William Roy
It began as any other night at a roadside Denny’s. It was the type of establishment such as truckers, night owls and our crew of fifteen bikers in leather vests would pull in after a long ride to get some hot coffee and inexpensive pancakes. There was a buzz of low conversation, clink of knives and forks and the odor of bacon. There was nothing with that evening, that promised to make it memorable.
Then suddenly a little boy wearing a dinosaur shirt came to our table.
He was not older than eight years old. His footsteps were squeaky on the tile floor and he came near with his eyes in good round with fear and with determination. All the conversation in our dining table came to a stop. It was fifteen hard-looking men, tattooed, scarred, and all, and these men sat motionless as this little creature glared up at us with a graveness way beyond his years.
And then he uttered the words which made us freeze:
“Can you kill my stepdad for me?”
It was as though the entire diner stood still. Coffee cups were flying, forks were banging on plates even the jukebox appeared to shut down. We just gazed at him in disbelief, anticipating him laughing or telling that it was a joke. But he didn’t. He also stood there with his fists clenched and his eyes spoke volumes of what he meant.
His mother was in the bathroom and was absolutely unnoticed. She did not know that her son was at our table, to order strangers to murder. She did not know what he was going to tell her.
“Please,” he added softly. “I have seven dollars.”
He drew out a few wrinkled bills out of his pocket, and put them on the table between our half-depleted pancakes and our half-filled cups of coffee. His hands shook, but his eyes never were distracted. Those were eyes that bore pain of one who is a child.
A Brave Whisper
Our club-president, an old man known as Big Mike and a grandfather himself, thrust aside his chair, and knelt, so that he could look the kid in the face. His gray beard and heavy vest could have made Mike look threatening but his voice was soft.
Name, buddy, what is your name? he questioned.
“Tyler,” the boy whispered. He stared at the door of the bathroom. “Mom’s coming back soon. Will you help or not?”
Tyler, why would you have us beat up your stepdad? Mike asked quietly.
Tyler pulled his dinosaur shirt. We could see them under the severe diner lights, the dark purple circles on his little throat.
Tyler, he said, will injure Mom more than he injures me, if I tell anybody. His voice broke and his eyes remained straight. “But you’re bikers. You’re tough. You can stop him.”
There was a pause, even greater this time. We noticed things we had not paid much attention to before, how he leaned to one side, as he strolled, the brace in his wrist, and the old bruise on his jaw which somebody had attempted to conceal with make-up.
Where is your real dad? said Bones, our sergeant-at-arms.
“Dead,” Tyler whispered. “Car accident when I was three.” He looked at the door again. “Please… yes or no?”
The Truth Revealed
The door leading into the bathroom swung open before we could respond. It was a woman, in her middle thirties, neatly dressed, yet walking like someone who had been trained not to show pain. Then she stood still as she caught Tyler at our table.
She ran up, crying out, Tyler! Tyler! “I’m so sorry, he’s bothering you—”
Well, okay, no trouble, Mike said mildly and stood up. You have got a clever, manly boy here.
She attempted to draw Tyler away, but as she held his hand the makeup on her wrist smudged and he was found to have bruises of the same color. Her eyes were dashing about the room. “We should go. Come on, baby.”
“Why don’t you both sit with us?” Mike offered firmly. We were now nearly ready to take dessert.
Terrified, she hesitated. Something in the voice of Mike told her that we did no harm. Slowly she crept into the booth beside Tyler.
Mike uttered in a low voice, Ma’am, is anybody beating you and your boy?
Her composure cracked. Tears welled in her eyes. No, please, she thought, you do not know. He’ll kill us.”
The voice of Mike was steady as he leaned forward. “Look around this table. All of these men have been to battles. Each of the men here has risen against the bullies. That’s what we do. You’re safe now. But I must know–has somebody been beating you up?
She burst into tears and shook her head.
The Confrontation
At this moment the front door banged wide open. A square-shouldered man walked in, his voice loud and deep with anger. “Where the hell are you?!”
His gaze was fixed on the woman and Tyler. “Get up! Both of you!”
Big Mike got up and the rest of us got up with him. Fifteen bikers between the abuser and his victims forming a wall of leather. The diner had become quiet, all the eyes on the scene.
“What’s this?” the man sneered. “You think I’m scared of you?”
Mike didn’t raise his voice. “Sit down,” he said evenly. I am not touchy with you to-night.
The man laughed so bitterly, but then Bones moved forward, cracking his knuckles. “Try us,” he muttered.
The man’s face paled. He looked around and saw that all the customers of the diner were watching. His bravado crumbled. Mike bent closer, and he spoke coldly and clearly.
You presume the next touch you place on that woman or her lad you will be praying to the cops before we can reach you.
The man withdrew with a curse and stormed out into the night.
A Night They Could Never Forget.
The mother fell into tears. Tyler fell into her arms, and cried at last. We made the police call and she courageously pressed charges. Tyler never let go of her hand. For once, he didn’t look afraid.
On that particular night we did not eat pancakes only. We remembered why we ride. We have leather and tattoos and people expect that we are the scary ones. However, the reality is that not all the men with the most frightening appearances are unwilling to rise when a child cries in need.
The seven dollars that Tyler had remained on our table. We returned it to him, and that which was considerably better, safety. His mother then informed us that it was the first night in years that she had not slept in terror.
When the diner had become silent once more, Big Mike picked up his cup of coffee. To the lad who put us to mind of the reason we ride, he said tenderly. And each of us one, we raised.
GIPHY App Key not set. Please check settings