Fishtail Redman, Chapter 13: Invitation

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(1-26)

 

 

The kindness of Krista Pearl helped to break up days and weeks spent alone in the downhill garage of Bodean Pringle, next to his humble residence in Grafton, West Virginia. Yet for Parker Redman, each visit rattled him with a sense that the lure of respectability and a grounded existence might eventually overwhelm his wanderlust. He did not want to sacrifice the lifestyle of being in perpetual motion, something upon which he had depended for many years. Each night spent with the 40-something female straddling him on the rollaway bed brought back echoes of what he had jettisoned, when breaking free of convention and comfort. He relished the solitude of being a loner. And held fast to a philosophy of self-reliance. An old biker motto had been, ‘Sworn to fun, loyal to none.’ In his own experience, that mantra got reworked just a bit, into something broader and more general in scope. His loyalty, in plain terms, was to an unseen creator. A giver of blessings to those willing to take up the cause of celebrating their benefactor, as a holy parent. He did not traffic in the trappings of a church hierarchy, however. Instead, he offered his worship through action. By being present in the moment. Always aiming toward new horizons, and witnessing to others as a warrior for truth. Labels, tribes, cliques, and such, all failed to excite him in any way. The zest for living, for joyful exuberance over being alive and an inheritor of God’s ultimate gift, was enough. Each morning reinforced his good fortune, with a validation of that belief.

 

But for the woman who clerked at a local truck-stop, there was a more simple outlook in effect. She had been a faithful wife and mother, a steward of her household, a caregiver, and a protector for family members and friends. By necessity, she reared her son to the point where he chose a path of his own. Yet for all these accomplishments, inside, she remained empty. Her heart felt like a vacant space. She had exhausted her emotional energy to help others, while overlooking the most important asset of all.

 

Herself.

 

This disconnect had both of them traveling on differing trajectories. As Krista wanted to cling more closely, Parker pushed back as a defensive move. She longed to be in a relationship, once again. He yearned to find a better season for escaping, and miles of untraveled road, ahead.

 

Their interaction reached a conclusion of sorts, as temperatures outside persisted in staying below freezing. She used the hot plate and workbench to cook an improvised breakfast, and heated coffee in a campfire pot. It was less appealing than the sort of feast she could have summoned in her own kitchen. But sufficed as they both huddled inside the chilly garage.

 

“Feesh, I’m enjoyin’ these little sleepovers we’ve had. But y’all must know that I’ve got a place of my own, down the ridge. Right by the river. Now, it ain’t a princess palace, fer sure, but I do believe you’d find it more hospitable than this ol’ shack full of parts and junk. So, I wanna make ya an offer. Come on over and stay with me fer a spell. My boy is in the Marines now. They’ll be makin’ a real man outta him. Nothin’ like his gawdamn father, that’s guaranteed! My nest is empty though. It’s too quiet there. I don’t get up singin’ at sunrise, like in the olden days. I need some company, understand? I need to share my spot with somebody who tells me I’m pretty, and means it in his heart. Somebody who’ll make me laugh and smile and be glad fer another day on this earth. I think that’s a position y’all could handle...”

 

The quiet misanthrope recoiled at this description. It nearly caused him to swoon, with surrender. But he stiffened at the thought of losing the lonely status of a drifter. Perhaps his most prized possession, a free spirit, owned by no one else.

 

“Ma’am, I have to say that you’re quite a negotiator. Those terms would probably appeal to just about anybody. I’m not cut from that cloth though. Never was, never have been. I tend to blow up good situations like a stick of dynamite going off. Don’t ask why, because I’ve got no clues myself. When things get too safe, I always seem to bust out of the corral. I fight demons. I battle with ghosts. Maybe it’s a sign of some illness in my head, I don‘t know. My father formed his opinions on that subject. So did my ex-wives. And girlfriends. Business partners, and damn near everybody else!”

 

Krista huffed while plating up bacon strips and fried eggs.

 

“Feesh, yer no Clint Eastwood character, okay? Y’all are no John Wayne. Ya don’t have to puff yerself up so hard around me. I’ve seen troubles and tribulations, at home and on the job. A lot of truckers I’ve met sound just like that. They roam around, makin’ a buck, and eventually, lose what was waitin’ at home. But find out that the highway is more of a friend than anybody could ever be. That’s hard to swallow, at first. It might make ya sad, or crazy. That’s how I learned to listen, and nod my head. Sometimes, sayin’ yer piece is enough. It’s good just to know there’s another soul listenin‘ when ya talk...”

