voice dropped. "I gotta go."
"See you soon." He would be back in a few days, back for the bike – to see her. Right now he needed to pack and get a ride to the bus station. It was time to buy a ticket back to the twenty-first century.
Back at the Iroquois Club, Eric tossed his collection of dirty laundry in his bag. The room was paid until the end of the week; he could leave the heavy leather pants and the helmet.
Downstairs, he asked for a phone book and a beer.
"What's the phone book for?" Peggy Lee asked as she handed over the beer.
"I need a taxi to the bus station."
She gave him a flirtatious smile. "You need a ride out of town? Did somebody steal your bike?"
"Nothing so dramatic; I've got a flat tire and I need to go south for a job interview."
"I can take you to the bus station."
"You're the greatest." Eric grinned.
"Anything for a man who wants a job." She winked at him. "If you want, there's room in the garage for your bike."
"That would ease my mind."
"The bays are unlocked. You move the bike, then let me know when you are ready to go. I'll round up those no-good boys of mine when I'm finished with shift-change."
Eric drank his beer, then got busy. To make sure he could get back to his Cincinnati apartment, he sent a text message to Roger, asking if he could pick him up at the bus station. His bags went in the trunk of Peggy Lee's Cadillac, the boys chattering all the way to the bus station.
They all wished him luck on the interview, waving goodbye as he boarded the bus.
Eric slept most of the trip to Cincinnati. The noise and the heat of Cincinnati struck him as real while the last week was merely a bad dream.
He only had to wait a short time before Roger arrived at the bus station. He tossed his jacket in the back of Roger's car, slid into the seat with a sigh. It was good to be back on home turf.
"Welcome back." Roger gave him a punch on the shoulder.
"Thanks, dude. I owe you."
"Where the hell have you been?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." How could he tell Roger that he was hearing voices, dreaming about ghostly strippers, had been run off the road by rednecks and was saved by a witch? He would end up in an 'I love-me' jacket in a rubber room.
"Where's this bike of yours?"
"I left it in Ashtabula. It needs a new wheel, but there isn't a Suzuki dealer in fifty miles."
"Are you in trouble?" Roger looked at Eric instead of the road.
"I'm fine," Eric lied.
"I'm worried about you, bro."
"Seriously."
"Don't bullshit me."
"I finally caught a break. I've got a job interview in Lexington tomorrow. I've got to get cleaned up and get some decent clothes."
Roger shook his head, but he dropped Eric off without giving him the rest of the third degree. Eric felt equal parts relief and disappointment.
The two room apartment was as he'd left it. He rummaged through the closet until he found clothes good enough for an interview. He got showered and changed, then it was time for the hair and the beard to go. There was a barber shop down the street.
The woman gave him a long look before she led him to the chair.
"It's been awhile since your last hair cut. What's the occasion?"
"I've got a job interview."
"I can handle that." She went to work with equal parts flirtation and scissors until she pronounced him done with a flourish.
"Good bye, Grizzly Adams, hello, Orlando Bloom." His hair was much shorter without looking military. She had turned his shaggy mustache and beard into something sophisticated. Not only did he look good enough for a job interview, he looked damn fine.
He tipped her very well and gave her a kiss on the cheek to boot.
Back home, dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, Eric stared into the mirror. A total stranger looked back at him. The wild-man biker was gone; so was the clean-shaven soldier. So who was he now? Some poor shmuck haunted by a dead stripper? A divorced guy with a yen for a cute little witch? A drifter who lived over a bar? The feeling of being a stranger
"See you soon." He would be back in a few days, back for the bike – to see her. Right now he needed to pack and get a ride to the bus station. It was time to buy a ticket back to the twenty-first century.
Back at the Iroquois Club, Eric tossed his collection of dirty laundry in his bag. The room was paid until the end of the week; he could leave the heavy leather pants and the helmet.
Downstairs, he asked for a phone book and a beer.
"What's the phone book for?" Peggy Lee asked as she handed over the beer.
"I need a taxi to the bus station."
She gave him a flirtatious smile. "You need a ride out of town? Did somebody steal your bike?"
"Nothing so dramatic; I've got a flat tire and I need to go south for a job interview."
"I can take you to the bus station."
"You're the greatest." Eric grinned.
"Anything for a man who wants a job." She winked at him. "If you want, there's room in the garage for your bike."
"That would ease my mind."
"The bays are unlocked. You move the bike, then let me know when you are ready to go. I'll round up those no-good boys of mine when I'm finished with shift-change."
Eric drank his beer, then got busy. To make sure he could get back to his Cincinnati apartment, he sent a text message to Roger, asking if he could pick him up at the bus station. His bags went in the trunk of Peggy Lee's Cadillac, the boys chattering all the way to the bus station.
They all wished him luck on the interview, waving goodbye as he boarded the bus.
Eric slept most of the trip to Cincinnati. The noise and the heat of Cincinnati struck him as real while the last week was merely a bad dream.
He only had to wait a short time before Roger arrived at the bus station. He tossed his jacket in the back of Roger's car, slid into the seat with a sigh. It was good to be back on home turf.
"Welcome back." Roger gave him a punch on the shoulder.
"Thanks, dude. I owe you."
"Where the hell have you been?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." How could he tell Roger that he was hearing voices, dreaming about ghostly strippers, had been run off the road by rednecks and was saved by a witch? He would end up in an 'I love-me' jacket in a rubber room.
"Where's this bike of yours?"
"I left it in Ashtabula. It needs a new wheel, but there isn't a Suzuki dealer in fifty miles."
"Are you in trouble?" Roger looked at Eric instead of the road.
"I'm fine," Eric lied.
"I'm worried about you, bro."
"Seriously."
"Don't bullshit me."
"I finally caught a break. I've got a job interview in Lexington tomorrow. I've got to get cleaned up and get some decent clothes."
Roger shook his head, but he dropped Eric off without giving him the rest of the third degree. Eric felt equal parts relief and disappointment.
The two room apartment was as he'd left it. He rummaged through the closet until he found clothes good enough for an interview. He got showered and changed, then it was time for the hair and the beard to go. There was a barber shop down the street.
The woman gave him a long look before she led him to the chair.
"It's been awhile since your last hair cut. What's the occasion?"
"I've got a job interview."
"I can handle that." She went to work with equal parts flirtation and scissors until she pronounced him done with a flourish.
"Good bye, Grizzly Adams, hello, Orlando Bloom." His hair was much shorter without looking military. She had turned his shaggy mustache and beard into something sophisticated. Not only did he look good enough for a job interview, he looked damn fine.
He tipped her very well and gave her a kiss on the cheek to boot.
Back home, dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, Eric stared into the mirror. A total stranger looked back at him. The wild-man biker was gone; so was the clean-shaven soldier. So who was he now? Some poor shmuck haunted by a dead stripper? A divorced guy with a yen for a cute little witch? A drifter who lived over a bar? The feeling of being a stranger
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