Fair Trade

David Cashmore sat at the wheel of his Ford Explorer watching a geyser of steam erupting from under the hood; his wife Michelle sat in the passenger seat fuming. He imagined a similar geyser bursting from her ears; she looked at him contemptuously, what he saw in her eyes was beyond anger.

"You had to listen to your pals at the sports bar didn't you? 'Don't worry Chelle, it's a back road but it's fine and will cut thirty minutes off our journey.' Which numb-nut told you that?" Michelle seethed.

David just cringed behind the wheel.

"And of course we are both perfectly dressed to make mechanical repairs or go for a romp through the desert to find help! We might as well be on fucking Mars! We haven't seen a single vehicle since we left the blacktop back where we got gas!" Michelle's anger was simmering but David knew that she was about to boil.

Michelle hardly ever swore and when she did he knew that there was no reasoning with her until she'd expended her fury and calmed down from her tantrum.

David was dressed in an expensive Hugo Boss suit and Michelle was clad in a figure-hugging designer dress, nylons and heels, as they were en route to their friend's wedding to he held that evening at South Lake Tahoe. Michelle had wanted to fly from San Francisco but David had insisted on taking his new SUV for a nice long drive. The only way he had convinced Michelle to travel by car was to promise her an overnight stay in a five-star hotel at Lake Tahoe hotel followed by a day's gambling and another overnight stay in Reno.

Michelle rummaged in her purse and found her cell phone; she looked at the screen contemptuously, wound down the window and held it up to the sky for a minute and then threw it on the dash.

David cringed.

"Surprise! Surprise! No fucking service!" Michelle crossed her arms, fuming.

"I'll have to get the Triple A," David said, trying to placate her.

"You are a fucking dumb-ass! I just told you there is NO FUCKING SERVICE!" she snatched the phone off the dashboard and threw it at him.

"Maybe there's a phone inside," David said meekly.

The look of contempt that Michelle gave David required no words to be spoken.

When the engine had started to overheat they had pulled into an abandoned roadhouse service station. It looked deserted, the Texaco sign was faded and broken, hanging drunkenly from a rickety pole. The dusty driveway was choked with weeks, the ancient gas pumps were rusted; the hoses had been ripped off them likely by some scavenger. The awning over the gas pumps was equally corroded; holed and lopsided, almost ready to collapse, but at least it provided shade.

Not that the day was particularly hot; in fact out in the desert it was quite brisk.

David popped the hood and stepped out of the Explorer; he gingerly lifted the hood and waved at the cloud of steam, trying to dissipate it.

He stood there looking in the engine bay of his brand new pride and joy with a bemused look on his face. The collection of boxes, hoses, wiring looms and engine parts baffled him. He knew how to fill the window washer and check the oil and coolant and that was the extent of his mechanical expertise.

"Dumb-ass," Michelle had stepped down the car and appeared beside him.

"I think it's coming from that hose down there," David pointed into the engine bay.

Michelle snatched his hand away from under the hood.

"Don't get that fucking suit dirty David. You're taking me to that wedding if you have to carry me there; and there is no time to change our clothes," Michelle seethed.

David knew that telling Michelle that the chances of them making the wedding were about the same odds of them winning a jackpot in Reno would only infuriate her even more.

"Lets look inside," David tried to sound hopeful.

Michelle looked at the dilapidated roadhouse diner and shuddered. It looked even more forlorn than the gas stand. The sheet-iron roof that had once been adorned with a Texaco logo was hitched and broke-backed, holed in places and corroded. The windows that were not boarded over were dirty and cobwebbed and most of them were broken or cracked.

As they approached the door, which hung drunkenly from its hinges, they passed a rusty old Coke machine with the faded decal bearing the image of a smiling woman in a bikini drinking an ice-cold beverage with the words 'For Real Refreshment' peeling off it.

Michelle looked at the decal with suppressed rage and sighed despondently.

"Right," she muttered contemptuously under her breath.

David led the way into the ramshackle building and Michelle followed; both careful not soil their clothes and in Michelle's case, snag her nylons.

Most of the furniture had been taken away or vandalised beyond use. The place smelt musty; a lingering stench of mildew, stale cigarettes, stale liquor and a faint undercurrent of ancient fried food. The filthy floor was littered with beer and liquor bottles, drug paraphernalia, cigarette butts and decaying used condoms.