 

Parker had not noticed how cold the garage felt, until that moment. His skin prickled with a tingle of frost.

 

“Is that what you’re doing, miss? Listening to me ramble? Hanging on the sound of my voice? For entertainment, or maybe, just somebody to help pass the time?”

 

There was a silent pause as she thought before speaking. Then, her voice turned raspy and hoarse. For the first time, she sounded tired.

 

“I’m here lookin’ fer a friend, Feeshtail! I figure if ya have at least one or two of those in yer life, then ya been lucky. And I feel lucky right now. My question is, what about yer side of that coin? Do ya got that same vibe I do... or no?”  

“Chaos Chant”

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(1-26)

 

Chaos, coast-to-coast

A state of emergency, undeclared

SWAT teams and their partners, under the stairs

Certain uncertainties, everywhere

I might have known

But a failed newspaper delivery left me alone

And someone cut the cord of my telephone

A device I should have shucked

In favor of artificial intelligence, and a bit of beginner’s luck

Tribalism corrals the breed

When a swarming population guards its seed

Carefully and critically caused to bleed

On the streets of a metropolis, where temperatures freeze

I watched the crash through my TV set

Saw the stock market tumble with fear and regret

While my representative at the big house said, “Do not forget!”

Make my choice

Hear my voice

My ride through town in the back of a Rolls Royce

Sitting on a plush and pillowy perch

Looking through stained glass, tinted with diesel and dirt

It made me cringe as if it were I who had been hurt

A nightstick to the teeth

A bend-over-backwards stance, proscribed for relief

I thought it best to evade the thief

As he stole a wristwatch from a bum who boldly kept track of time

An act indefensible, according to the headlines

I had to wonder about feeling sublime

As if my nerves had been numbed

My veins, medically plumbed

By a recommended dose of ignorance, won

At a poker game on the concrete

Half a block up the high street

Now I did not come this way for adventure or recognition

That was not my intended supposition

Yet with a single step behind the yellow tape

And trails of flavored, electronic vapes

I inherited my fate

To be remembered in retrospect, on this auspicious date

Clutching at my chest like a vintner squeezing grapes

Is the juice worth this twitch of painful remorse?

I heard the sound of breaking glass, somewhere on the concourse

A result of new traditions, being enforced

A pluck of the low-hanging fruit

A goose-stepping raider in the guise of a zoot suit

Whistles and wailers, cheerfully toot

On gold horns

An entreaty to a godlike goblin, forlorn

I was shivering in the onset of a great winter storm

Bad planning and such

To be outside and hobbling, with a single, steel crutch

It made me turn in circles, instead of staying in touch

Along the perimeter, like a mystical cheater

Around the polished post of a parking meter

Praying to the apostles, John, Matthew, and Peter

Which had all run out of minutes to express

At a point that I could not guess

A sad sign of neglected outrageousness

It left me standing in the middle of traffic

After the evacuation of magicians and their tricks

And all manner of mortality, scattered on the bricks

I needed a remedy, impulsively quick

But the pharmacy had closed

A constable thumbed his nose

And clicked his heels in subservient repose

That was the last of my dream

When I awoke, it was to a different scene

Every trace of the happening had been scrubbed lawfully clean

And I had only doubt as a friend

A fool, intellectually on the mend

This  cautionary tale was at an end

Fishtail Redman, Chapter 12: Dirty

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(1-26)

 

 

Something about the feel of grease and grit had always appealed to Parker Redman. It provided a contrast with family members who were generally scrubbed clean, appropriately attired, and ready for a church service or related events at any time. He relished having sore muscles and a layer of grime in effect, after working on one of his Harley-Davidson projects. Due to a childhood of crew cuts, formal suits, and wingtip shoes, he was glad for shaggy hair, tattoos, and road scars. When strangers turned shy in his presence, it made him grin. The measure of safe distance kept by most individuals left him in a comfort zone where he felt inner peace. He did not like being touched or hugged, or approached at close quarters. He trusted no one. Though his manner was polite and reserved, by nature.

