur of club business that found him drawn ever deeper into the fold. Patching Tangle was just a formality. The youngest patchholder in any of his club’s chapters across the nation, Tangle had carved himself a path through the world that would lead him halfway around it before he reached thirty. Older than his years, he’d become a man to be counted on.

But that was years and miles ago. Tangle had been roaming the country taking care of business for whichever chapter of the club needed him and enjoying life on the road. Everywhere he went was a brother or sister glad to see him for one reason or another. In his world, that was as close to feeling like you belonged as it was gonna get. There were the parties, the women, the money, the ride… but nothing beats the look in the eyes of a brother or sister who needs you when you show up. 

As Tangle topped the rise and took it down a gear, the morning calm was broken by the sound of angry pipes.  Tangle had chosen this approach to town because the highway that came in this way was small and didn’t lead to any interstates. The only thing between Tangle and the town now, was a small service station with a diner next to it where he and his buddies used to grab a bite to eat. From the looks of things as he pulled into the lot, everything was just as he left it. This was a good thing, as he wanted to wash up and eat before heading to Deena’s, then looking up Knuck, Yank, Rusty, and anyone else who hadn’t turned colors and crossed over. He’d be looking up the yellow ones all in due course.

Now, the only way out of town to the south was past Tangle. He could grab a bite and watch the comings and goings down this highway, and that’s how he liked it. Get a feel for what’s going on.

Preacher, his uncle and since retired as a patcholder, had gotten word to him that the brotherhood had been split over some new club rolling in. Most of the newer patches since Tangle had left were crossing over as the new boys seemed to have a lot of cash and showed strong in a town that had mostly been settling down to sleep over the years. The older patches from Tangle’s time were “disappearing” or holed up together.

It sounded suspicious to Tangle that a previously unheard of club should come out of the woodwork and move in on a town that had nothing to offer. There was nothing around for miles except the two-laner he rode in on and the interstate to the northwest of town. The only major industry in the area was strip mining and that slowed down over time when it hit the town and attempts by the mining company to purchase some privately held land were refused and then generally voted down. Tangle didn’t think the two were coincidences. Add to that, these clowns were throwing patches at people they hadn’t known for more than a couple of months, according to Preacher. It didn’t add up. Something was going on here and it was going to be his pleasure to sort it all out.

He needed to hook up with Deena. She’d been Flip’s ol’ lady before Flip was killed and he needed to get some background on the situation. He’d call some of the boys from her house, bump heads with them and then maybe call in a few favors. A shower at the service station, a meal while taking in the local gab from whoever was at the diner this early and then off to Deena’s.

Tangle was behind the service station having washed up under a jerry-rigged showerhead on a hose and was going through his saddlebags for a shirt when glancing up, he watched as the local law pulled up in front of the diner. Not exactly the company he wanted to enjoy while he ate, but he could get a sense of the man with anything he might overhear or see while he was in there. He never was one to linger over a meal and he intended to keep a low profile.

He donned an old t-shirt with a local shop’s logo on it. It might help him to look like he’d been around unnoticed instead of a fresh drifter. He used the hose to rinse off as much of the road grime from his bike as he could get in one pass, popped his bags and seat back on the bike, fired up and rode over to the diner.

As he entered the old diner, he fought a flood of old memories to notice the lawman on a stool at the counter talking to a school-age girl in a skirt and apron who was busily wiping the counter. She looked as though her mind was miles away, but that didn’t seem to stop the lawman from gabbing about whatever came spilling out of his mouth. Tangle couldn’t hear from the door. He saw the gun, billy-club, and cuffs on the lawman’s belt. Also, the radio attached at the shoulder of his uniform, no doubt running through the radio in the car out front. The counter was divided by the register; to the left was a glass case containing pastries to go. To the right were eight stools, with the lawman occupying the one closest to the register. The window front of the diner had a row of booths. Another row separated the first from the counter.