Some joker has pinned a pair of lime green satin panties to the flaking dry wall like they was on display in the lingerie section of a department store. The same joker had scribed graffiti on the wall besides the undergarment 'I fucked Stephanie here 05/12/18' with an arrow pointing to the crotch of the panties. Whoever Stephanie was, she was long gone and sans underwear.

Beside the panties a series of nineteen-sixty era framed advertising posters had been hung from the wall, probably in an effort to provide cheap decoration and cheer up the baby-shit yellow painted walls. Besides the usual advertisements for cigarettes, beer, motor oil and other products one would expect in a gas station was an advertisement for Hanes Underall Pantyhose. It featured the buttocks and thighs of a woman clad in sheer pantyhose with the slogan 'pantyhose & panties all in one'. Someone had drawn an ejaculating penis between the buttocks of the woman with a sharpie.

Michelle nodded at the lime green panties and then at the Hanes poster.

"A budding artist has been at work," she said sarcastically.

David was just happy that her tone had changed from anger to sarcasm.

He checked behind the dusty counter and any hope he had when he found an ancient rotary dial handset dissipated when he saw the cord had been ripped out of the wall long ago.

Michelle continued to explore the decrepit diner being careful not to touch anything or step into anything unsavoury. In the corner she found an old mattress with a crumpled stained blanket surrounded by several used condoms, one or two of which seemed to have been recently filled. Her gorge rose and she breathed through her mouth to avoid having to savour the stench.

"David..." she said, her voice shaky.

"Can we please get out of here," she turned her back on the makeshift sex nest and began to walk briskly to the door.

"Yeah let's go Chelle, this place is a dump and it stinks. Looks like we'll have to backtrack to the blacktop and hitch a lift to the gas station where we gassed up," David said.

David knew that this edict would likely send Michelle into another rage but she was too occupied with getting out of the creepy diner to become any angrier than she already was.

Just as they got to the door that they both heard the faint one-note drone of an engine. They looked at each other hopefully and hurried out the door and back to the Explorer. The road they had come down dissected two low hills in a sweeping descent and they could just hear the buzz of the engine in the distance.

They look expectantly at each other.

"Is it getting closer?" Michelle asked.

"Shh!" David held up his palm, listening intently.

Michelle's temper was about to flare when the indistinct growl became louder and settled into the rumble of a motorcycle engine.

"A motorbike?" Michelle looked questioningly at David.

"No. Two motorbikes," David replied.

The grumble now clearly defined as two motorcycle engines was confirmed when two motorbikes crested the rise of the low hills and began to descend towards the roadhouse; two blurred orbs wavered like a mirage then solidified into two headlights.

David and Michelle both smiled. Hopefully one of the riders could ride back and get help.

As the motorcycles got closer Michelle's smile turned to a frown.

The motorcycles were choppers, extended forks, custom paintjobs, ape-hanger handlebars and the two men riding them appeared to be members of a motorcycle club, dressed in jeans and leather jackets with cut-down denim jackets over. Michelle had watched Sons of Anarchy and knew that the denim jackets, emblazoned with emblems were known as 'cuts' or 'colors'.

The two bikes threw up trails of dust as they turned off the road and into the gas station, the roar of their engines such that both David and Michelle grimaced.

The bikes skidded to a stop just short of the couple, the riders faces obscured by black visored full-face helmets. The riders revved the engines of their machines menacingly and then shut them down. They dropped the kickstands and leaned their bikes on them, the engines ticked as they cooled in the sudden silence.

Michelle shivered and hooked one arm through David's and placed the other on his shoulder; sidling up to him in an unconscious act of defence.

David still had an imbecilic grin on his face; Michelle often thought that he was like a friendly dog that approached strangers looking for a pat and was bemused when he got kicked instead. He was too trusting.

The riders took off their helmets simultaneously. They both had long hair, one blonde the other jet-black and they were both undeniably handsome; Michelle once again unconsciously compared them to actors in the Sons of Anarchy.

"You folks look like you're in trouble. You need a hand?" the blonde-haired younger of the two smiled and any fear that Michelle harboured, melted away.

"The engine's overheated and I think there is a coolant leak," David grinned.

He walked over and offered his hand to the blonde biker.

