Changing Lanes - 8. Telluride

Eric nosed his motorcycle around the corner, sweating a little in the heavy leather jacket and helmet. He was a little early, but he’d decided to come have a good look at the club he’d rented sight-unseen.

Riding past the Oak Leaf’s deserted parking lot, Eric checked his mirror for any sign of pursuit. Finding none, he turned right, into the parking area for a neighboring insurance agency, and left his bike there.

Walking up to the locked doors of the Oak Leaf, still wearing his stifling jacket, with his helmet under his arm and a cap pulled down low over his sunglasses, Eric fished in his pocket for the key that had been delivered.

He entered the darkened club, and found a light switch. Clicking it on, which partially lit the empty club, Eric mentally kicked himself for not checking the place out in person first. The rental agent had promised him that the property was on the market and the utilities were on, and that the club was ‘ready for business’. Eric wondered just what sort of business one could do in an empty box.

The club was spacious, and vacant – no furniture. Even the bar was missing, though he could see the impression on the floor where it had once stood. All that remained was a big empty room, a few doors leading to office and service areas, all of it centered upon a small stage. At least it looked clean, and a second glance at the stage revealed a mounting over the center, which made Eric smile as he thought, ‘at least they took the damn glitter-ball with ‘em’.

Closing the door and shrugging his way out of his jacket, Eric noticed that the air conditioning wasn’t on and that the air temperature was in the eighties. Tossing his jacket, cap, and glasses on the floor near the door, he shucked off his shirt to add to the pile, and set off in search of the thermostat.

* * *

Walking up to the Oak Leaf's door, Keith gave it a try, found it open, and walked in with Jansen in tow, carrying a boom box.

Inside, they found a few lights on in the empty building, and then a sudden brightening as the ceiling lights over the stage flickered to life. “He’s gotta be around here somewhere,” Jansen said, and then he yelled, “Hey, Eric, we’re here!”

Eric’s voice from the next room caught Jansen and Keith’s attention, “I’m trying to get the air conditioning on. I’ve found a thermostat, but no luck so far.”

Jansen glanced at the floor, and seeing Eric’s shirt, he shared a grin with Keith before calling out, “Maybe I can help. I had a job as an electrician’s assistant for a few weeks.”

Walking through the doorway at the back of the club, Jansen entered what had once been the office, and took a long look at Eric’s bare back. Joining Eric by the digital thermostat, Jansen glanced at it. “Looks like it should be on. My guess is they’ve shut off the AC at the main breaker box,” Jansen said, flicking a thumb at the breaker panel further down the wall, which was held shut by a small padlock. “Got a key for it?”

Eric fished the door key from his pocket and glanced at the padlock. “No way can this be it, it’s too big,” he said as he wondered how to go about removing the lock without any tools.

Keith, who had just entered the room but had heard the entire exchange, said, “Don’t worry about it. It’s sometimes pretty hot on stage at the club when they’ve got all the lights on, so we’re used to it. Besides, Jansen and I won’t be wearing much, most of the time.”

Eric turned to flash Keith a grin. “I’m fine with it if you guys are. Okay, so, what have you two come up with?”

Leading the way back to the main room, Jansen waited for Keith to answer. Keith decided to let Jansen handle it, so when no answer was forthcoming, and Eric had looked back at Jansen with a puzzled look, Jansen said, “Well, we looked at a couple of things. Three, actually. Your idea for us dancing like guests at first, and also a version of our club act but without the sleaze and with a few more gymnastics-style floor moves. Keither and I did some gymnastics in high school, so we like putting that to use.”

Turning to give Jansen a casual smile as they arrived at the edge of the stage, Eric nodded once. “Gymnastics, huh? Yeah, that would be perfect. When I first saw you guys, I thought you looked like gymnasts. Where did you guys go to high school?”

Jansen set down the boom box. With his attention still focused on the portable stereo, he missed the look in Keith’s eyes and replied, “Oak Meadows High. They had a pretty decent gymnastics program. We can’t do anything too extreme on a hard floor, but we can put some of it to use. George likes us to stick to the more standard moves, so this is a chance for us to really branch out a little.”

Keith swallowed once before quickly adding, “A hard floor is a problem for some of it, but if there’s carpet we do some moves we otherwise can’t. Any news on the party location?”

