Sunday, November 8, 2009

Chapter Ten

I am ready to meet my Maker. Whether my Maker is prepared for the great ordeal of meeting me is another matter. - Winston Churchill



Chapter Ten

Hep was hard at work in his shop in the very early hours of the morning. He’d spent most of the night cutting steel tubing to size for the frame of Ares’s motorcycle. One of the advantages of living in the desert, a mile away from the closest neighbor, is being able to run a chop saw for hours in the middle of the night without pissing anyone off.


It had, of course, occurred to Hep, on several occasions, that if he lived somewhere a little more temperate, he’d be comfortable doing such work doing the day and wouldn’t have to worry about the neighbors in the first place. However, the opportunities for year round motorcycle riding, without having to contend with ice and snow, kept Hep and Scroat loyal to their choice of location.


Over several years, and many, many motorcycles built, Hep had devised a frame building jig he thought was pretty clever. A few adjustments to clamps here and there, and he could build a frame in any dimensions he wanted. All he had to do was put the steel tubing in, clamp it down, and weld.


He shuffled over to his welding cart, and pulled it over to where he had the jig set up. His legs ached badly, for some reason. Maybe the weather, or maybe he’d just eaten too much rich food lately. Either way, the aches made it extra hard for him to get around. He considered calling it a night and going to take some aspirin and sit for a while, but ultimately decided to get started on the frame. The sooner he had this motorcycle done and delivered to Ares, after all, the sooner he’d get Achilles’s armor.


Hep fixed two pieces of tubing in the jig the way he wanted them, then put on his welding mask and got to work assembling the frame. Before he knew it, the sun was rising. He looked out the big, open door of his shop, and saw the sky was a brilliant red.


It’s going to be cloudy this morning, he thought. It’ll be a good day for some blacksmithing, once I’ve got this frame together. First things first, though.


Hep checked the clock hanging on the wall of his shop. It read five forty-five. Fifteen more minutes and it would be time to wake up Scroat, he decided. He shut down his welding equipment and tidied up his shop a little bit, then went into the house.


He shuffled through the house back to his bedroom. Once there, he changed out of his welding clothes. Then he picked up his favorite hammer, and went to Scroat’s bedroom.


Scroat’s bedroom was dark, but there was a bit of light sneaking in around the edges of his blackout curtains. Hep’s eyes adjusted quickly to the dark. He was stunned to see the Scroat’s room was... clean. There were no piles of clothes and bits and pieces of motorcycle gear strewn about. Nothing for him to trip over or impale himself on. It smelled as though Scroat had drunk himself to sleep, but the room was absolutely spotless.


What the hell motivated him to clean up? Hep thought.


Hep limped as quietly as he could the rest of the way over to Scroat’s bed, raised his hammer, then slammed it down on to the bed next to Scroat’s left ear. The box spring squeaked and groaned in protest to this treatment, as it usually did.


Scroat opened one eye, stared balefully at Hep, and slurred, “Fuck off and die.”


Then he closed his eye again, turned over, and resumed snoring.


Hep was rather shocked. Usually Scroat’s morning curses were a lot more colorful and, well, loud.


Hep decided that, perhaps, just this once, Scroat needed the sleep more than he needed to be entertained. He limped back out of Scroat’s room and shut the door.


Weird, he thought. But, more bacon for me!


Around ten o’clock, Hep noticed Scroat still hadn’t gotten out of bed. He was about to go and try to wake him up again, when he heard Scroat stirring. Soon enough, Scroat came out of his room and into the kitchen. He made some toast, got some orange juice from the fridge and sat down at the table.


“Rough night?” Hep asked.


“I don’t want to talk about it.”


Scroat seemed much, much more subdued than usual. Hep was used to a degree of crankiness in the morning, but Scroat was rarely lethargic. How much had he had to drink the night before, anyway?


“OK. Are you too hung over to go for a ride today?”


“I’m not hungover. I’m not going out riding today.”


Hep was speechless. Scroat finished his toast and went directly from the kitchen to the couch, where he sat and stared at the wall.


Hep walked into the living room where the wall was about to lose its first staring contest. He thought he should probably say something, though he wasn’t sure what the problem was yet. It’s not easy to be supportive when the person in need of support won’t say more than ten words in a row.


“So, Scroat. What’s up with you?”


“Don’t want to talk about it. Fuck off.”


“OK,” Hep said. He went out the back door and looked up at the sky. Still nice and cloudy, perfect for a bit of blacksmithing. He went to his shop again, and lit his forge. The forge ran on propane, so he didn’t have to tend it like a coal forge. While it warmed up, he filled his slack tub with some more water and got the suspension springs he’d scrounged from a local mechanic cut to a more workable length. He needed to make a couple of new punches for the detail work on Ares’s bike.

Soon the forge was plenty hot, and Hep tossed a couple of the cut spring coils in to heat. When they were glowing red, he grabbed one of the coils with his tongs on one end, inserted the other end into the hardy hole on his anvil, and bent the stock into a generally straight rod. He tossed it back into the fire, and grabbed the other piece of stock to do the same. Soon, Hep was completely absorbed in his work.


About two hours later, a black, nineteen sixty five Ford Falcon station wagon pulled in to the driveway and up to the house. Hep wasn’t expecting to see Ares, but then, it was pretty rare for anyone to expect Ares. He had a tendency to show up out of nowhere, usually looking for trouble.


Hep quenched the stock he’d been working on and dropped it on the floor of the shop. He shut down his forge and went out to greet Ares.


Ares was already out of his car and walking towards Hep’s shop by the time Hep had gotten to the door.


“Hey, Ares,” Hep said. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing much. I thought I’d drop by and see how my motorcycle is coming along,” Ares said. “You don’t mind, do you?”