 

Being isolated in the downhill garage of his cousin offered breathing room when finished with family encounters. Each trip up the slope caused him stress. It was difficult to interact on a personal level. He preferred solitude to the challenge of sharing meals with others. Particularly when they had a bloodline connection that he did not want to sever or disturb. Being anonymous did not make him afraid or anxious. It evoked a quiet sense of joy. He liked to stay busy, but also, alone.

 

In recent years, the climate had been mild for those who lived around the Ohio Valley and beyond. His burden while surviving seasonal changes stayed light. Yet the current winter presented a stark picture of what he remembered from bygone days. Temperatures lingered well below freezing, with wind-chill numbers dipping toward zero. Therefore, remaining secluded in the repair shack was a must. Any time spent outside tempted fate. And persistent bouts of snow kept his vantage point perpetually buried. So, visits to Bodean, Angelette, and the grandkids were infrequent by necessity.

 

As January moved toward its conclusion, he had managed to tear down the ragged Shovelhead motor, and rebuild it for new adventures that would come. Moments of relaxation lengthened thanks to this blessed achievement. But because he had become stuck in place, boredom eventually took hold. He sorted through the small library of shop manuals, for a mental jog with past memories filling his head. Then, inventoried his dwindling cigarette stash and bourbon reserve. He would have to be judicious in his habits, to endure without making a run to some local depot for more supplies. A chore that did not appeal to him, with such an unfriendly environment waiting beyond the walls of his hideout. Yet the thought of staying sober for too many days made wanderlust seize his spirit. He had been perpetually in motion for weeks, months, and years. To sit still, without any purpose in mind, seemed to invite death and the grave.

 

He had nearly reached a desperate point of trekking into the lower regions of Grafton, on foot, for some shopping at a grocery depot. But once again, there was a rapping on the garage wall. Something he first thought must have been a cascade of falling ice.

 

Krista Pearl appeared at one of the square windows, seemingly outfitted for a skiing jaunt. She carried a canvas sack of goods that trailed frozen crystals, behind. The bounty within must have been considerable, because she dragged it on the ground like a deer carcass.

 

“Hey Feesh, I figured y’all must be gettin’ thirsty and hungry in there. Open that damn door, it’s Christmas again, boy! I got ya some shit from the Dollar General, and one of our liquor stores!”

 

The reclusive biker had to rub his eyes when beholding this unexpected gift. Her oversized bag was full of pork rinds, pickles, canned meats, crackers, Camel smokes, and Evan Williams Bottled-in-Bond. He figured that the merchandise must have cost a hundred dollars, or more. It dazzled him with value, but also, a sense of embarrassment

 

“What the hell, lady? I don’t rate that kind of charity. My own cousin wouldn’t hook me up with so many treats! You must have lost your damn marbles...”

 

The truck-stop clerk settled on his rollaway bed. She peeled off her thermal garments, and opened a package of beef jerky. Her fuzzy boots were wet. She sat them by the propane heater.

 

“I know how men roll, y’all think of two things. Yer stomach and umm, gettin’ gratified on occasion. The second need is harder to satisfy, a lot more complicated. But the first I can handle. Don’t refuse my kindness, y’all ain’t a fool! Take it and be glad!”

 

Parker had been teetering on the brink of withdrawal pangs. His saddlebags boasted only a single pack of cigarettes, and a quarter-jug of whiskey. So, the gesture definitely got his attention. But it caused some concern over what she would expect in trade.

 

“I’m obliged to you, ma’am. Still though, your presents had to cost a bundle. Plus, there’s a crazy-ass storm brewing outside. I haven’t gone up the hill in several days. You shouldn’t be out in this weather. It’s not worth the risk. I’m not worth the risk!”

 

Krista pulled her shimmering curls back with a purple scrunchie. Then opened the high-proof Kentucky concoction.

 

“I’ve got empty-nest syndrome, Feesh. There’s nobody at home since my kid joined the Marines. And I think the ex is in jail again, somewhere. Not that I give a frig about him! I had to go into town anyway. But they closed the diner section of my workplace, and sent me back to the time clock. Traffic has been damn slow. Y’all can guess the roads are crappy. My Jeep can handle it though. And so can I, doggone it! But what I can’t handle is feelin’ sorry fer myself. That sucks, big-time! I needed a friend right now, understand? No matter what, I ain’t ashamed to say it out loud! What d’ya think, can ya handle doin’ me a favor in return? I’d call that a fair exchange!”