“I’m leaving for the islands in three days. I’ll let you know about the flooring and the rest of the details as soon as I get back. I’ve got this place for two weeks, so you guys can use it anytime. I’ll leave you the key,” Eric said with a grin as he heaved himself up onto the edge of the stage and sat down on its edge, causing his muscles to ripple. He gave Jansen and Keith an apprising look. Eric was getting to know them, and he suppressed a smile at their words. Deciding to leave one subject well enough alone, Eric grinned and asked, “Okay, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Keith climbed onto the stage, and turned to take the boom box from Jansen. Reminding himself that Eric, who came across as a friendly guy, was their employer, he said, “We haven’t really rehearsed this much, so it’ll get better with practice.”

Jansen flashed Eric a smile as the music began to sound from the boom box. Positioning themselves at the center of the stage, Jansen and Keith began to dance, looking to Eric for all the world like two guys who hadn’t ever been on a dance floor together, grinning and hamming it up, as if the whole thing was a joke.

Both dancers were wearing button-front short-sleeved shirts, and Jansen turned sideways to Keith, danced forward a few paces, waving his arms around in an almost-parody of a dance. He then made a show of undoing the top two buttons of his shirt, before turning back to Keith, who repeated his partner’s moves, also displaying a decided lack of skill, while Jansen stood watching, clapping in time to the music.

The act progressed, the dancer’s clumsy antics gradually growing more practiced, and their behavior became, in small increments, more serious. More buttons were undone, and Eric smiled and nodded in satisfaction. This was exactly what he’d asked for, and they were playing it out to near perfection.

* * *

General Bradson busied himself with the final preparations for his trip. He practiced using the encryption program Bill had given him for his e-mail, which Bill claimed would allow the two of them to communicate with little to no risk of eavesdroppers. It had taken him two attempts to get the software installed on his now out-of-date laptop. Bill also provided an encryption device for the General’s phone, one very similar to what the General already had from his contact.

With that done, the General proceeded, with the utmost of care, to powder, fold, and pack the contents of his duffle bag. His actions would have surprised anyone familiar with the casual abandon he’d used to pack his clothes in a second bag. The main difference was that in this case, the General’s life literally depended on what he was packing.

* * *

Walking into the ranch house in Telluride ahead of Helen and his band mates, Jon glanced around, suppressing a shudder. He loved the place, but it now contained memories, more along the lines of nightmares. Jon absently rubbed at his shoulder where he’d been shot, as Eric came up beside him and said in a hushed voice, “I know, I feel it too. I sometimes get nightmares about that day.”

Slightly surprised at Eric’s candor, Jon nodded in agreement. “Yeah, me too, bro. I woke up in a cold sweat the other night. I wonder if we’ll ever feel safe here again?”

Helen and Barbra came in through the door, followed by Brandon and Chase. Helen had heard just enough of the conversation to understand what was being said. “I think we all feel strange here, and always will. Maybe you guys should sell it and get a different place? Maybe something a little larger, too,” Helen said in an uncharacteristically quiet voice as she gave a spot on the floor an involuntary glance, and shuddered. She had every right; she’d taken a bullet to the gut and come within a hair of dying. She still had some after effects, which she’d been warned might never completely go away.

The members of Instinct glanced around the small country-style ranch house, looking at the familiar wooden beams and oaken walls. They shared a look, glancing in each other’s eyes. Nothing more needed to be said; they all felt the same way. Things could never be the same and it was time for a change, to leave the bad memories behind.

Jon spoke for them all, “Put it on the market. We’ll find a new place. Maybe not here, but somewhere.” The feeling was unanimous: best to make a clean break with that aspect of the past. It was time for a change.

Jim stopped by later that afternoon, and started setting up behind the house the few things they’d need. Hay bales were used to mark off an area where Instinct would perform, using just a couple of small amplifiers. More hay bales were used to mark out a corridor leading to a small wrought-iron archway that Jim had installed the previous day.

Shirtless and sweaty in the warm sun, the four members of Instinct helped set the last of the hay bales in place, and then turned their attention to their own setup. Brandon hooked up the small amplifier and connected it to the three small speakers for a fast sound check. Finding that it would do the job, they hauled the amp and their instruments back inside, and then joined Jim as he sat under the archway.

“So, when is the bachelor party,” Eric asked, hoping that Jim’s party would give him a few ideas for Brandon and Chase’s.

