Chapter Six

The gang allowed Valon less than a minute to find his motorcycle and climb on. After the allotted minute, they declared, if he wasn't on his bike, that was just too bad. But Valon was quick and ready to go within forty-five seconds. He glared at them coldly as he pulled the goggles down over his blue eyes. There was no telling how this would turn out. It wasn't a fair fight. But Valon knew that no matter whether he agreed or not, this fight was going to take place. And so he had opted not to run from it.

"You do realize this is really a duel," Michael's voice came harshly. "And it's all of us against you." The chain snapped in his hand.

Valon clutched the bike's handlebars firmly. "I know exactly what I'm getting into," he replied, "but I'm warnin' you—I've come out on top before when I was fightin' blokes like you." Underestimating him because of his height—or lack thereof—and his young age (he was not yet out of his teens) was a drastic mistake many had made in the past. He was strong and fought fiercely, though he had never engaged in a motorcycle duel before. But he wasn't afraid. What was there to fear? The worst that could happen was that he could die. And that didn't seem like an extremely horrible fate anyway after everything he'd suffered through life.

Michael sneered, riding up next to Valon and promptly striking his cheek with the chain before the Australian could stop it. "This will be different," he said, "and you know it." He could see that Valon wasn't afraid. But he swore he'd change that by the time their mortal combat was at an end. Once Valon was thrust off his motorcycle, it would be easy to strike him repeatedly and kill him.

Valon glared, reaching out and grabbing the chain before he could be struck again. "Oh, it'll be different alright, mate," he agreed calmly before pausing. "But hey . . . do you really think Sandy would want you doing this?" The thought had just occurred to him, but he was certain the answer was No, she would not. She was not a vindictive person and besides, she knew Valon wasn't responsible for her accident.

"Sandy's not here to object," Michael retorted. "She's laying in a hospital bed because of you!" He revved the engine, impatient to begin. With a vicious yank he released the chain of Valon's grip, pulling it back into his own graces.

Valon narrowed his eyes. "And how do you figure that, anyway?" he demanded, even though he knew that he had been blaming himself at times. "It's not like I can help that she wanted to do my stunts." As the words left his lips he realized that they were true. He couldn't hold himself responsible for this. It had been an accident—a tragic accident. No one had been responsible.

"You waltzed into our lives when it would've been better if you'd just stayed away and looked for your precious friends elsewhere," Michael snarled. "I don't care if you were directly accountable or not. Just your presence was bad enough." He waved a paper in Valon's face. "See this? I found it in Sandy's trailer. She was becoming infatuated with you."

Valon's eyes narrowed. He was certain that it must be the same paper he had found in Sandy's manga. "What right do you have to go through Sandy's stuff!" he demanded. "Even if you're her beau, she's entitled to some privacy!" It almost seemed a desecration when he thought about it. Michael could not and would not appreciate Sandy's true spirit. Her writings would be seen as nonsense by him.

"Shut up," Michael hissed. Valon could hear the other motorcycles approaching swiftly from behind. He knew that it would be impossible to attempt reasoning with his nemesis, so he did the only thing he felt he could do under the circumstances—he revved the engine and rode ahead into the arena where Sandy had suffered her accident. After a yelled curse, Michael and the others followed him in.

Paulette watched regretfully as Raphael gave the ragdoll cat a final stroke. "Are you sure we can't get you to stay any longer?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

She also knew that the redhead, Alister, was good for Pierre. The child adored him like an elder brother. Right now Alister was being followed by his young shadow down the stairs. Paulette was sad to see the bikers leaving.

Raphael set the cat on the floor. "You've been kind, but we have to go," he replied. "Valon's still unaccounted for. We have to find him." He couldn't believe the difference between Paulette and Hilda. Whereas Hilda was predujiced and selfish, Paulette was actually welcoming and kind. She reminded Raphael of his mother.