 

The willful loner felt oddly grateful for this delivery of dry goods, and conversation. But did not want to be indebted as a result of her kindness.

 

“I’ll be honest, friend. I don’t know what to say...”

 

The veteran server cocked her head to one side, and leaned forward with an emotional response.

 

“SAY THANK YOU, MISTER! THAT’S ALL I NEED TO HEAR!”

Fishtail Redman, Chapter 11: Question

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(1-26)

 

 

After having breakfast with Bodean and his family, Parker Redman moved to their living room and a threadbare sofa heaped with mismatched pillows. He swooned a bit from food fatigue. It had been the biggest meal in his limited diet for many years. He felt lazy and content. Around the ramshackle dwelling, grandchildren played video games or chased each other playfully. Angelette cleaned and organized her kitchen with the careful precision of a family protector. His cousin sat in a worn recliner, stained with remnants of brew and snacks, and sagging at the sides. Flanked with sewn-on pouches that held old magazine issues and remote controls for various devices. Through the front windows, a scene of continued snowfall made everyone glad to be safe and warm, inside. Yet as their heads cleared, the biker guest turned to his relative with a more serious tone in effect. He was still curious about how the unusual Bible discovered downhill at his cousin’s garage was acquired.

 

“I’ve got to ask about something, Bo. While wrenching on my scooter, I flipped through your stash of manuals over the workbench. There’s quite a collection on that shelf. It jogged my memory with brands that haven’t been built in many years. But one book among your collection stood out on its own. I still can’t quite figure out how it belongs with the rest. The thing said ‘Bible for Bikers, NIV New Testament.’ Where did that come from? You’ve never been the churchy type...”

 

Bodean tilted his head backwards. He seemed to be lost in recollection for a moment. Then, his facial muscles tightened. He leaned forward again, and whispered so that only the two of them could hear.

 

“Angie’s dad passed that along. He figured it might make me feel better about having a walk of faith. The dude went away last spring. He suffered a bad stroke. My wife still has a broken heart.”

 

Parker raised his eyebrows.

 

“Okay, sorry to poke at you. I just had to wonder, because it seemed out of place, you know? None of us in the bloodline have followed those old ways. Believe me, I heard plenty about it from my papa...”

 

His close relative sat up straight, and nodded.

 

“Y’all gotta know, I’m still a believer in these mountains. They made our people strong. They guaranteed that only the toughest of our breed would survive. Maybe I haven’t kept up with all of the traditions, but I still respect what they meant. That gift mattered to the old guy. I couldn’t just toss it aside, especially after he went to eternity. So, it’s there in the garage, fer when my knuckles get skinned, and I’m tired and pissed off about shit. I’ll pull it out and read a verse or two. It makes me remember Grandma Pringle and Sunday School. She’d grab me by the ear, and force me to go, even if I didn’t want to be there! It had me boilin’ mad in those days, I was a rowdy kid. She didn’t hesitate to spank my ass! But now, I figure those lessons help keep me on track. I’ve tried to do my best. Even with plenty of mistakes in the damn rearview mirror. It’s part of our identity.”

 

The lonesome drifter took a deep breath and agreed.

 

“Yeah, I’d peg it about the same. My dad was righteous in his faith. Which I used to think was too extreme for my tastes. He could make me lose control very quick. I said a lot of things that caused him to droop his head, and pray silently. But he cared about me, and about all of us in the family. And about his parishioners. Nowadays, a lot of folks don’t give two cents about anything...”

 

Bodean smiled with satisfaction. He was glad for the morning meal that they had shared.

 

“I know it ain’t easy fer y’all to hang out with us. That’s not yer vibe. So I am grateful to have ya share our company. At least fer a little while. When ya go back down the hill, remember what I said about that copy of the good book. Y’all don’t have to play Mr. Clean, or put on airs. Just pull it out if the nights get heavy. It’ll give ya some comfort. I promise.”

 

By early afternoon, the weather had turned frightful. Every route through that part of West Virginia was treacherous. Grafton had become a sledding venue, with brave kids and parents outside enjoying the seasonal blast, defiantly. The short trek back to safety and solitude required only a bit of concentration, and enough endurance to slide freely, through the snow.