Jim gave an awkward shrug. “A few of the guys took me out bar-hopping last night. I didn’t want much of a party, not my thing.”

Eric resisted the urge to look at Jim. It wasn’t easy, because Eric could feel that something wasn’t right, and that Jim wasn’t on the level. After thinking it over for a few seconds, Eric decided to wait until he could get Jim alone before asking what was really going on.

Eric wasn’t the only one to notice Jim’s incongruous reply. Brandon, who had known Jim for years, had done a fast double take when Jim had claimed that a big party wasn’t his thing. That just didn’t fit; Jim had always loved a wild night. Brandon gave the big biker a questioning glance, but receiving no reply, he decided to ask privately the first chance he got. Unlike Eric, Brandon had a pretty good idea what, or more precisely who, the problem was, and that he, or more precisely he and Chase, was it.

While Eric fired up the grill, Brandon kept an eye on Jim. After a few minutes, Jim ambled towards the house, intending to grab another beer. Brandon followed at a fast walk, and had nearly caught up with Jim by the time they approached the back door. Jon opened the door, returning from his own beer run, and was about to talk with Jim when Brandon warned Jon off with his eyes.

Entering the house directly behind Jim, Brandon was relieved to find that they had the room to themselves. Coming up behind Jim as he stopped to grab a beer from the refrigerator, Brandon said, “Hey big guy, we need to talk. I know what’s up and your bullshit ain’t cutting it with me.”

Hefting his unopened beer, the big biker turned to glare at his old friend. “Nothin’ to talk about, so back off.”

There were very few people who could talk to Jim like that and get away with it, but Brandon and Jim went back a long way. They were both from Phoenix, and had become friends. Jim had given Brandon a place to stay when his parents had tossed him out. Even so, Brandon was pushing the limits when he said, “You’re a fucking liar, and you ain’t even a good one. You don’t want a big party? Yeah, right. In all the time I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you skip a party, even when you were sick. Now you’re claiming you don’t want to party on the eve of your wedding? I’m calling bullshit when I see it. I’ll even tell you your reason; it’s me and Chase. You don’t think it’s a good idea for a couple of out gay guys to tag along with bikers who are out to get fucked up. You’re right about that, it’s a disaster in the making. But missing out on your party isn’t the way to deal with it. Just go, man, just go. Chase and I won’t be bummed at all about not being invited, but we’ll be majorly pissed off if you let us stand in your way. So go fucking party, Jim, and cut the bullshit.”

Brandon was accustomed to bikers and knew how to act around them. However, the look in Jim’s eyes made Brandon wonder if he’d crossed the line instead of just coming close as he’d intended.

After a long silence, which in reality was only a few seconds though to Brandon it felt like minutes, Jim said in a gruff voice, “Fine. You figured me out. But did you ever stop and think that maybe I wouldn’t have a good time knowing that I’d given two friends the brush-off? The guys that are coming to the wedding will mostly be cool with you guys, and the rest will at least pretend to be due to the warning they got from their club presidents, but when they get drunk, all bets are off. Whether you guys are there or not, I’ll get some crap.”

With that, Brandon knew that he’d won. As an evil smile spread across his face, he asked, “Jim, what do you do when somebody gives you shit at your own fucking party?”

Jim’s blank look told Brandon that he’d made his point. Slowly, a millimeter at a time, Jim began to smile in a way that most people would find disquieting. Jim’s fists began to clench as he answered in a quiet, menacing voice, “If they do that, they’ve just given me license to beat the holy living crap out of ‘em.”

Brandon chuckled. “Yeah, and we both know how much you’d hate that idea,” he said in a tone that reeked of good-natured sarcasm.

Jim’s answer was prefaced by a single nod. “You win, Brandon. I made the wrong choice. Tonight, I party. You and Chase are welcome to come along. If anybody starts shit with you, they’ll be outnumbered. Most of these guys appreciate what you’ve done for ‘em, and they like having the extra income.

With a shake of his head, Brandon replied, “I appreciate it. We’ll come and have one drink with you, but then we’ll clear out. No point in pushing the limits.”

“Suit yourself. It’ll be right next door at the Jacobs Ranch. There’s already a bunch of guys there, and they’ll party at the drop of a hat. I better lay in some supplies,” Jim said, meaning alcohol.

