West Kids - Frank and Chief Part Two

A lot had gone wrong to result in Chief and Frank being out at night. Riding down Broadway without a patch or an Implement of any kind was not in the plans. There were basically three hiccups that put them where they were now, the first two of which might have been bearable, but the third was near crippling. For anyone but Chief, it would surely have meant Spikes. Which was why Frank was so Spooked.

The first hiccup was at the dump. The dump could be a trove of useful items for Cowboys. In it were scraps of endless potential, especially in the hands of Wrench. Large items could be salvaged for raw use back at the Pond like lumber, shopping carts, corrugated metal, and plastic bags. The fabric from old sofas could be reused to make clothes. Screws, nails, washers, nuts and bolts were always worth taking. The massive container on the Dumpster was created out of an old oil drum. Chief and Wrench had towed it back by first skewering it with a long shaft of rebar, then connecting rope from each end to their seat posts and rolling it along. They muffled the booming by stuffing seat cushions through a hold in the side. It was still a noisy ride, and asking for trouble, but at least then it had been daytime.

The bad part about the Dump, where you could find unexpected treasures, was that sometimes you found unexpected trouble. Riding through the dump was a great way to get a flat. Broken glass, goatheads, and nails littered the ground. Gremlins knew that the West Kids frequented the dump, and so haunted the hills of garbage on occasion. There were rats. And consequently snakes and cats. And consequently dogs.

Chief was working on an old wheelbarrow, trying to loosen the rusted nut around the hub to get at the bearings inside when Frank came sprinting out from behind another hill on his Rock Hopper, the pit bull right behind. He rode toward Chief, looked him the eye, and then turned quickly around another hill. After him went a barking, snarling, enraged animal utterly intent on Franks destruction.

Chief didn’t move until the dog was past, not wanting to draw it’s attention off of Frank, then ran down the heap he was perched on and pulled his Implement off the top tube of the Titus. The tool, to be used only for defense, was sliced steeply and cleanly on one end to create a sharp point suitable for poking holes in threatening things like Gremlins and pit bulls. The other end had its own uses. Chief took the handlebars and crouched at the base of the heap, waiting for Frank to make another pass. Hopefully the dog would just give up and run off before Frank came around again. This one was awfully skinny. Chief thought there was a chance it would wear itself out soon and leave, but was wrong. A wheel skidded a hundred yards off as Frank took a tight turn and pointed his bike back toward Chief. The pit bull slipped trying to change direction, but was up again and frothing after Frank.

Many Cowboys had successfully pulled off this maneuver before. It was standard practice for ferocious dogs when they couldn’t simply be outrun or otherwise discouraged. As Frank got closer, Chief gripped the handlebars tight and prepared to impale the pit bull, ideally in the trachea. It was the quickest way to bring it down, and Chief wanted it to be quick. Stabbing the dog would be brutal enough without having to hear it suffer. It was important that Chief not become the target though, so he waited motionlessly for the right moment.

Hiccup.

Frank had his head down. He was way out of his saddle, with all his weight over the front wheel, slamming the pedals for all he was worth to stay ahead of the teeth behind him when his chain stretched itself past its limit, and ripped apart. Franks right foot dropped out from under him as the resistance in the cranks when to zero, and his body fell to one side. There was no chance of him maintaining control of his mount with so much of his weight shifted forward, and after one huge over-correction, Frank bit the dirt hard grinding his shoulder into all the shards of trash awaiting him on the bed of the dump.

He slid several yards before the bike stopped, and by that time Chief was already up and running out to meet the dog, now gripping the handlebars like a night stick in his right hand. The dog was faster though, and Frank was struggling with a bloody palm to get his leg out from under the Rock Hopper when it got to him. It had a chance to sink its teeth in deep before Chief slammed it in the mouth with the handle bars. It let go immediately and backed up thirty feet where it growled at its attacker. Chief positioned himself between the dog and Frank, and held the handlebars in two hands now, ready to swing again. Blood glistened on the lip of the bull where Chief had hit him, and its left eye was squinted. Frank looked up from the ground at the pair, both rigid in face-off. He expected the dog to charge again, this time going for Chief, but it just stood and growled. A handful of seconds passed, and nothing changed. Then, from nowhere, the dog silenced. A moment later it turned and bolted away in the opposite direction.

Frank righted himself and his mount and began to evaluate the damage. He was bleeding from a huge scrape across his shoulder. One palm was bloodied from bracing himself on impact, and the same wrist was probably sprained. The side of his right shin was scraped up just like his shoulder, but it felt fine to put weight on it. Nothing broken.

He put his hands on the grips, and lifted up the front wheel, then slammed it down on the dirt again to signal to Chief that he was able to ride. He ignored the shooting pain in his wrist, and kept a strong face. Chief looked at him expressionless for a couple seconds, then shook his head. Frank hadn’t noticed where the dog’s teeth had punctured. He picked up his wheel and slammed it again, harder this time to reassure Chief that he felt good enough to saddle up. Again Chief shook his head. This time Frank stamped each foot once before again signaling his strength. Now Chief walked closer to Frank and reached toward his left leg, just above and behind the knee. Frank followed Chief’s hand and saw what he hadn’t noticed during the commotion of the wreck and fight. Along wall of the tire, on both sides, were several severe gashes reaching all the way through the tire and into the tube.

The tube was ruined. Unpatchable. So in would go Frank’s spare. That was too bad, to lose an inner tube. But much worse was the state of the tire. They couldn’t simply re-inflate the new tube, which would push its way through the holes torn by the pit bull and burst with the necessary 45 lbs of pressure. Frank needed a new tire, and they did not carry a spare of those.

Frank let out a signal originally created by Spade. It was, in Chief’s opinion, entirely useless as it only communicated known information, and didn’t help anything, but was nevertheless a common part of the Desert vernacular. It consisted of clamping ones teeth together, and demonstrating a feeling of utter pissedoffedness via two isolated middle fingers, in this case pointed in the direction of the pit bull’s recent exit.