 

Parker came to rest with his engineer boots pressed against an outside wall of the crude structure. His rear-end had gone numb. Yet toppling over the hillside proved to be less dangerous than attempting to stay upright. Once he got inside, the propane heater helped him to thaw, and relax. He stripped off his wet outerwear, and sat on the packing crate used before.

 

The improvised bookshelf seemed to tease his consciousness. Despite a hardy attempt to ignore its contents. He thumbed through manuals and literature, until locating the Bible manuscript. Then let it fall open at a random passage. When he started to read a verse, the words had him trembling and out of breath.

 

Philippians 4: 4-9 “Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable – if anything is excellent or praiseworthy – think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me – put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you.”

 

His eyes stung with tears, a contrast to the cool, stale air inside the garage. He could hear the voice of his own sire, reaching out from beyond. It gave him a reason to pause, and contemplate the scripture. Then, he closed his eyes.

 

It was time to sleep, and recuperate.

 

 

Fishtail Redman, Chapter 10: Breakfast

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(1-26)

 

 

Parker Redman fell asleep on his rollaway bed long after midnight. The unexpected visitor he had received was curled up like a feline companion, and tucked under his chin. Her hair tickled his nose. Its sweet fragrance lingered in his nostrils. Yet upon waking in the morning, he saw that the 40-something woman was gone. Once again, the garage had become a vacant space fit only for mechanical repairs, and introspection.

 

Instead of returning to his labor on the Shovelhead Harley-Davidson, he made a fresh round of instant coffee, and then sorted through shop manuals that were on a shelf over the workbench. Bodean seemed to have engaged in collecting for a period of time, because several of the printed volumes were for motorcycles that his cousin could not remember being in the family stable. One related to a series of BMW twins from the 1950s. Another was for the Kawasaki W1, which had been based on a BSA model that came before. A third had been included with the purchase of a Sears & Roebuck Allstate model, made by Puch in Austria. These variations were all odd and outdated. But interesting to review. The last relic to be uncovered struck him as most unpredictable of all, however. It was a copy of the ‘Bible for Bikers’ he had been offered at the Huddle House location in Buckhannon.

 

Disbelief took hold as he thumbed through the artifact. There were greasy fingerprints on its pages, as if it had served to inspire readers while they were busy tuning up steel steeds, for fun and adventure. He noted comments scribbled in the margins, almost as if someone had carried the book while participating in a church meeting or class on the scriptures. Despite their common heritage, he could not recall Bodean ever having been particularly religious or observant of such traditions. But the evidence remained clear.

 

With temperatures plunging below zero, and more snow falling, he decided to climb the hillside in spite of inhospitable conditions that would make this effort challenging. After a brief period of celebrating his isolation, he wanted to join the family circle which waited nearby, and gather clues about the holy manuscript and its history in the household.

 

Bundled up and ready to face the inevitable winter blast, Parker opened his side door and emerged into a chaotic bluster of seasonal rage. Mother Nature seemed to have forgotten the concept of showing mercy to her children. So, as he moved slowly up the incline, fierce winds blew crystals of ice into his eyes. An ominous howl filled his ears. It was difficult to stay on course, with little to see or hear other than the wild cry of meteorological mayhem. But he knew that stopping along the way would invite being frozen in place. That kind of death was one he did not desire by any means. When the moment of his mortality was at hand, he hoped for a better fate. Like being launched from the custom-fabricated, cobra seat of his chopper. His final ride would be glorious, he hoped. Not simply a fade into oblivion, buried under mounds of thickening muck.

 

Upon reaching the rear entrance of his cousin’s shack, he paused to scrape at the window. Inside, he could see grandchildren around the kitchen table. A furnishing that was long, draped with a lace runner, and full of homemade breakfast items, like eggs, country ham, sausage gravy with biscuits, bacon strips, and fried potatoes. Angelette Pringle, who was a wife, mother, grandma, and house matron, busied herself herding kids and organizing this morning feast. She appeared to be oblivious to anything other than the focus of her duties. But when a knock sounded on the outside wall, her demeanor changed instantly.

 

Parker appeared in the doorway, with a dramatic lope akin to a Polar Bear. He gestured while coughing out an apology. Yet this act of contrition was unnecessary.

 

His host stomped her foot, and pointed toward an empty chair.