Paulette smiled sadly. "You're a good friend," she remarked, "and so is Alister." She watched Pierre tug on Alister's hand and then get gently lifted into the gray-eyed man's arms. "He took such good care of my son. I don't know what we would have done without him." She couldn't understand Hilda's dislike of either one of them. They were both honest, good people, and frankly, Paulette found that they had better morals than many of those on her own social level. Hilda should be proud that Raphael was her cousin.

Raphael crossed his arms, giving a slight smile. "He has a certain way with kids," he said. "He's always loved them."

Alister reached the bottom of the stairs, still holding the child close. "It's time for us to go now," he said quietly to Pierre.

The boy had known that the two bikers would be leaving, but still he had dreaded it. He didn't want Alister to leave, and he looked at his friend with sad eyes as he expressed this.

"I know," Alister replied kindly, "but we still have another friend to find. You wouldn't want us to not look for him, would you? He might be in trouble." He smiled, ruffling Pierre's hair while holding him with his other hand. He was still favoring his left arm, even though he could use his injured one. But he didn't want to put too much pressure on it too soon.

"No," Pierre sniffled, "you should find him. If he's your friend, he's gotta be nice." He hugged Alister tightly. "You'll come visit, right?"

"Of course," Alister reassured him, returning the embrace. "And I'll write as well. Your mother can read my letters to you." Now he gently set the child on his feet, knowing they had to be on their way. Raphael had at last discovered a possible lead to Valon's location. The trailer park belonging to a group of biker stunt artists was a good place to continue their search. It wasn't far away—only a couple of towns or so.

In the article Raphael had found, it had told of a serious accident that one of the members had recently suffered. At first he and Alister had been afraid that it had been Valon, but then they had found out that it had been a female who had been hurt. But in any case, Valon could get injured as well. His friends thought it important to find him immediately. Since they were both able to leave, they saw no reason to prolong their departure any longer.

The duo walked outside and to their motorcycles parked in the long driveway. Raphael had retrieved them out of storage yesterday. Two weeks ago he had found them both near a building that had been used as another branch of the Doom organization. He had found this odd, as he didn't remember leaving his vehicle there, and he had started to worry then wondering if Alister was alright. How the bikes got there was still a mystery to them both.

As they climbed onto their motorcycles, they looked back to the Martindales as they said their goodbyes. Hilda, Raphael, noted, was not there. But she was watching silently from her room in the manor, thinking thoughts that only she and God were aware of.

Perhaps she regretted seeing Raphael leaving. Perhaps she wished that she could accept him with open arms as her cousin, whether he was part of the high-brow social scene or not. Maybe she even wished she could see Alister as more than just a hoodlum with a strange dress code. But right now, she knew she could not. Maybe someday. . . .

Valon flew over one of the ramps, gunshots going off over his head. It suddenly dawned on him that he really had no idea what he was supposed to do or how he would win this. Perhaps, if everyone else wiped out, then he would be the winner by default. But that wasn't likely to happen. Already he had been chased around the arena for nigh unto ten minutes. No one had fallen yet. It seemed hopeless. But he refused to give up. If he just had enough time to think of something clever. . . .

He heard a crash behind him. Apparently one of the others hadn't quite made it over the ramp. But there were plenty of others to take that one's place. He barely managed to swerve to the side as someone threw a knife.

Then another bike was stopped right in front of Valon's path. With a vile curse the rider sneered behind his helmet, certain that Valon would not be able to avoid hitting him unless he wound up crashing. And indeed, he nearly did. Again Valon struggled to swerve away, in the process nearly colliding with another motorcycle and clipping its side mirror off. As the other biker tipped over, a third came up from behind Valon and struck him hard with a crowbar between his shoulder blades. The brunette gasped in pain, leaning forward over the handlebars and gripping them tightly as he struggled desperately to keep hold of his concentration.