"David Cashmore. Pleased to meet you; this is my wife Michelle," David smiled and nodded at Michelle who stood a pace behind David and to the side.

"Brin Sarsgaard. Pleased to meet you, and this is Kyle Shipton," the blonde biker nodded at his companion and shook David's hand.

"Please to make your acquaintance too ma'am," Brin nodded deferentially to Michelle as did Kyle.

Michelle was taken aback by their chivalry, she expected them to behave boorishly being bikers.

The bikers climbed off their machines with practised ease; Michelle was impressed with how tall and muscular they were. She would describe them as ruggedly handsome in any of the books that she edited for a living.

The bikers rested their helmets on the seats of their rides and walked over to the Explorer; David followed like a loyal pet trying to keep up with their long strides.

"I was hoping you might ride back to the main road and to the gas station and get me some help, or call the Triple A on my behalf?" David said, struggling to keep up.

"Sure man but let's have a look at your cage before we commit to having to backtrack," Brin replied.

"I can pay you for your trouble," David continued.

"Don't worry dude; we'll work something out," Kyle Shipton turned and grinned at David.

David grinned back at Kyle but Michelle sensed something malevolent behind Kyle's smile and she shivered.

Brin and Kyle bent over the engine bay of the Ford Explorer, prodding and poking at the engine as they muttered to each other. David stood behind them feeling useless.

"You popped a radiator hose there friend," Brin turned to David.

"It's an easy fix; we'll have you back on the road in no time," Brin smiled.

Both David and Michelle were relieved; the bikers were actually going to help them out of their jam.

"Where are you two off to all gussied up anyway?" Brin asked.

"Our friends are getting married at Lake Tahoe this evening; were dressed for the wedding," David explained.

"Well you both sure are pretty," Kyle grinned and looked them up and down; his eyes lingered on Michelle making her feel uncomfortable.

"Don't worry; you'll make the wedding. I'll get Brin to get me my toolkit out of the pannier on my ride, fix this cage and we'll be done in no time," Kyle smiled and Michelle began to think that maybe she might have been unchristian and too distrustful of him.

"Like I said; I can pay you for your trouble," David sounded relieved.

"No payment necessary partner; maybe we can trade later but let's get this vehicle repaired and roadworthy; we all got things to do places to be. Brin can you get my toolkit?" Kyle said.

Brin was already on his way back to the motorcycles where he rummaged around in the pannier on Kyle's Harley and came back with a small toolkit wrapped in oiled hessian.

Both Brin and Kyle took off their jackets and passed them to David and Michelle.

"Will you folks hang our cuts over our bikes while we work on this puppy, and stand back a little; don't want you getting any grease on your Sunday going to meeting clothes," Kyle joked.

"Don't drop our colors or we will have to take retribution," Brin guffawed, joking along with his partner.

David looked back and saw that the two bikers were busy under the hood. He lay Kyle's colors over his Harley and held up Brin's so that he and Michelle could see the back of the denim vest with the embroidered snarling wolf insignia in the centre. A rocker above the wolf insignia, emblazoned in gold letters on a black background read 'Beasts of Burden' and a similar rocker below read 'Los Angeles California'. On the front of the vest an OMC 1% badge high on the right breast and below it, again in gold on black, was the patch 'Original' and another above it that read 'Sargent at Arms'.

"He's a founding member of the chapter and the Sargent at Arms; in charge of discipline and keeping order in the club," Michelle said, absentmindedly reaching out and stroking the vest.

"He's what now?" David looked nonplussed at his wife.

"And that patch there above the 'Original' insignia, 'Men of Mayhem'. That is a special patch worn by a club member who has committed violence against someone on behalf or in the best interest of the club; usually a murder," Michelle shivered.

"Jesus Michelle you have some imagination! They're good guys; they're helping us, they've been nothing but polite. Not everyone who rides a Harley Davidson and wears colors is a member of an outlaw motor cycle club; you've been watching too many episodes of Sons of Anarchy," David draped Brin's cut over the handlebars of his bike.

"You're paranoid; you ever hear about a gift horse?" David was a little annoyed with his wife and sulked off back to the Explorer.

Michelle followed David feeling a little scalded and petulant.

Kyle's face appeared from under the hood; he had a greasy streak on he forehead where he'd brushed his hair out of his eyes.