 

“Git in here, brother! We’ve been a-wonderin’ why ya didn’t come up the hill fer vittles before now! But with how it looks outside, I reckon that’d be a silly question to ask. Y’all must be starvin’ though, there couldn’t have been much down in that old garage. Maybe a bag of corn chips or somethin’ left by one of these young’uns. My husband said yer kind of a loner. Which I remembered from when ya visited us around a dozen years ago!”

 

The stumbling biker fell into a high-backed seat at one end of their table. He dripped melting ice and snow. Crystals dangled from his shaggy beard. He shivered a bit when shucking his zippered, leather skin.

 

“I got some company last night, believe it or not. A woman from the bar, we met while I was having a drink. She said her name was Krista Pearl...”

 

Bodean hooted loudly from the living room. He had overheard the conversation while picking up toys left by their console television.

 

“Buddy, that girl has been lookin’ fer a man since Jesus was a private! She split with her dude some time ago, eight or nine years at least. I think it weighed heavy on her heart. Especially when the boy became a Marine, he got shipped out of state. Now, I don’t figure she’s bad in any way, to be honest, but not the kind of female to hook up with a drifter like yerself. No offense meant there, cuz. It’s just a matter of a good fit or a bad fit. You know, like getting’ parts fer yer bike!”

 

Parker nodded with understanding. His nose was still red and numb.

 

“I got that impression. She was entertaining for a moment though. When I woke up today, it was minus six degrees around that garage, and she had disappeared. I could’ve used the extra body heat. But definitely don’t need any baggage that might come along with sharing it...”

 

Angelette smiled knowingly. She was plain and skinny, yet confident in her manner.

 

“You don’t need it, I’ll tell ya! Yer better off ridin’ solo. Keep yer freedom, boy! Be smart about things! My gender ain’t given to keepin’ life simple. We complicate everything, just ask my ol’ man!”

 

 

Fishtail Redman, Chapter 9: Snowbound

  

c. 2025 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(1-26)

 

 

Bodean’s hillside garage was a perfect hideaway where his wandering cousin could rest and recuperate. Situated a short distance from the main house, which sat with a corner of its front porch literally touching the asphalt. On a rural route that ran right through Grafton. A single, propane shop-heater kept the space warm enough. Though its concrete floor stayed perpetually cold. Enough room existed between the buildings, that a measure of privacy was afforded. But when a meteorological event crossed their continent, from west to east, the physical divide seemed to grow. As ice and snow blanketed the region, access to the square hut became blocked.

 

Parker had been busy rebuilding the Shovelhead motor of his Harley-Davidson chopper for a few weeks. But when the air turned oddly stale and still inside his cubicle, a sense of being trapped took hold. He could hear the howl of a winter gale, sweeping across the river valley. Yet from within the confined space, there was only a slight indication that another world lay beyond its walls. Piles of frozen precipitation had insulated the structure like an igloo. He had to force the narrow, side door open for a peek outside. Through the swirl of white flakes, he could see the outline of a long, meandering ridge above his vantage point. And occasionally, patches of open sky which were gray and foreboding. But beyond those indications of an environment blighted by seasonal conditions, there was little else. He felt isolated as if some magic spell had transported him to Alaska. The yield of this separation was a complete freedom to continue his work, however. There were no interruptions from relatives or neighbors with good intentions.

 

He had almost closed the entryway when a cascade of icicles dropped from the roofline. This unexpected crash made him jerk sideways, and look in the opposite direction. Against the colorless monotone, he spied a figure struggling along through the harsh environment. Someone bundled up in striped, black fleece and spandex. Like a snowboard enthusiast, or skiing fanatic, who had lost their way. He had to blink several times, to be certain that it was not some kind of illusion. Perhaps a trick of the muted light.

 

Krista Pearl was limber from her employment as a cashier, barmaid, and dancer, around the city. She navigated the hillside course with skill and confidence, despite the blustery weather.  But when the open doorway appeared, she did not hesitate to abandon her trek. Curses spilled from her ruby lips. She fell inside eagerly, scattering an accumulation of frosty debris around the one-room shop.

 

“Damn, it’s friggin’ nuts out there, boy! I figured y’all would be stayin’ with yer cuz and his kin, in their shack. But Bodean said ya were down here wrenchin’ on that motorcycle. Don’t ya ever get tired of lookin’ at it?”