With another shake of his head, Brandon replied, “I’ll take the Jeep into town right now. I’ve got a good idea what you guys like, and this party’s on me.

Jim considered objecting, but figured that Brandon would be safe enough making a surprise visit to a liquor store. He knew that Brandon wouldn’t approve, but decided to make sure a couple of bikers were in the area to keep an eye out. Getting mobbed while out in public was an ever-present danger for the members of Instinct, and particularly so for Brandon due to being their lead singer. It was one of the many prices of fame.

Brandon snatched up the Jeep’s keys from the kitchen drawer, and grabbed a baseball cap and sunglasses from the kitchen table. Pulling the cap down low over his eyes, he said, “I’ll see if Chase, Eric, or Jon wants to go, too.” Brandon turned for the door, but before he could take a step, a concern that loomed larger than drunken bikers crossed his mind and he spun around to face Jim. “I’m thinking of getting a few kegs of beer, and a case of whiskey. Any other alcohol you want, and any chance that some of the bikers will be bringing their own?”

It only took Jim a second to figure out what Brandon was really asking. “That sounds great, but yeah, some of the bikers will have their own stuff, and that might include some tequila. I’ll do my best to keep Eric out of it.”

Brandon shook his head. “It’s your party man; you don’t need to be keeping an eye on Eric. I’ll talk to him, and I’ll talk to Jon. Maybe if you could just spread the word among the bikers, that’ll do it.”

Jim chuckled, thinking, not for the first time, that Brandon was exaggerating the danger. “I’ve heard the stories, but I’ve never actually seen Eric when he’s drinking tequila. He can’t be as bad as you make out, so maybe this’d be a good time to let him cut loose? How much trouble could he get into at a private party?” Jim said while arching a questioning eyebrow.

Brandon gave Jim a bemused look before answering, “Trust me, if anything he’s worse that what you’ve heard. Eric and tequila are a very bad mix. Bring in a bag of rattlesnakes, it’d be safer. He goes nuts, and might start messing with bikes, or colors, or hell, he might burn the house down.”

Jim nodded, still unsure whether Brandon was on the level or not.

Strolling back outside, Brandon found Jon, Eric and Chase clustered around the upwind side of the grill with Helen and Barbra. With a satisfied smile, Brandon announced, “Jim’s changed his mind. He’s having a party next door tonight, and I’m taking a run to the liquor store. Anybody want to help me carry the kegs? Jon, I need you, you’re over twenty-one.”

Helen turned to send an inquiring look in Jim’s direction. Jim nodded in reply, indicating that he’d have a couple of his bikers around, just in case. Eric gave the charcoal briquettes a poke with a stick before saying, “It’ll be an hour before this is ready to use. I’m in.”

Before Helen could voice her objection to Eric’s words, Chase gave her a reassuring look as he said, “I guess it’s a foursome. Let’s go.”

The idea of Eric going anywhere near a liquor store sent a chill down Helen’s spine, but she trusted his band mates to keep him away from the tequila.

Caps and sunglasses were hastily pulled on during a fast dash through the house, and the four shirtless guys raced for the Jeep before Helen could change her mind.

Throwing the big Cherokee into gear, Brandon raised a small cloud of dust as they bounced along the dirt driveway and took a right on Last Dollar Road.

After less than a mile, Eric said from the back seat, “Good job getting Jim straightened out. Better you than me.”

Chase’s puzzled look was accompanied by Jon’s voice asking, “Would somebody mind filling me in? What’s up?”

Brandon explained as best he could, and then asked Chase, “Any objection to taking off early? We’d be safe enough there, I just don’t want to be the cause of any fights. Things are a little fragile between us and some of the bikers since we came out.”

Chase nodded in agreement. There were other things he’d prefer to do with Brandon that night other than spending it around hard-drinking bikers.

Eric’s eagerness to go along on the liquor run was an unspoken cause for concern for everyone in the Jeep, other than Eric himself. Eric was underage, so couldn’t buy legally, but he’d proven himself more than capable in the past of slipping a clerk a couple of hundred-dollar bills in lieu of ID. This concern was enhanced when Eric asked, “Is there any problem with Jon and me staying for the party? Sounds like it’ll be wild.”

