Who Kissed Charlie Fine?

Chapter 6

Dressed and ready for market day, Charlie was relieved to receive Sylvester's message stating he was but "five actual minutes" away. Martin, freshly shaved and claiming to be starving, met Charlie in the hallway and followed him downstairs. A horrible rumbling din assaulted their ears.

"Sounds like someone's mowing the porch," Martin said.

Charlie strode quickly to the window, parted the curtains then spun around with gritted teeth and hands forming claws like he was Jekyll trying to stave off Hyde.

"What?" Martin asked.

"WHAT?!" Charlie repeated the question at a much higher pitch when he tore open the door.

Martin looked over his friend's shoulder and burst out laughing. Sylvester waited on the street presenting a dark green motorcycle and side car as though it were the grand prize on a game show.

"Do you have your 'M' license?" he shouted.

"A car! A car, I said!" Charlie shouted back, infuriated.

"'Cars On The Side'. It's a side-car. You look surprised."

"Of course I'm surprised! You said, 'Because it's my side-business, get it?' Not, 'Because I rent motorcycles with SIDE-CARS!' And what if I didn't have my 'M' license, hmm? Then what?"

"Well do ya?"

"Yessssssss!"

Martin came out wiping tears away. "I was hoping for more of a bike with a basket up front!"

"Can ya imagine?" Sylvester wheezed.

From Charlie a grumble turned into a weakly gurgled 'Argh' and was followed by a defeated sigh. He met Sylvester half way where the cabbie slapped him on the back and handed him a folded agreement.

"Goggles and helmet in the boot. Spare wheel on top. Converts to electric if you like. Just sign here."

Charlie did as Sylvester handed over the key. "You boys have a great week," he said. "Watch out for them right turns."

Charlie examined the motor bike while Sylvester hustled over to a waiting cab which had presumably followed him on the bike and sped away.

Martin scratched his head. "Did he just get into his own cab, you think, or...?"

Charlie's head sunk into his chest swearing. It rose again with a calming inhalation which seemed to inflate him from the neck up.

Martin's chuckle returned.

"I'm glad you think it's funny," Charlie said. "I'm driving and you're in the car.

"I know you're driving. And we're out of scotch."

"It's ten in the morning!"

"I don't lecture you about your weird hobbies. Your Russian Rouletting or Extreme Rubik's Cubing, do I? I'll thank you not to lecture me about my holiday binging."

"Count yourself lucky this thing's got a skid plate."

"I'm not bothered," Martin shrugged.

******

He hadn't ridden a standard motorcycle in nearly a decade, if you didn't count a brief amusement with motocross courses, but a side-car was a different creature altogether. He'd had a two-day course on one several years back in preparation for a long weekend with a girlfriend touring Washington's Olympic National Park and hadn't felt the need to ride one since. It came back to him easily now. The first few turns on empty streets gave him confidence, shifting his weight and manipulating the brake on corners to keep Martin from spilling over and out. Martin was as happy as a puppy with his head out a car window and by not reacting physically to the first turn which lifted him, he made it easier for Charlie to find and keep his balance.