Tangle sat down in a booth by the front windows overlooking his bike. The girl excused herself from the lawman and came over with a menu and a glass of water. Tangle ordered eggs, bacon, coffee and toast. It had been a while since he’d eaten well and if things weren’t going well for Deena, he certainly wasn’t going to start off by eating her groceries. Tangle knew she’d sign over the house to him if he needed it. Deena was like that. True brothers and sisters were like that.

While he waited on his food, Tangle used the pay-phone in the hall beside the glass case to call Deena. He could feel the eyes of the lawman on him as he walked and hoped it was only idle curiosity that sparked that gaze. Tangle wasn’t flying. He never did on business. He’d let the local law sort things out on their own without making things any tougher than they were likely to be.

As Tangle placed his call, he thought of this supposedly new club in the area. Where did they come from? Why did they come here of all places? What did they have going for them that drew the young patches to them? He wondered what their status was with the local law. If this lawman was any indication, it didn’t look like this was a town with a full scale war going on.

“Hello?” The voice was tired, a bit less bouncy, a little unsure, and definitely Deena. “It’s me, lady”, was all he could manage as the sound of her voice had taken him back 15 years and 10’s of thousands of miles ago. It was good to hear her voice. It was good to be “home” and some fuckers were going to pay for bringing him back here like this.

“Oh….ohmigod….oh…”, her voice died off in her excitement. Then a small, “I’ll be here all day.” Deena was smart enough not to talk long on a phone; no names, not even roadnames. No talk other than vital info and no specifics. Tangle loved the old girl and couldn’t wait to see her. He didn’t want the world to know she had company until he could set himself up and simply told her, ”Out back”, knowing the shed in her backyard against the treefront would be open when he got there. “Done”, was all he got for a reply and she’d hung up. Been over the mountain, that girl. He chuckled as he went back to his plateful of food.

Sitting down, Tangle made eye contact with the lawman. He looked to be  in his late forties and from the lack of a spare-tire around the middle, was either one of those workout geeks or maybe someone needing closer study. At any rate, the officer just sat there looking at Tangle for a few moments, gave a polite nod and turned back to drone on to the girl behind the counter.

"Not out to mess with anyone", Tangle thought as he started in on his meal. Something was too relaxed with this lawman. Strange bikers in town

usually get the friendly questions and conversation with the words "my

town" thrown in several times to make the point clear. This one was more

relaxed. Tangle dismissed it as coincidence. Or was that just paranoia from being on the road too long he thought as he finished up. He was just about to call the waitress over for more coffee when he heard the approaching motorcycles and looked out the window.

Three bikes pulled up into the slots next to his own and he got his first

look at the new kids in town. "Hooooleee sheeeit....",  he muttered, watching as they pulled up. He had never seen so much leather and chrome in one place on so few people in his life. The only thing missing was a price tag left on everything, bikes included, to keep the "Minnie Pearl" effect going.

Skidding their feet along as they stopped their bikes, Tangle couldn't help but grin when one of them couldn't find neutral and popped his bike dead against the cement curb out front. They got off their bikes and gathered around Tangle's. They all walked around it nodding and talking and just looking up and down at it. "Touch that bag, fucker....", Tangle muttered as one of them bent down  close to the bike. He stood up shaking his head and looked at the others. Didn't recognize what he was looking at. Tangle would've bet right there that none of them had seen a shovel/pan before.

They all looked to be in their late 20's to early 30's,  every one of them had a goatee nicely trimmed, riding chaps, shiny black boots, leather jackets...everything Hollywood says it takes to be a "Biker". When one of them turned around, Tangle saw the three-piece patch. The bottom rocker bore the city's name. That was gonna cost them. 

 This should be good. Brand new bikes, new riding duds, big-time accessories and not much dirt. Tangle got his coffee topped off by the suddenly nervous serving-girl and waited for the show. He didn't see much

 to be worried about, but maybe these weren't the ones  he was here for. These guys weren't the muscle or he was missing something. Either way, he wanted to know what was going on around here…

Tangle's was the booth closest to the door and he was on the side of his booth that faced the door. As the riders entered, he looked each one over for signs of weapons. A man not used to carrying usually favored the side the weapon was on when he walked. Unless used to carrying, the weapon usually broadcast its presence with a telltale bulge. The use of weapons over a period of time would usually mean some visible scars unless the fighter  was incredibly good..Tangle saw nothing on these men except for the sheathed beltknives he'd seen behind countless glass cases next to the bandana’s and sunglasses. Smooth facial skin with neatly trimmed hair and soft looking hands. No suprises. The rockers on the fronts of their vests told him he was enjoying the company of the club President, V.P., and Treasurer. This had to be a joke. None of the riders made eye contact with Tangle as they made their  way to the counter and took seats.

