Carbon 250 - Chapter 11

Hero's at Sunset

sunset's on the wane
in life we suffer the same
when sundown comes around
stalking strangers on hallowed ground

Eve was having dinner with Dave at Slide, a restaurant--the kind with wine glasses and multiple forks--and an after-hours lounge.  Dave tossed a small (but not that kind of small) black box on the table.

"Whats this?"  Eve didn't want to pick it up.

Dave folded his arms and just looked at her.

Eve opened it.  "What the hell?"  Inside the box was an orange, rubber cord.

"Its a reminder strap.  You put one end on the lock and one end on the handle grip so you never forget to unlock it.  Well, unless you forget to put on the reminder strap...."

"I don't know if you remember, but my motorcycle got stolen?"

"Yeah, you're gonna get another one."

"Excuse me?"

"Listen.  You are going to get another bike.  I'm not telling you what to do;  I'm telling you what you are."

Eve feigned irritation but the comment felt like a compliment.  They were both distracted when, outside, a gang of 11 sportbikes roared up to a stoplight.  Half of them were not wearing helmets, and more than that had sleeves rolled up in order to show off biceps.  They had formed two rough lines as they stopped.  The third from the back attempted to do a stoppie, deliberately squeezing his front brake too hard in order to pop his back tire up briefly.  Actually, a number of them attempted stoppies.  It was the third from the back who failed.  He accidentally flipped himself, sending his bike crashing into the person in front of him, which in turn caused domino effect of fallen riders all the way to the front.

Eve snorted in disgust.  "I can't believe those people."

"What people, exactly?" asked Dave.

"Motorcyclists..."  Eve stuck her tongue out at Dave when he smiled.

 After dinner, Dave invited her back to his place.  Eve refused.  She still wasn't sleeping with him, and because of that their makeout sessions had no natural ending, and they had three times now looked up in surprise to see the sun rising.  Eve had work the next morning.  She left without giving him a kiss.

Dave had a bit of a long walk, but only because he refused to let other people (valets) drive his car.  Dave was driving home when he received a text from Elena that contained the word "honeypot."  Dave did a high speed u-turn and headed for a seedy hotel in the mark.  Elena met him just outside a hotel room on the third floor wearing something a little too revealing for in public.  He could hear Trisha and man inside.  Elena held up the keycard proudly.  It was an id badge for an employee of Marksen Lot, a software and device contractor in Southtown.

"I'll have it back to you in an hour," he promised.

"How was your date?"

"Pretty good."

"You fuck her yet?"

"We have not...no, no I haven't," he admitted.  Elena gave him a sympathetic smile.  There was some kind of knowing look in her eyes.  Dave ignored it.


Roughly about this same time, Eve was getting off a bus at her block.  As she walked to her apartment she noticed a black motorcycle parked near it.  Then she got closer.  Then she ran.  It was Carby.  She wanted to hug him, but the fact that he was a motorcycle made it too difficult.  There was a note taped on his gas tank that read "I missed you!"  Even peeled the note off, careful to avoid leaving any tape residue on his paint.  The key was underneath the note.  Her bike was back.  Her life was whole again.  The tree, though, wasn't.  In fact her neighboor had raised hell about it and would have sued Eve if Eve had any money.

Having the bike back made Eve believe that something could go right for her.  Brimming with extra confidence, Eve finally made the decision to move.  Rent was cheap with her current roomate, but Eve was sick and tired of pretending to sleep through anonymous liasons.  More importantly, she needed a better place to lock Carby.  She had her eye on a loft apartment near Trench City.  It had remained vacant for a long time and the price was steadily dropping.  Moving there meant putting off community college for at least another, but that was a sacrifice Eve was willing to make.

Eve toured the place.  The realtor from the management company was a heavyset women whose body was clearly contoured to fit the office chair she spent all day in.  She talked a lot.  Eve followed her in, trying to pick out all the meaningful details.  The apartment was definitely not her dream apartment--no, that apartment was on the tenth floor--but it did have its charm.  It had an old wooden floor, a tiny kitchen, and a decent bedroom space up top.  There was a small alleyway where the previous owner had chained up a motorcycle and Eve was welcome to put hers there as well.  The realtor claimed that all of the furniture would be moved out before Eve moved in, so Eve took no notice of the giant painting on the wall, which was covered by a large cloth.

The painting was still there when Eve moved in.  The moving process was fairly simple since she owned so few belongings.  Dave had offered to take off work but she told him not to bother.  When she was settled in she went exploring on foot, looking for a supermarket where she could buy a cheap bottle of wine...and two wine glasses.  It was a ritual she had always wanted.  Eve returned to new her home and sipped the red wine out of the brand new glass while ambling around the room, getting used to it.  It was dark outside, and she had like no lights inside.  She was going to go to bed--early for once--as soon as her wine was done but first, the painting attracted her curiosity.  It was taller than she was, and the bottom of it started at her neck.  She tugged a corner away to peek under it.  Then yanked the entire cover off.  It floated like a giant white ghost, collapsing onto the floor behind her.

Eve was staring at a painting of Biff, leaning hard into a turn.  The rider in the painting wore a helmet which obscured his face, but there was no way Eve's mind would accept anyone other than Biff as the subject of the painting.  The bike was clearly his bike--the shape of the faring matched the one he always rode, which Eve was still unable to identify.  Everything about the painting was exciting, especially the rider.  His posture was forward, confident, positive, racing into something.  Eve backed against the wall, slid down it, and sat, sipping her wine and staring at the mysterious rider in the darkness.


At the same time, Dave was at the office, in Central City.  His main computer was halfway through a task that took 40 minutes, and he didn't feeling like switching to other work while he waited.  Instead, he stood at the large window, watching people mill around on the sidewalk many stories below, filtering in and out of bars and kneeling down to throw up.  He stood and watched, and contemplated life, the universe, and everything.


Biff was perched on an overpass just south of the city, one that over looked one of the rivers, the mark, and a small portion of trenchtown.  He had his cell phone on.  He was using it to listen to the encrypted radio channels of police dispatchers.  He was waiting.