"Hey David; can you take that old water can next to the pump there and see if this place still has a working water faucet? Give it a good rinse and fill it and bring it back. You've lost all your coolant but water will be a fine substitute until you can change it," Kyle said.

David had felt pretty useless and was glad to be given a task. He picked up the old can with the rusty spout and wandered off to the diner in hopes of finding water. Michelle hovered near the SUV watching the bikers work.

She felt that she had been unfair judging the bikers as outlaws when all they had been was friendly and were repairing her husband's vehicle. She decided to try and make some small talk as a conciliatory gesture.

"So are you a mechanic Kyle?" she asked as Kyle seemed to doing most of the work with Brin handing him tools when requested.

"Nah. But I was bought up on a farm and daddy didn't have any money to pay mechanics so he did his own repairs to the farm machinery and I had to help. Learned a lot from that old boy when he wasn't giving me a whupping," Kyle looked Michelle's way and smiled.

"This reminds me of one time when I was boy and we were all going to church dressed in our Sunday best and dad's truck threw a fanbelt. He made mom take off her nylons and made a temporary fanbelt out of them; although I doubt those flimsy things you're wearing would be up to the task."

The biker scanned his eyes up and down Michelle's long legs. It caused Michelle some disquiet that he would talk so solicitously whilst staring at her; she self-consciously smoothed the hem of her dress, pulling it down her legs. Kyle smirked and went back to the task of repairing the radiator hose.

David returned, carrying the watering can two handed; water sloshing over the side of it as he hobbled from side to side due to the weight of his burden.

"Well done my man; just in time. Kyle had re-attached and tightened up the clip on the bottom radiator hose, lets fill it up and flash her up," Brin grinned.

They filled the coolant reservoir and Kyle climbed in the cab of the explorer and started the engine. It fired up right away. Brin and David leaned in the door and watched the temperature gauge. It settled down in the normal range and they all grinned at each other.

Brin returned to the front of the SUV and packed up the tools and closed the hood; he took the tools back to Kyle's ride, packed them away and returned.

"Looks like she's running good," Michelle couldn't help but notice how handsome Brin was when he smiled.

Kyle killed the engine and hopped out of the Explorer.

"I can't thank you guys enough," David's grovelling was beginning to annoy Michelle.

"Like I said I'm happy to pay you for your troubles," he held out his hands in supplication.

The two bikers looked at each other and smiled; they were both wiping their hands on rags.

"Like we said David; we don't want your money. Maybe just a fair trade," Brin grinned.

"Fair trade?" David looked bemused.

"What's that?"

"A fair trade; you give us something of equal value for our time, expertise, and getting our hands dirty," Kyle explained ominously stuffing the keys to the Explorer into the front pocket of his jeans.

"Ok sure; what do you propose?" David asked.

Brin and Kyle looked at other and then started to laugh. The laughing became infectious and David started to laugh along with them but Michelle began to feel wary.

"Well we'd like to fuck your wife for a little bit," Brin had stopped laughing and looked deadly serious.

David paled and Michelle felt faint; she thought that her legs were going to give way.

"Don't worry; we don't wanna keep her; just borrow her. You can have her back in time to make that wedding," Kyle made a show of looking at his watch.

"I... I don't understand," David stammered.

"He don't understand Brin," Kyle mocked him.

"She understands; don't you Michelle?" Brin looked at Michelle who had dropped to one knee and was shaking.

"Fuck this we're wasting time," Brin grabbed David by the arm and began to drag him towards the abandoned roadhouse.

"Come on bitch!" Kyle pulled Michelle to her feet and dragged her along in the same direction.

"Stop this! Stop this at once!" Michelle squealed but Kyle ignored her.

"Come on guys! Enough already! A joke is joke but really; this is too much!" David still hadn't accepted the gravity of the situation.

The bikers forced the couple inside the dusty roadhouse and pushed them into the corner near the old mattress with the crumpled stained blanket. Brin dragged over two stainless steel framed chairs with ripped vinyl seats. He made a show of dusting them off with his rag.

"Don't want you folks getting them wedding clothes all dirty," Brin joked.

"And watch you don't snag those sexy nylons on the leg of the chair; they're pretty banged up," Kyle sniggered.