The Ancients

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A few minutes after midnight, Harry Jenkins and the Flatliner Motorcycle Club (MC) escort approached the ominous structure. The bold "No Trespassing" signs posted on the seven-foot, barbed-wire topped chain link fence might seem intimidating to some. However, the motorcycle club prospect member sliding the gate shut behind the full-patch motorcycle club escort and the special guest might be even more intimidating after midnight at the formerly abandoned train station, now the Flatliner MC clubhouse. The first view of the compound area showed the large, paved parking lot where club hierarchy and motorcycle brand had priority. The Sergeant at Arms guided Harry's Yamaha V-Star 1300 to a prime parking spot near the entrance usually reserved for Harley motorcycles and MC officers.

The masonry building was a vomit pink-like color structure that appeared to be in good condition, considering its age. The mile-long dirt entrance road was a former railroad, although the rails were long gone for scrap, and only a few scattered creosote ties tossed in the wooded areas remained. The general area was a borderline between old residential houses and the current industrial area. The back of the property consisted of a sloped, heavy-wooded area. Focused on the immediate situation, Harry had no clue that the night events would become even stranger.

As the small group entered the building, escorted Harry to the bar and past the heavy punching bag used by some hopeful prospects attempting to impress one another and the full-patch voters with their martial arts skills. According to Harry's logic, the old railroad station bar had been restored to some degree, and the "contribution" of a several-dollar donation for a decent volume of beer in a Solo Cup was not a bad deal. The diamond patch MC members contributed a lot of talent to the restoration of the fifty-year-old building and the security systems that monitored the property. The Flatliner Motorcycle Club allowed other non-member bikers at certain days and times and guests. The three officers with no identified real names dropped their cell phones in the designated wooden box marked for this purpose and entered the conference room, leaving Harry to socialize with other patrons at the non-bar. Harry Jenkins sipped, had a casual and careful chat with some members, and watched the monitors behind the bar connected to the surveillance cameras around the property, and at least one motion sensor infrared camera located along the back fence area adjacent to the heavily wooded area.

Harry was an odd one at fifty years of age and averaged five foot nine inches with a weight of 190 to 200 depending on the season. He wore his hair relatively short, not due to past military experience, but never really cared to spend a lot of time combing it to look good. His torn Levi jacket had little bunny rabbit and smiley face buttons versus the more common skulls and crossed weapons at the weekly bike nights at a local tavern. Harry was well known at bike nights and mingled with the biker groups of ministers on wheels, veterans groups, and even the one-percent outlaw bikers where he met Hazzard, the chapter president. Harry's only tattoo was a large Welsh Dragon on his left arm, impressive in the artwork but not the coverage compared with some of the other bikers. The Flatliners respected Harry for his attitude and knowledge not just biker lingo, but subjects ranging from politics to economy. Some might be a bit cautious on some subjects with the possible volatile opinions on politics but Harry and the Flatliners had mutual respect for voicing opinions even if not in agreement. Harry's former military status in the Army also gained the respect of the bikers.
Harry had the biker moniker of "Crazy Man," not so much for biker antics. Harry took no thrill in participating in long rides over 100 mph in formation five feet across, especially on the pothole-prone highways of northeastern Pennsylvania. The thought of riding at maximum speed in a tight formation had all the appeal of going to the dentist for a tooth extraction. The moniker was mainly from his past actions against a state mining safety office superior that warranted a PFA order to legitimately protect this bureaucrat from any additional mental stress or physical harm.