Brandon and Chase shared a worried glance, and Brandon looked in the rear-view mirror, meeting Jon’s eyes for a moment. Seeing the shared concern in both sets of eyes, Brandon returned his eyes to the road and said, “Eric, there’s something we need to tell you. Everybody, all together....”

Eric watched with a bemused expression as his three band mates yelled in unison at the top of their lungs, “NO TEQUILA!”

Giving a halfhearted shrug, Eric turned to stare out the window at the bumpy dirt surface of Last Dollar Road before replying with a dejected tone, “I don’t see why you guys make such a big deal about that. I just like to have fun.” Eric wasn’t as disappointed as he was pretending to be; he was well aware that he was of age to buy alcohol in the Canary Islands. He had no intention of breaking his promise to Helen during his two-day visit – he knew there wouldn’t be time anyway – but when they went to the islands for the party and the wedding, that would be another story entirely, as far as Eric was concerned. ‘Gotta live a little, sometimes,’ was his thought on that particular subject.

Jon shook his head and gave Eric a baleful glare. “Bro, you go freaking nuts on tequila.”

With a shrug, Eric replied, “I’m not that bad. I just like to cut loose once in a while.” That response was greeted by a chorus of sarcastic snorts, so Eric decided to let the matter drop, though he was all the more determined to prove to his band mates that he could handle his favorite liquor.

The conversation turned to Jim’s wedding, and weddings in general, for the remainder of the drive.

Brandon parked the Jeep, and as he and his band mates clambered out, he noticed, fifty yards away, two bikers by the side of the road, appearing to be engaged in conversation. Brandon knew better; they were there at Jim’s behest, diverted by his call from whatever they were doing in town, and now keeping an eye out for any sign of trouble.

The four members of Instinct strolled into the liquor store, and Brandon headed for the counter where he asked, “We need three kegs of Michelob, a tap, and a case of Jack Daniels.”

The clerk, a middle-aged woman, stared at Brandon in surprise, and then cast a suspicious glance at his companions. All four were shirtless, tanned and toned, and wearing sunglasses indoors. Deciding that none of them looked old enough to buy alcohol and were trying to tempt her with a large sale, she shook her head and said in a flat, no-nonsense tone, “Not without ID.”

Flicking a thumb over his shoulder, Brandon said, “Jon’s twenty-one and has the ID, but I’m paying. This is for our friend’s bachelor party tonight.”

The purchaser had to be at least twenty-one; the law was clear on that. The clerk shook her head and informed Brandon of that fact and then, ever alert for phony driver’s licenses, added, “I’ll need two forms of picture ID.”

Jon heard that, and for a moment wondered what he’d do. His credit cards didn’t have his photo, so his only available ID was his California driver’s license. Jon didn’t have much time to worry; Eric stepped forward, reaching into the magazine rack that stood beside the counter and snatching up the latest copy of Rolling Stone. Eric began to thumb through it, and the clerk decided that she’d had enough. “I assume you’re planning on buying that?” she asked in a haughty tone.

Finding the page he was looking for, Eric looked up and gave the clerk a grin, “Nope, just doing what you asked and getting Jon a second picture ID. A picture in a magazine counts, right?”

The clerk had no idea if that would be legal. As she hesitated, Eric spun the magazine around, plopped it on the counter in front of the clerk, and then the four smiling members of Instinct removed their hats and sunglasses. The clerk glanced at the photo of Instinct, and then up at the four guys. Her expression quickly changed from neutral to a scowl as she recognized Telluride’s most famous part-time residents. Flicking her thumb at a white placard mounted on the wall, she snapped, “Can you read that?”

Jon was about to hand the clerk his driver’s license, but paused to glance at the sign, which proclaimed in large red letters, ‘We reserve the right to refuse to serve anyone for any reason.’

The clerk crossed her arms as she announced, “I’m refusing to serve you. Maybe it’s because you don’t meet our dress code, maybe I think you’ve got a fake ID, or maybe it’s because I don’t like abominations,” she pronounced the last word with venom and contempt as she stared pointedly at Brandon and Chase and then added, “Now get out of here, you’re trespassing.” She smiled coldly, feeling satisfied and righteous. A devout Mormon, she felt that homosexuality was a sin, and thus it was her duty to oppose it. The fact that her religion clearly considered alcohol and tobacco to be sinful was a contradiction that she chose not to concern herself with, in regards to her occupation.