Tangle watched out of the corner of his eye with interest to see how they got along with the lawman. This would give him a good idea of how things were going for them in this town.

"Hey, Dan", said the one who had the president tag, "Any news?" The lawman looked up as if annoyed at the familiarity and stole a quick glance at Tangle before replying, "Why don't you and I take this private before you say something you shouldn't? Get back here." They all rose  to go behind the counter, back to the kitchen, when the lawman stopped the other two with a wave of his hand, saying,"Not you two.. wait out here. Anything you need to hear, you hear from him", he said, jerking a thumb at their Pres.

Tangle wanted to chuckle at the long faces that went back to their places at the counter. But this wasn't funny. People were not dying at the hands of these buffoons, of that much he was sure. He'd seen situations like this before and knew these men weren't the brains, no matter  what position they held in their club. He'd like to have his own chat with the lawman, a man, it seemed,  not easily pushed. What was doing in this town where good people can die and morons can throw their weight around..

He knew he would have his time with the lawman.. but not until he got a little background info from Deena and the brothers. When he talked to that lawman, he'd have all his ducks in a row. Right now, too much was out of place. Too little made sense. Aw, hell... he'd only been in town about an hour. Who'd he think he was, Dick Tracy?

Leaving the young girl to keep the world safe from the  morons at the counter,  Tangle left enough cash on the table to pay his way and tip for the service and walked outside without a glance to the counter. His bike was as he left it. As he swung the kicker out to fire up, he noticed he had spectators at the windows of the diner. "This is how it's done, boys", he said with a grin. He flipped on the gas, primed with two kicks, flipped on the ignition, started on the next kick, and left the parking lot bound for Deena's.

 

Everything Tangle had ever gotten that was worth a damn had come with a lot of effort. Riding onto Flip’s land from the rear was a case in point. Inside Deena’s kitchen would be the best eatin’ he’d had in years. Getting to it through “The Badlands” that was Flip’s personal proving ground was the effort. Flip was a war vet who’d had enough of people and their bullshit to fortify his land from unwanted tresspassers. Helping Flip set the whole thing up was one of Tangle’s rights of passage into manhood. You could only approach Flip’s place from one winding and unmarked trail; veer off, and you could vanish in any number of ways. Flip was just that: totally flipped. As Tangle took a slow putt through The Badlands, he noticed a lion trap with its top caved in and made a mental note to come back later and see who had “checked in”. Roughly 300 yards separated him from the blind built into the hilltop to conceal brothers topping the rise and Flip’s shed. It was downhill all the way and Tangle killed the motor to glide in.

The shed was just as he expected. The door was slightly ajar, there was plenty of space for bikes (Flip’s was there in well preserved glory..), and stored fuel aplenty. Tangle rolled in, topped off his tanks from one of the 5-gallon cans of gas. He checked the loads in his weapons and closed the shed behind him before he circled around the house from the woods.

Tangle was disgusted with how things had been going around here. He saw hanging sections of gutter, weeds in Deena’s beloved garden holes in the fence around the yard. It didn’t do much good to have 8-foot fence around the joint if it had holes in it. In better times, there was a prospect or stand-up brother for every task needed by anyone in the “family”. Of course, things had obviously changed… his very reason for being here. Tangle had to hold back the memories of those better times and his anger; he couldn’t afford to let his feelings cloud his judgement. He finished his “tour” of the grounds, satisfied that all was as it seemed on the outside.

