Special Thanks to Editor DaveT for his valiant attempts at editing (and his holding back thoughts of doing me bodily harm because of my slaughter of innocent grammar and spellings). I made some changes after his edits, so all and any errors are mine
We have all heard the cliché's, 'Good things happen to those who do good things', 'Play it forward', 'Bread cast upon the waters comes back tenfold', 'God does not always pay on Sundays', etc.
Bullshit, life is more like 'No Good Deed goes Unpunished.'
Of course that was not my thought when a grungy biker looking guy approached me late one night as I was putting the nozzle away from a well-worn pick-up truck, after filling up with gas.
"Hey buddy, can you help a scrambler out?" he asked, looking around
Now I could see why this guy thought I was biker. I had a skull and crossbones bandana wrapped around my head, which supported mirrored sunglasses. A scraggy beard matched the dark splotches on my oil splattered torn jeans. Add in my 6 foot,4 inch frame's not so insignificant belly, which a leather vest and dirty Harley Davidson Tee shirt did not do a good job of hiding, and I looked like the stereotypical biker.
However looks can be deceiving, as I was a complete poser. Not only could I barely ride a tricycle, I had trouble with any car not equipped with an automatic transmission. I was at this gas station only to fill up my Dad's truck after returning from a costume party at his house.
But what the hell. My wife was staying overnight at my Dads cleaning up, with the kids. Why not live out my fantasy a little longer.
"Whatcha need, Pal?" I said, as I put away a massive billfold, complete with chain I had purchased last week at a flea market.
The biker looked around nervously before speaking. "I must have been doing a ton, when I and the cruiser ate some pavement back there." He pointed out to the darkness beyond the gas station. "Jammed the fork in a damn pothole and got me some fucking road rash doing an OTB. Took me forever to hoof it to here."
This guy was quite the chatterbox, but I had no idea what he was saying so I kept quiet.
"I need your chase here." He pounded on the side of my truck. "To scoop up my ride and ferry me back to the house." The biker pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket. "I can get more at the compound from the club if you need."
"Put that away," I said, as I waved at the money in Chatterbox's hand.
I was having an internal debate. This was a chance to see the inside of a REAL motorcycle hangout. That beat my day job of moving numbers around on a spreadsheet any day of the week and twice on Sunday. I tried to act calm as I scratched at my beard that took me two months to grow for the costume party.
"Get in, "I grunted to my chatterbox biker.
Chatterbox stopped talking for a second as he smiled and opened the passenger door.
The twins rushed into the house the next morning, making me spill my coffee, with only the energy three year old boys can have.
"Daddy, Daddy, look what G'pa gave us!" They were still wearing their Batman costumes from the night before, but both wielding plastic baseball bats.
My wife Ann trailed in after them. "Boys, go change now, then you can go outside and play."
The kids ran to their rooms, whacking each other with the baseball bats as they scurried down the hallway.
"How was Dad?" I asked Ann as I poured her a cup of coffee.
Ann shrugged as she sat down. "Your Dad was happy to see the boys."
Dad and Ann had never 'clicked'. Although Ann had a good steady job as an admin assistant. Dad was not overjoyed when I told him I was going to marry Ann.
"Randal," Dad had said. "Why are you settling for such a plain, dull, boring women? The only reason I can see Ann agreeing to marry you, is you are the best she can get right now."
"Dad, Ann loves me, and I love her. We have the same interests, goals, desires and values. Why do you want to piss on my parade?"
Dad just waved his hand. "Blah, you'll both lead dreary, dull lives, until one day one of you will start wanting something better. Damn, son, live a little! Go get drunk, fuck some strange, howl at the moon. Otherwise you are gonna be saddled with 2.5 kids plus a house with a mortgage, working 9 to 5 as some drone. Do you want your life's highlight to be planning a two week vacation to Disneyworld or the fucking Grand Canyon? That kind of dismal existence is not living, just waiting to die."
Dad did not convince me to drop Ann, and truth be told, we did both work 9 to 5 jobs for the county, and we did look forward to taking the twins to Disneyworld. I did not think it was boring, and Ann seemed to enjoy our life. Of course, we had always lived that way, so how would we know the difference.