 

A grin of amusement caused his eyes to roll.

 

“Get tired of it? Well no, ma’am. That bike has treated me better than any of my ex-wives did, or most of our family. Though that isn’t something to brag about, I suppose...”

 

The middle-aged woman stripped off her outer layer of insulation. More snow scattered on the concrete under her boots.

 

“I figured y’all might want a little company here, I know most people in this town kinda keep to themselves when there’s a stranger in their midst. I mean, yer cuz has vouched fer ya and all that, but I reckon it ain’t like bein’ at home, wherever that was, right?”

 

Parker shrugged and sat on a shipping crate that had once held parts from a local dealership.

 

“I don’t have a home, miss. A judge in New York took care of that...”

 

Krista shivered as she stood by the propane hotspot, for warmth.

 

“Look, I don’t mean to pry in yer shit, okay? We all got our stories. I just reckoned on sayin’ hello and maybe havin’ a little drink, if yer so inclined. Call it a welcome party fer two!”

 

The tattooed loner was puzzled by her boldness. She did not seem shy about confessing her plans, openly.

 

“I don’t imbibe and work at the same time, ma’am. That’s guaranteed to cause a headache. It generally gets things screwed up. But if you want me to take a break, I guess that’ll be acceptable. Maybe a mug of Irish coffee would help burn away your chill?”

 

The truck-stop clerk brightened at this offer. Her face was still red from being exposed to the elements.

 

“That’d be a pleasure, friend! Y’all got the fixin’s fer some o’that?”

 

Her host bowed his head and spoke directly.

 

“Well, not a proper Irish coffee, maybe. There’s some stuff Bodean left here in the bottom of his workbench. A bottle of Old Grand-Dad, some Nescafe instant, and a hot plate. I can melt some snow for water. Honestly, I’m not picky, being a guest. How about you, miss?”

 

Krista stood over him, with her mouth trembling. Then, put her right hand on his shoulder.

 

“My husband was a gawdamn, effing bastard! But sometimes, when my bones ache and the nights get lonely, I still remember the good parts of our marriage. Y’all can be sure I’d never take his sorry ass back again. But now and then, ya know, I get to feelin’ empty and old. And wishin’ fer somebody just to visit my neck of the woods, and share a bit of conversation.”

 

The divorced mother pulled his face closer, till it nestled in between her ample breasts. This swift motion caused a spike in blood pressure he had not experienced in many months. He literally found it hard to breathe. Then, all his joints stiffened in reaction. He did not know how to react. A fleeting sensation of desire pecked at his mind with guilt, and fear. More than anything else, he wanted to be back on the road.

 

“I umm, appreciate your situation, ma’am. We’ve all been there, I think. Minds wander sometimes, and emotions get the best of us, eventually. Maybe that’s why I like to keep moving. When I have time to sit and think, then voices start to call from all those yesterdays. It messes with my good nature. It throws me off balance. I’d rather stay in my zone, that’s a safer place to live. Like they teach you in the service, stay in your lane...”

Fishtail Redman, Chapter 8: Parked

  

c. 2026 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(1-26)

 

 

The temporary venue in Grafton was a comfortable spot where Parker Redman could stay and work anonymously. Yet it felt somewhat constricting to be stuck in one place, for the season. He had accepted tenancy in a downhill garage, behind the home of his cousin. An insulated shack outfitted with a rollaway bed, a small refrigerator, a television set, and a mechanic’s chest of tools. There was no schedule imposed, and no expectation of duties while residing in the extra space. He simply came and went according to his own whims and preferences. But as a sign of gratitude, he joined in leisure activities such as visiting Poole’s Stumble Inn, for games of pinball, darts and billiards. And also, another popular local tavern, known simply as the Coal Bucket. He made sure to buy rounds of drink and salty snacks, for everyone. But often, sat alone in a corner, by the end of each night.

 

The Shovelhead Harley was in reasonable condition. But he massaged the aging steed with loving care, replacing bits and pieces that had worn out over previous miles of road adventures. Spare parts came from a shop in town, operated by the grandfather of a friend from yonder days. A cranky fellow who had stopped riding after losing his legs in an accident. He was still connected to the biker community, and kept in touch with suppliers from around the region. By the arrival of spring, it seemed certain that the Milwaukee beast would be ready to emerge from hibernation. Yet marking time in a single locale offered personal challenges that the veteran rider had not expected. Because he drank and dabbled at the same clubs, every week, women began to express their interest. This temptation lured him into making bad decisions, as he had before. The danger of compromise always lingered, nearby.