Jon was the first to figure out that the issue was homophobia, and react. Slamming his fist down on the counter, he yelled, “What kind of bullshit is this? If you don’t serve us, I’m going to­–” A hand on his shoulder interrupted the threat to sue that Jon had intended to make. Turning, he looked into Brandon’s angry eyes. The anger wasn’t directed at Jon.

“Let’s just go. She ain’t worth it,” Brandon said, trying his best to keep his temper under control.

With a furious glance back at the smug clerk, Jon followed his brothers and Brandon out into the parking lot.

As they approached the Jeep, Brandon and Chase shared an irate look, and felt a little shocked. Due to the isolated nature of their lives, they had been out in public very few times since coming out, and this was their first real taste of public homophobia being directed at them. They’d each experienced it from individuals in the past, but never from a stranger, especially not in a business setting.

“That fucking sucks!” Eric yelled, turning to face the store as he adding in a lowered voice, “I say we go back in there and refuse to leave until that bitch fucking folds!”

Brandon was tempted, but he knew that the clerk had the legal right to refuse anyone. That still left them with a problem; where to get their alcohol. Brandon glanced down the road, to find the same two bikers still outwardly engaged in conversation. Thinking for a second, Brandon turned and gave the Carlisle brothers a wicked grin. “We can find another store, or we can get what we came here for. Hop in, and I’ll pull up next to those two bikers down the road. They’re Jim’s guys, keeping an eye on us and trying to act like they ain’t.”

Three minutes later, the four members of Instinct watched from a distance in the Jeep as the two bikers Brandon had spoken to roared into the liquor store parking lot, parked their bikes, and walked inside.

“This is gonna be fun,” Eric said, anticipating the coming encounter.

They watched in silence for two minutes, until one of the bikers stepped into the store’s doorway and waved. Reacting to the pre-arranged signal, Brandon pulled the Jeep into the parking lot, parking it directly in front of the door.

The four grinning members of Instinct strolled back into the Liquor store, to find the two bikers standing beside four kegs of Coors, with six two-liter bottles of Old Crow whiskey sitting on the counter beside them. The clerk, returning from the back room with two taps in hand, stopped in her tracks when she spotted Instinct. Handing the taps to the two bikers, whom she had not yet deduced were acting on behalf of the band, she yelled, “I told you to leave. Now go, or I’ll call the police. You’re trespassing!”

Brandon smiled coldly. “We’re just helping our friends load up their stuff. They sure can’t carry four kegs on their bikes.”

Finally realizing the connection, and also noticing the similarity of the order, the clerk snapped, “There’s no sale, not if they’re with you,” and stalked towards the cash register, intending to refund the cash the bikers had paid.

Brandon shook his head and reached for a keg. “You can’t do that. They’ve paid for the beer and booze and rented the kegs and taps. This is their property, except for the kegs, but they’ve left a deposit for those, right?”

Jon and Brandon each took a handle and picked up the keg, their muscles rippling as they raised it a few inches off the floor and walked it out the door. With her face turning a stunning shade of crimson, the clerk yelled, “Bring that back here!”

Eric reached down to grab a handle on the next keg as Chase moved into position on the other side. Just before lifting, Eric smiled at the clerk and said, “All sales are final, it says so right on your door. In other words, if you don’t like it, please feel free to go fuck yourself.” Snapping the seething woman a mock salute, Eric, along with Chase, lifted the keg and followed Jon and Brandon to the Jeep. One of the two bikers grabbed the third keg, and with a grunt heaved its one hundred and sixty pound mass to his shoulder.

Watching his companion carry the keg away, the second biker chuckled. “I’m staying put, to make sure you don’t run off with my alcohol or taps. I’d suggest you don’t even think about it, ‘cause I don’t take kindly to thieves,” he said, with a menacing glare at the clerk.

One more trip, and the four kegs were stowed in the back of the Jeep, and joined by the whiskey and taps. Brandon was about to climb into the driver’s seat when the first biker ambled up and said, “Here’s your change, man,” and held out his hand, which held eighty-three dollars and change.

Brandon shook his head and smiled as he climbed into the Jeep. “It’s yours, and thanks for the help. I wish I had a picture of her face when she figured it out. That was fucking perfect.”

As the Jeep drove away, the biker turned to his friend, handed him two twenties, and said, “See, I told you those guys were alright.”