Ann's words brought me back to the present. "Your Dad seemed to enjoy the party. It is the first time since your Mom died that he even said something nice to me."
I feigned shock, putting my hand over my heart. "Dad gave you a compliment?"
Ann looked shyly over the rim of her coffee cup. "Yup, he liked my cat woman costume. Said he would love to see me climb a wall."
I laughed as Ann continued. "Your Dad wants his truck back right away. You know how he hates it when he has to drive your Prius Hybrid."
I smirked. "Dad never was exactly a 'Father Knows Best' TV Show, kind of Dad. His bedtime stories were along the lines of ' ... and all the kids cleaned their room, got Dad a beer and went straight to bed, THE END'.
Now it was Ann's turn to laugh as I leaned back in my chair. "But Ann, let me tell you about my little adventure with Dads truck last night..."
Ann sat mesmerized as I retold what happened. When I finished, she could not stop asking questions.
Finally she ran out of queries. "Randal, you were really at a motorcycle clubhouse? I am a little angry with you. What if something happened? I have seen 'Sons of Anarchy' on Netflix."
I waved my hand at her. "It was fine, they kept trying to get me to go to the back room with a girl..." I saw Ann's face get red, so I quickly added "Of course I didn't. Said I was recovering from a STD. 'Chatterbox', the guy I helped out last night, kept pushing beers on me."
"You don't drink."
"Sure Ann, Randal the accountant does not drink, but Randal the outlaw biker can handle a beer or two. But look what parting gift my new BFF gave me."
Ann watched as I pulled a little cellophane bag out of my shirt pocket.
"Randal, what is that?"
"Damn Ann I thought you were the TV series 'Breaking Bad' biggest fan. I think it is crystal meth. At least it looks like crystal meth."
"You are not going to try it, are you?" Ann said looking toward the hallway where the twins continued whacking each other with the plastic bats.
"Naw, I'll turn it over to the sheriff on Monday." I scratched my beard. "That reminds me, I got to shave this thing."
Ann ran a hand over my face, "Why don't you wait on that. The boys are busy, let's go into the bedroom and you can show me how an outlaw biker treats his old lady."
I turned over the small bag to the sheriff, who was an old friend from high school, along with my biker tale on Monday.
On Friday he called me into his office. I still had my beard, Ann had really gotten into the whole 'Outlaw biker and old lady' role playing. Who was I to argue? If it got me this much sex, I would be Superman and pretend to fly, even though I can't even swim.
The Sheriff had another man in his office. The guy had "Government' written all over him. He was DEA and got right to the point.
"That dope you got is high quality stuff we think is coming from somewhere north, maybe out of Canada. We have never been able to establish a logistics route. Think you can help us out and make some introductions?"
I could not help stifle my laugh. "You can't be serious. Last weekend was a freak occurrence. Do not let the beard fool you, I move numbers around for a living, not drugs. You must have undercover guys for this kind of stuff."
"Oh we do, real good guys too." DEA continued. "But we need someone to make introductions. As a CI or confidential informant, you can do and say a lot more than a law enforcement officer. We just need a contact."
The Sheriff broke in. "Randal, think of it as an acting role, like the plays in High school. You know, all the world's a stage kinda thing."
I had done some walk on parts in high school, college and even at the local community theatre. There was always a role for the big dumb guy. But this was a whole different ballgame.
I looked at both of them in amazement. "Sure, all the worlds a stage and everyone is under-rehearsed and unprepared. Somehow I don't think being an elf in the school Christmas pageant is the same as pretending to be a meth dealing biker."
DEA spoke up. "Don't worry we will be behind you all the way."
"Oh Yeah? How far behind me?"
DEA ignored my comment. "You know how to get in touch with the guy?"
I pointed a finger at my head. "I do numbers for a living remember? I got it right here."
NINE MONTHS LATER
The large banquet hall was filled to capacity for the celebration. It was an alphabet of law enforcement agencies, DEA, ATF, FBI, IRS, DHS, even the RCMP along with the State Troopers and a dozen county sheriffs offices. They were all celebrating the end of "Operation Great White" which had netted over 100 arrests and rolled up one of the west's biggest transportation, shipping and distribution meth operations.
.... There is more of this story ...