“No, come on in,” Hep said. He led Ares over to the frame jig. There were only a couple structural pieces left to weld in before he could get started on building the front forks.


“Nice,” Ares said. “How long do you think before it’s done?”


“It’s hard to say. Probably a couple of weeks,” Hep said.


Just then, they heard the back door of the house open and slam shut again. Moments later, Scroat came into the shop.


“Hey Scroat,” Ares said.


“Hey Ares, what’s up?” Scroat said in reply. He was barely moving his lips, and looking down at the floor.


“What’s up with you today, buddy?” Ares asked.


“I don’t want to talk about it.” Scroat said.


“Uh, OK,” Ares said. The three of them stood in an awkward silence for a moment before Ares said, “So how’s that girlfriend of yours doing? Sarah, right?”


Scroat looked deeply pained. He took a deep breath and said, “She dumped me.”


Hep was just as shocked as Ares by the news. He was torn between feeling bad for his friend, and feeling good for himself. As sad as it was that Scroat had been dumped, it was great that he wouldn’t have to worry about walking in to his own house to find the newest and most disturbing new way Scroat and Sarah had found to show their affection for one another.


Their budget for new furniture was going to go way, way down.


“Man, that totally sucks!” Ares said. “What happened? You want me to go kill her? Because I can totally do that for you. I can kill her, her family, all her friends, their families and anyone that looks funny at me while I’m doing it. You just say the word.”


“What? Fuck, no! I’m depressed, not bent on revenge.”


“OK. Well, if you change your mind, you just let me know. I’ll take care of it lickety-split, at no charge to you.”


“I appreciate the offer and respectfully ask you to leave her alone, after you go and vigorously fuck yourself with a stuffed porcupine.”


“Just trying to help,” Ares said, somewhat dejected.


“What happened?” Hep asked.


“She just left. I don’t want to talk about it,” Scroat said. “That’s it, OK?”


“OK. Well, if that’s it, cheer up, would ya? You’re bringing me down, and I didn’t even like her all that much.”

“Whatever. I don’t know why I even came out here,” Scroat said. “See ya.”


“Later. You call me if you change your mind. I’m telling you, lickety-split. They won’t know what hit ‘em,” Ares said.


“Nice, Ares,” Hep said.


“What? Killing people, or having them killed, always makes me feel better.”


“You’re kind of a special case,” Hep said. “So tell me again how you ended up with Achilles’s armor?”


Ares looked evasive. He checked his watch. “Man, I’d better get going. It’s a long drive back to California from here.”


“Whatever, Ares. We both know you appeared at the end of the road and just drove the rest of the way here,” Hep said.


“No need to be a dick, Hep,” Ares said.


“Well then tell me how it is that you, of all possible Gods, have Achilles’s armor.”


“Um, god of War here, Hep. Armor is kind of my thing,” Ares said.


“Yeah, but last I heard, Achilles’s son got his armor, and then it was lost. So how did it turn up again?” Hep said.


“Magic,” Ares said. “Do you still want it, or what?”


“Yeah, but I want to know where it came from, Ares.” Hep said.


“Well, remind me to tell you about it some time. See you later Hep,” Ares said, and was gone.


“Damn it, Ares!” Hep shouted, but got not reply. He walked back into his shop and started furiously sweeping. What a weird, frustrating day.


After he’d cleaned up the shop and locked everything up, he went back into the house. He found Scroat sitting once more on the couch, staring at the wall.


“You know, I’ve heard that television can be a little more fun to stare at than the wall,” Hep said.


“Television sucks. It’s all people either getting together or breaking up. Fuck that,” Scroat said.


“OK, just trying to help,” Hep said. “So what the Hell did happen between you two? I thought things were going great.”


“Yeah, well, I guess not,” Scroat said. “I don’t want to talk about it.”


“Yeah, I’ve gathered. Well, I’m going to go for a ride. You still want to hang out here being all mopey?”


“Yep.”


“See you later then,” Hep said. He grabbed his leather jacket and went out to the garage where his motorcycle was waiting for him. He liked the last bike he’d built so much that he’d kept it a lot longer than he usually did. He’d found some smoked glass for the tail light and headlight, and was reasonably certain that his sidecar rig was the blackest motorcycle that had ever been.


He was worried about Scroat. Hep couldn’t think of a time when Scroat wasn’t game for going out riding. Well, except for when he’d been busy riding Sarah. But that wasn’t an issue anymore, and apparently it had really shook Scroat up. Not riding was just... unhealthy.


Hep started his motorcycle and rolled out on to the street that led from the house to civilization and other roads. He decided to head west until the sunset became too distracting.


As he rode through the closest town, he saw a woman walking that looked a whole lot like Sarah. He wasn’t one hundred percent sure it was her, however, until she turned and he saw she had a large, red and green macaw perched on her wrist. He decided to pull over and talk to her.


“Hi Sarah,” Hep said.


“Hi Hep,” Sarah said.


“I’LL SWALLOW YOUR SOUL,” the macaw, Killer, said.


“So, uh, how are you doing?” Hep said.


Sarah half-rolled her eyes, and said, “Fine, Hep. Did Scroat send you?”


“Nope, I just happened to see you. He refuses to say a word about any of, uh, whatever happened with you two,” Hep said. “I don’t supposed you’d care to share some insight?”


“Nope. Scroat will tell you when he wants you to know,” Sarah said. “Hey, I’m kind of in a rush, so I’ll see you around.”

“Bye,” Hep said. He put on his turn signal and pulled back into traffic, continuing West as planned.


This is all too weird, Hep thought. What could have happened that both Scroat and Sarah would refuse to talk about it? Damn it, he’s got to come out riding with me.

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