 

He approached the house making a direct line from the woods edge to the chimney so as not to be seen from inside. Staying low and keeping an eye out around him, Tangle gave a listen at all windows except those facing the street. The fence out there was hurricane fence and he didn’t want to be seen by any casual passers-by creeping around the house and besides, if there were anyone troubling Deena and waiting for him to come riding up from the front to knock on the door like a Jehova’s Witness, he’d made his last mistake. Tangle heard nothing but the occasional running of the faucet in the kitchen sink and the soft sound of an Allman Brother’s tune coming from a radio. Tangle hit the button hidden under the gaslamp by the backdoor. This would ring a different sounding bell than the front door button would, telling Deena where her visitor was. If Deena went to the front door, Tangle would know she had folks inside and was playing dumb to buy him time.

The door flew open almost instantly and Tangle was violently dragged inside and…. hugged!

Deena was wild with the emotions going through her at the arrival of this grungy, wind-blown, weather beaten, blast-from-the-past. She squeezed him with everything she had, thumped him on the back, held him back to look at him, kissed him on the cheek, then started the whole process over again! Finally, when Deena returned to Earth, she pulled Tangle’s recent past out of him over beers in the basement. Both of them were content to just be around each other and get re-acquainted, letting the good feeling last as long as they could.

Tangle looked around the basement letting the memories come back. He was a much younger man the last time he was under this roof. From the stairs leading down, the basement stretched the whole length of the house. There was the workbench where Flip taught Tangle to solder joints cleanly. There was the pool table where Flip taught Tangle that a fool and his money were soon parted. There was the wheel stand where Tangle spent most of a summer learning to lace and true wheels. There was the “Pit” where Tangle and his brothers were made to square their differences with the end of a towel in their mouths…each man bit on the opposite end of the towel. Then he’d beat on the other man to make him spit out his end of the towel, effectively saying “Uncle”. Everything was pretty much the way he remembered it. Tangle wondered when the last time was that the “Pit” saw a good fight.

Deena broke the silence. “You haven’t changed much, have you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…you still aren’t much for words, Tangle.  You probably need a while to get used to being back around here, huh? Do you still like beer?”

Tangle nodded, taking the cold bottle from Deena as she moved around him to get a better look at him in the light.

He’d grown up hard, she thought, but he’d come out fine. Like most other kids his age he’d had toys and liked to play with them. Lord knows he got a lot of them every holiday or birthday. He was a normal kid…and he wasn’t. He had been exposed to things that “normal kids” only saw in the movies. Such was the life he was born into. What made him different from the other kids was his awareness and interest in his surroundings. He had a knack for understanding what was going on. And he cared about it. He knew that his “family” extended outside his own home. He didn’t call any of the frequent visitors “Uncle This” or “Aunt That”, but he knew they were loved and to be protected. He took an early interest in the club colors like most children take an interest in the uniforms of a favorite sports team. He became a trusted, reliable young man early on.

Now, she looked at the man that boy had become through the years and miles. The long, gangly limbs had filled out somewhat. Tangle wasn’t a huge man, but there wasn’t anything extra on him. His body was spare and machine-like and that’s how it was used. An active life on the road had trimmed him into what worked and worked off what didn’t. He wasn’t the type who had to stop every 100 miles or so to eat or relieve himself. His body was the vehicle for a mind that was always working, planning or enjoying. On the road he was in tune with the world. He was at home and comfortable. He did his calmest thinking on the road and could always reach the right conclusion for the club as the miles rolled away the emotion attached to the problem he faced. Roadway revelation. He spent more time on the road or addressing problems than he did at the table or on the couch. When it was time to fight he’d bring strength, stamina and brains to bear. If he had to run, he could do that, too. The scars he’d collected along the way hid in a jungle of meaningful art scribed into his skin to commemorate various milestones.

His mobility and the strength and wisdom he brought wherever he went had given him a “mystique” that had made him somewhat of a legend amongst the ladies as Deena recalled. That made her chuckle as she thought of Tangle coming down the front walk of some yuppie shack in a robe to get the newspaper and waving to the neighbor doing his gardening.

 

Like a needle being dragged over a spinning record, her mind snapped back to the present.