That was when the front tire was struck by another bullet. At the speed Valon was going, he was immediately thrown from it and wound up rolling across the ground several times over. Dazedly he was aware of the sounds of the other bikes starting to gather around him. When he was finally to the point where he could sit up again, they were all circling around him. Every now and then one would start to break from the circle and Valon would be certain that it was about to hit him, but then it would turn around and starting going around him in the other direction. This continued until half were going one way and the other half the opposite, leaving Valon no hope of escape.

"Perfect," Michael sneered as a few early snowflakes began to fall. Michael was among those in the inner circle and now felt that it was the ideal time to strike for real. Valon was completely on guard, never knowing when someone would try to hit him but being sure it would happen. Now Michael would make certain that it did.

Just as he was about to break out of the slowing cycle of motorbikes, two new engines brought him and all of the others to attention. For one moment they all quelled their motors, watching in stunned shock as two mysterious vehicles came flying into the arena via the ramp—one red, one black—and stood proudly amid the swirling snow, their riders silent and ominous.

Valon stared as well, his blue eyes wide. This was something he couldn't comprehend. All of the gang was here already, so these newcomers couldn't be part of it. But were they here to help the gang, to help Valon, or for something else? "Who are you!" he called loudly as the same time Michael asked the question. The motorcycles were starting to break formation, intrigued by the appearance of the new bikers and all wanting to know what was wanted. Perhaps this was a problem they would have to deal with before Valon could be eliminated.

They received no answer at first. Michael growled, seeing their silence, and then prepared to rev his engine and advance on Valon. "You're interrupting some private business," he hissed at the strangers. "We were just taking out the trash."

Now the one on the black motorcycle spoke, his voice muffled by the dark helmet. "Leave him alone." Valon could see, even in the dim light, his muscular appearance. The one on the red motorcycle was very skinny, though obviously healthy—and obviously also a male. The brunette's eyes widened again, wondering if it was at all possible that. . . .

His thoughts were cut short by Michael's angry voice. "Get them!" he yelled. Instantly his cohorts lunged forward on their bikes, certain that all of them could outsmart these two problems. But they weren't expecting the fight they got.

Another wielding a chain shot out at the skinny one, but he caught the end in a gloved hand and pulled hard as he speeded forward, causing the other biker to cry in surprise and crash onto the ground. Then the victorious rider on the red motorcycle swerved to the right, startling an opponent holding a heavy crowbar.

As Michael tried to run Valon down, the Australian jumped out of the way and turned to run in another direction, idly wondering if he could grab a felled motorcycle and use it temporarily. When a hard, heavy rock collided with his back he cried out and stumbled, tripping over a bike and crashing to the ground. Then Michael was upon him again, swinging the chain to catch and restrain him until the red motorcycle was in his way. The chain, already in flight, wrapped around the skinny biker and threw him off his moving vehicle. Valon watched in alarm as the young man went flying, only to crash down hard on the ground a yard or so away, losing his helmet. The flipped magenta hair was instantly recognizable.

"Alister!" Valon screamed, paling when his friend didn't get up. One of the other bikers was already riding over to investigate the unwelcome stranger's condition. Knowing that no good would come of that, and wanting to repay Alister for what he had just suffered while trying to save him, Valon leaped on the red motorcycle himself and threw his pocketknife expertly, slashing the back tire of the enemy biker's vehicle. With an angry yell he toppled to the ground.

Before Valon could manage to ride over to Alister and find out if he was alright, another motorcycle suddenly crashed into him from the side, causing him to spill onto the ground once more. Then Michael was advancing, a cruel smirk gracing his features. Not only was he holding his chain, but Valon was certain he saw a gun and a knife in the man's possession. One way or another, Michael planned that Valon would die.

Now the muscular newcomer rode straight through an astonished cluster of the stunt artists, grabbing a revolver from one before she could do a thing about it. He then pointed this at Michael warningly as he approached. "Get on," he ordered Valon, who quickly complied and scrambled on in front of the much taller, bigger man. As Michael shot out with his own chain to fell the gun, his new nemesis struck the metal with a bullet, deterring it long enough for them to get out of range.