 

Krista Pearl had been in his cousin’s orbit, since grade school. She was now over 40, but still carried the charm of a younger, more vibrant woman. Her longish, auburn curls, and toned legs were appealing to many patrons at the watering holes in that area. But something had failed to resonate since her divorce. Her son had volunteered for service in the Marines, and gone off on an extended tour of duty. This left her with an empty nest, and heart.

 

Parker reawakened her feminine instincts. He was plain-spoken, witty in a dry manner, and somewhat withdrawn. That fact caused him to be attractive as an elusive prize. Other men in their crowd were typically aggressive. Grabbing ass cheeks, lusting after kisses and cuddles, or making promises that were unlikely to ever be fulfilled. Yet the mysterious drifter had an uncommon sense of satisfaction with his solitude. He did not seem to want attention, or validation, from anyone else. Only when prodded with alcohol did any clues to his inner composition manifest themselves. And even then, he had little to offer.

 

She enjoyed his company. That alone made him attractive in a way that had been absent from her life, for many years.

 

“You ride a motorcycle? My ex-husband had one of those things. It was a chrome horse with a big motor, and loud pipes. I had to sell it after he went to jail. That son-of-a-bitch left me with a boy to raise and no work except clerking at a truck stop on the freeway. I moved here because some of my family lived in these hills.”

 

Parker did not know how to take her confession. So, he reacted directly.

 

“Yeah, that’s a familiar story. Hard luck and hard times. They test a soul and reveal what’s inside where nobody can see...”

 

Krista tilted her head to one side. She sipped on a glass of Tito’s Handmade Vodka, with mixers and a wedge of lime.

 

“Yes they do, friend! Y’all can bet some people don’t come out right, on the other end. But I did, by Gawd! My young ‘un was dependin’ on me. I didn’t let him down, like his daddy. Somebody had ta be there fer him! And dammit, that somebody was me!”

 

The cycle mechanic raised his draft of Miller.

 

“Cheers to you, ma’am. That’s the most important job in the world, right there. Anything else is beside the point...”

 

The single mother wrinkled her tiny nose, and grinned.

 

“Yes it is, I like the way y’all think. I’ll umm, take that as a compliment. It cuts both ways though, right?”

 

He was not in a mood to bare his soul. So instead, he kept drinking.

 

“I’d say you’ve got things handled. No worries. No guilt...”

 

She was puzzled by his cryptic response.

 

“Guilt? Hell, I feel guilty every day, for not bein’ more careful with my life. My grammy used to prattle on about Jesus and Mary and things of virtue. She was a righteous old lady, not like my mother, or me! We had a wild streak in our blood, both of us. That killed mama when she was too young. And it might’ve done the same fer me. But I was lucky, or blessed, however y’all want to frame it. My kid is a good man now, he’s the redemption I never deserved. I’m thankful fer that gift. It’s more than I ever shoulda gotten!”

 

Parker nodded and chugged a big swallow of brew. Then, a recollection clicked reflexively in his brain. His voice was calm and soothing.

 

“From Jeremiah, in the Old Testament: ‘Before I formed thee in the belly I knew thee; and before thou camest forth out of the womb I sanctified thee, and I ordained thee a prophet unto the nations.’ What does that mean? It tells us that even before our birth, the identity we carry is evident. The stamp of a creator, in effect. Don’t short-change yourself. Don’t think that the contribution you have made isn’t special. You did something grand with that investment. Despite being snake-bitten by fate. It matters to your son. And just as importantly, it matters to everyone who will know him, and you, for the rest of your days...”

 

Krista turned pale. She was nearly speechless.

 

“What the heck? Was that a dang Bible verse?”

 

The wandering misanthrope bowed his head with embarrassment. He had let a trace of his old self slip out, into public view.

 

“Sorry ma’am, that’s a bit of the King James there. I had it pounded into my head, all through childhood. Call it a flashback. Call it spiritual PTSD. I see ghosts sometimes, and hear them, too...”