Valon looked up at him. "Raph?" he demanded, though he was already positive of his rescuer's identity. He gripped at the center part of the handlebars, again turning his thoughts to worrying about Alister. He had been laying so still. . . .

"Who did you think it was?" was the reply. Then Raphael hissed in pain, feeling a sharp prick in his back. He had just been stabbed with Michael's knife. Almost losing his concentration, he veered the motorcycle to the left.

"Raph!" Valon cried again, more urgently. He hadn't missed that hiss of pain. Raphael had been injured.

"It's nothing," Raphael replied, gritting his teeth as the small weapon remained buried in his flesh. He couldn't possibly stop to remove it right now. They were being pursued by the rest of the gang. Idly he wondered if they really would be able to get away.

The welcome sound of police sirens was the answer. Instantly the enemy motorcyclists panicked, scattering in all directions. Michael cursed in anger, watching his army leaving him, and then gave Valon a dark deathglare as he and Raphael both stopped their vehicles. "This isn't over, Aussie," he threatened. "Not by a long shot."

Valon glared right back. "We won't be seein' each other again any time soon," he replied, "'cept in court, when you get tried for attempted murder!" His accent was always thicker and more noticeable when he was outraged—and right now he was extremely furious.

Raphael reached behind himself, carefully pulling the knife free from his flesh. He discovered that it was merely a pocketknife, though still highly painful. His blood dripped from the blade and onto the ground below, coloring it crimson.

Valon stared in horror. "That's nothing!" he gasped as the police began rounding up the gang members. Another cornered Michael. The dreadful experience was over, but Valon wondered if he and his friends would be coming out of it relatively unscathed.

Raphael threw the knife into the dust. "Yeah," he assured Valon. "I'll take care of it after we find Alister. Where is he?" He removed his helmet, studying Valon with the familiar ice-blue eyes. But Valon could see many emotions flitting through those eyes, including concern for Alister and relief that Valon was safe.

"Over there," Valon replied quietly, pointing to where he had last seen the redhead. "Michael threw him off his chopper and he crashed on the ground. . . ." He swallowed hard. Alister should have gotten up, unless he'd hit his head on a rock or something like that. . . .

"Over here now," a voice spoke up from behind them. Both quickly turned to find Alister standing there, rubbing at his head. "Do you mind telling us what we just saved you from?" he asked, his gaze falling on Valon.

"Well, that's a fine how-do-you-do!" Valon snapped in reply, climbing off Raphael's motorcycle to stand in front of the lanky redhead. "You know, I was actually worried about you!" He poked Alister in the chest with his forefinger.

Alister looked back calmly. "Raphael and I were concerned about you as well," he replied, "or we wouldn't have come." He continued to rub at his head. Indeed, he had hit his head on a rock, though not seriously. But the pain was irritating him.

Valon stopped, forgetting whatever retort he had been preparing to make, and just blinked at Alister, realization sweeping over him. It was true. They had been concerned. They had come for him, just as he had been longing and praying that they would! And in that moment Valon knew that he had two people that he could always trust and rely on. He looked from Alister to Raphael, sobered. They had both risked their lives for him and had sustained injuries in the process. They were true friends.

"Thanks, fellas," he said softly, though he knew that "thank you" was vastly inadequate.

Raphael grunted. "Go find a spare tire to put on your motorcycle," he directed, "and then we can get out of here." After all, there were plenty of bikes around to obtain a spare from. Their owners would hardly miss them, where they were going.

Valon frowned at him. "You're still bleedin'," he retorted. "We're not gonna go anywhere till that's taken care of." He paused, thinking. "Look, my trailer's right around close. Let's go unwind for a bit and exchange escapades or somethin'." He knew that Alister and Raphael must have had some strange experiences, including meeting up in the first place. Valon was highly curious to know what had taken place.

"But first," Raphael said as an officer approached, obviously wanting to know the bikers' side of things, "we still have some other business to take care of."